Anyway. I made it. I dropped the fucking bird to another rehab lady in Humboldt and was ready to say good riddance to the whole situation.
But before I left, I took another peek at my feathered friend to say goodbye...
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The thing was much more awake and active in the box, and it looked at me like it knew me or something.
It was so strange, but all of a sudden I felt sort of attached to this thing, like we had bonded or something.
It felt odd leaving. So I asked for a way to keep in touch with the rehab chick. She gave me her number and said I could call anytime...
Well. To tell you the truth, I sort of forgot all about it for about a week. I made my way back up north, picked up my trailer a d headed into Oregon to some little town to pick up another load and head back east...
But, after some time, I found the number in my wallet and decided to call.
What I heard was the worst fucking story I ever heard.
I warn you, it's shocking and upsetting how this story ends... so I want to make sure you're still with me here.
So, let me know if I should continue, or if you've had enough.