Remembering Daddy and his feathered friend Petey, on this Father’s Day weekend.
The year after Hurricane Hazel, our family moved from Cole’s Crossroads back into town.
The roomy house boasted of two full bathrooms, a real luxury to my way of thinking in the mid-1950’s.
No more waiting in line when you were running late on school days, no more annoying “hurry up in there” when you were soaking in a bubble-filled tub, reading your latest library book.
One member of our family preferred the shower to the bathtub — Petey. We’d had our share of family pets for years, all of them outdoor types. Assorted dogs and cats romped and ran, clawed and scratched and begged to come indoors, but none of them were allowed to live inside, until Petey.
He really didn’t belong to Harold or me, though, he was daddy’s bird. He owned a cage but mainly used it to swing in, or catch a snack of bird seed…
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