I grew up in a family with traditional values. Mom stayed at home and dad worked day and night at the Pet Store.
He was a workaholic and a man of few words. He did what he had to do. Although he sometimes missed my Little League Games I always knew he cared and that he would have been there were it not for the demands of the job. He was an honorable man who carried himself with dignity and never complained. Only occasionally would his frustration show when he would bring home a menagerie of animals from the shop and torture them to blow off steam: the greatest generation.
Usually he would come home drunk around 11:00PM after pulling overtime. Carrying a sack full of canaries he would stumble up the stairs and mutter "fucking animals". Then he would set the sack on the floor and hit them with a brick.
I never asked my mother about dad's habit when I was a kid. In those days such things were not discussed. Dad served his country and got a dose of shrapnel for his troubles. When he came home, he put his head down and started that pet shop with a couple of his war buddies. He was a great guy, what were a few canaries here and there?
I didn't really give my dad's behavior much thought until I followed in his footsteps. My sister moved to New York and took up modeling. She made it big after becoming a "pleasure woman" of a Saudi Prince.
My brother had the brains. He went to college and is now a professor of classics.
My grades were never that good, so I stayed at home and went into business with my dad.
I learned everything I know from my father. He could sell anything. Everyone else would throw up their hands when a big ferret shipment would come in.
"How the fuck are we gonna' sell these ferrets!" they would say. My dad knew what to do. He would tell customers they were "the thinking man's cat" and used to say that in 10 years it was gonna' be all ferrets. We made a fortune. It was a great job, but for some reason those birds used to annoy the hell out of me.
After my Dad passed away I inherited the store. Not long after that I got engaged and moved in with my fiancé. Managing the store all by myself was quite the challenge. My dad's business partners also retired and once everything was all on my shoulders I realized just how much responsibility it was. It was grueling. Now that I was running the place all by myself I had to put in more hours. It was putting a strain on my relationship. It was also tiring standing on my feet all day long and those birds wouldn't stop chattering.
Day after day I'd wake up at 4:30 and drag myself to that damn pet shop.
Pulling into that shop I would always be greeted by the endless chatter of those damn birds.
Around that time my girlfriend decided she wanted to go back to school to get her PHD in Gender Studies.
I offered to help her financially while she studied. I never knew how expensive graduate school was! I found myself having to work 12, 13 and sometimes 14 hour days just to stay afloat. I was having a harder and harder time moving those ferrets and let's not forget those fucking birds!
They never stop screeching.
One morning I woke up again at the ass crack of dawn and drove myself into the shop. The roads were particularly icy that day. I really should have driven slower, but I was in a running late and was behind on a ferret deadline.
When I came up on a stop sign I hit the breaks, but the car wouldn't slow down. Careening out of control I found myself sliding off road and barreling toward a tree.
Only but for the grace of god did the car slow down before I crashed. It was a harrowing experience. Taking a few deep breaths, I composed myself, got back on the highway and drove myself to work.
That day was excruciating. The customers were really giving me a hard time. One woman insisted on buying a cat. When I told her that we didn't have any cats and suggested a ferret instead she turned up her nose even after I told her they were the thinking man's cat. "I think I'll take my business elsewhere. Super Petmart is bigger and more convenient".
She left in a huff as the birds continued to screech.
Things got a lot harder when one of my rotten teenage employees decided to bail on me.
"Fuck you. Fuck this bullshit pet store and fuck this bullshit town. I'm going to Hollywood"
Understaffed, I did my best to make do, but those birds! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!
"Hello, sir. I represent the World-Wide Ferret Corporation.
We noticed that as of late ferret sales are down at your establishment. Although you have served us well for decades we have decided to terminate our ferret contract and do business with Super Petmart. You must understand that this has nothing to do with you personally, but Super Petmart is a no-brainer for us as we expand and build the bridge to the 21st century. Goodbye".
Those birds!
It was the worst day of my life. As I was closing up, without thinking I took out a large burlap sack and stuffed it full of canaries. I drank some peppermint schnapps from my hip flask and drove home.
When I got there, I took off my boots, climbed the stairs and set my sack on the floor. "Fucking animals" I muttered. Then I took out a brick and hit them.
The next few months were a blur. Even though I lost the ferret contract I still reckoned that the shop was salvageable. I buckled down and put longer hours into the shop, smashing a sack full of canaries when I had to blow off steam.
My girlfriend didn't exactly approve. In her studies at the local college she learned about a concept called "toxic masculinity".
She told me that adherence and conformity to certain traits traditionally viewed as masculine such as overwork, extreme self-reliance and suppression of emotions often cause psychological harm in men. Once when we were cuddling and watching Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds" she tried to explain it to me, but it went in one ear and out the other, drowned out by the screeching, chirping, chattering and warbling of the fucking birds.
That night I went to sleep and had a terrible nightmare. In my dream I was a bird.
I tried to spread my wings and fly, but soon learned I was in the cage. At the end of my perch was a mirror. I scuttled to the mirror and saw the reflection of my father in bird form. After a brief pause he opened his beak and let out these words "I love you son".
I woke up in a cold sweat. It was time for work, but no way in hell was I going in that day. I glanced to my left and saw my beloved in blissful sleep. I took the day off and spent the day reflecting. Where did I go wrong? How can I change? How many canaries do I have to kill to prove that I'm a real man. I guess in my case it was 350.
The last few months have been amazing. Life has been so much more fulfilling since I got in touch with my feminine side.
I've made baby steps. Hey, It's not like I'm going to join the Audubon Society or anything! For now, I've felt a tremendous sense of relief knowing that my value as a man is not dependent on my ability to kill small birds.
The sky's the limit. I may even stop torturing animals altogether: no homo.