When I was 4, I was terribly sick with chicken pox and insisted I would only feel better if I could get a pet bird.

Somehow, Dad got Mom to agree (she was probably weakened from being in the house for weeks with sick kids!) and that’s how Frankie the parakeet joined our family. We were thrilled with the joy and responsibility that a pet can bring.

However, I soon realized that Frankie was not the kind of pet that I could cuddle or push in my doll carriage. In fact, about all he was good at was crashing into the mirror when he was let out of his cage! For several years, Mom was left with looking after Frankie.

One morning, we awoke to find our pet cold and huddled in the corner of his cage. Although my brother and I were saddened, I think Mom was silently saying “FINALLY!” She assured us that we would have a proper backyard burial when we returned from swim lessons. In the meantime, Dad had left work early and came home to change into his golf clothes. Seeing Frankie, he assumed he was the first to make the discovery. Dreading the sad looks on our faces when we came home, Dad decided to skip golf and find an identical replacement for Frankie, without us ever knowing.

Imagine our surprise when we returned and found that Frankie had come back to life! Dad had to confess and we were once again thrilled to have a pet and to realize what our Dad had done for us. Dad truly loved golf, but his family did come first. However, I don’t think poor Mom shared our sentiments, as Frankie II went on to live a very long life.