Dad wheels into the office, for his usual morning greeting. We exchange "good mornings" then I catch him up on various odds and ends. He tells me that he's been thinking a lot about his dermatologist, whom he saw yesterday for a checkup, who is from Poland and who speaks with a very heavy Polish accent. So heavy in fact, that Dad cannot understand anything she says. I act as translator. He just sits there, amazed as she talks a blue streak and waves her hands around energetically.
Anyway, so Dad says he's decided, after careful consideration, that the dermatologist has "an affliction" and that this is why she constantly gestures (except he pronounces it with a hard 'g' sound--"ghestures." I decide to let that "gho.")
So I'm listening to him as he plays amateur psychologist when the screen-saver on my computer comes on. My screen-saver is a slideshow of different animal images. An extreme close-up of a cheetah pops up. Dad instantly sees it.
"OH! What's that?! Look at that big ole' putty cat! GEEZ isn't that beautiful? Look at that!"
Then the image is gone. But Dad's wheels are still turning. Like, I can practically SEE them turning, churning, spinning what was a simple headshot of a cheetah into all of the possible animals on the planet that my father would like to adopt and make his very own. And then he begins.....
"HEY! HOW ABOUT A TURTLE?!" he asks with so much enthusiasm it takes my breath away. His eyes are big. He's smiling. He's 'ghesturing.' Wildly.
I got nothing. I'm laughing too hard.
I guess he takes my uncontrolled laughter as a rejection. He gives up and turns to leave, but then stops himself, turns back, and says, with a brand new revelation, "Or a PARROT!! How about a parrot! They don't need a lot of care, it can sit on my shoulder..."
My laughter is waning. This pet thing that Dad has.....it's kind of bordering on an obsession. On the other hand, he seems pretty amused with himself. He tries one last stab......
"A CANARY!"
I'm dying. My dad is actually killing me with humor. For just a fleeting second I think about how much I will miss him when he's gone.
I catch my breath to say something, though I have no idea what comeback I can possibly produce. It doesn't matter. Dad is in total control of this conversation.
"All right." he waves me off as he turns to leave. "Goodbye. I'm getting breakfast." And he's gone.
Seriously. A turtle?
Exactly! I mean you used the "puppy will outlive you, Dad" rationale and he bought that! He's too smart not to know how long turtles live! Now a rat. Here's a thought. A nice little white rat. My son Ian had one named Houdini (don't ask) and he sat on his shoulder and watched tv! I think I've come up with a solution D! A rat! Lived about two years.
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