I read a very appalling story in the paper and even as I try to relate it, a sinking feeling comes into my stomach, the kind you get when you’re telling a lie—you mouth the words and your stomach begins pulling itself away to distant itself from the shameless liar. I will try and stomach this feeling. A woman was arrested for selling two kids, aged 4 and 5, for $175. And a cockatoo. Apparently they haggled over the price, starting at $2000 even, but after the bird was thrown in, the $2000 was quickly replaced by a 175-dollar price tag. Either the woman had no idea how to negotiate, leave alone the fact that she was desperately trying to get rid of the kids, or the couple knew a couple of things about market speculation and manipulation, managing to make an offer of a bird look extremely attractive. There are no indications that she was a drug addict, so let us hold onto the bong-pipes and not dive into judging her.
I’m appalled by the fact that someone privy to the negotiations and ultimate sale could not keep his mouth shut. I sense some jealousy, but it could very easily be a case of delusions of grandeur that made him feel compelled to snitch since it was the right thing to do. I feel sorry for the cockatoo, which had to spend time learning to impress its owners with its mimicry and incredible signature dance moves, getting uprooted and transferred to a different home, where it would have to learn new dances and possibly accents.
I do not feel sorry for the children. It’s quite obvious that they were on their way to a better life, with nowhere to go but up since they knew how much they were worth. So they had the opportunity to go through life knowing the exact figures they had to hit in order to be considered successful. (I’m quite jealous, since I have no idea how much I’m worth.) The sudden change in parental figures would not have left any eternal scars. How can I be so sure? Allegedly, my sister was born when I was 4, we moved when I was 7, but however hard I try I cannot remember any of these incidents. My memory’s timeline starts at 9, so I have no recollection about falling out of bed and cracking my skull open at 8, yet somehow I end up being a well-adjusted human being. And all these kids had to endure was a change of residence and parental figures.
The fate of the cockatoo is unknown since the new owner sits in jail having failed to post bail. Should it be forced to go back to the previous owner, I can almost guarantee that the days of singing and dancing (practically being the couple’s monkey) are long gone. It has to feel betrayed and should be learning a few choice words to sing in a showing of its displeasure. “Koo koo kachoo… F*** you I’m through… Goo goo gajoob… Two kids for you…”
