It happens every year. Every spring to be exact. I’ve started referring to it as the killing season. (Well, this is the first time I’ve referred to it as the killing season, so starting now, Spring shall be called “The Killing Season”).
It’s always a time of carnage, when innocents are slain, and dead bodies pile up. I wish it could be different, but the instinct to kill is too strong … not unlike an animalistic hunger, (by which i mean it’s exactly like an animalistic hunger). Sadly, when the opportunity arises, it’s all but impossible not to pounce on it. Or maybe ambush would be a better word.
I called my husband over. He’s seen it all before and knows the drill. He’s the fixer. He gets rid of the evidence…. “Fran, I need you to dispose of another body.”
He came outside and I showed him the crime scene at the bottom of our deck. The victim, this time, was a baby robin. Goddammit.
It’s like Mutual of Fuckin’ Omaha’s Wild Kingdom at our house.  Starring Dame Maggie McBoob as “The Black and Tan Killer.” Just about every week in the spring, there’s another murder mystery to be solved.
Spoiler alert: The killer is always Maggie.
I showed Fran the body and said, “Look what your daughter did now. She killed another baby bird.”
He said, “You don’t know that. The bird might have died from natural causes.”
I said, “Oh yeah, like what … the chicken pox? That robin is clearly too young to have started whoring around with chickens. Or maybe you think it was the avian flu? Oh I know, the robin probably had an increased risk of getting breast cancer, so it’s doctor gave it Tamoxifen and then it died from uterine cancer. That’s a thing that happens.”
I pointed to exhibit A … the foot print, “Do you also deny that’s Maggie’s shoe size? Do we need to call in a crime scene investigator?”
Fran walked away. He’s in denial. I get it.
He came back with some gloves and a plastic grocery bag.
While I can’t truly imagine what Jeffrey Dahmer’s parents must feel like, I feel like I have a vague idea.
You can still love your child, but hate what they do.
 If you’re too young to remember, Wild Kingdom was a television nature show back when they used voice-overs and a telephoto lens to film dangerous wild animals instead of taking close-up selfies with an iPhone or Gopro. It wasn’t quite as hair-raising, but the narrators rarely died. It was one of my favorite shows as a kid, even though I watched much of it from between my fingers. Especially during scenes of a predator chasing prey or when an animal was wounded. As an adult, I have a hard time watching nature shows. That scene in March of the Penguins where that one young penguin couple cracked their egg by accident destroyed me.