It was a very sad funeral. It wasn’t sad simply because there had been a death; it was sad because to all intents and purposes Natalie was the only person who attended it. Some might think for a small funeral that the undertaker and pallbearers and the musician paid to sing Be Still My Soul all count as mourners. But the truth is a funeral attendance headcount can really only include the genuine mourners. Hence, the funeral Natalie attended had a headcount of one.
Natalie sang at the top of her voice. She didn’t care. As far as she was concerned, she was the only one there:
Be still, my soul: the Lord is on thy side.
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain.
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In every change, He faithful will remain.
In fact there was no organist to help out. She was singing the hymn to the accompaniment of a recording.
She had loved Randolph. They had been together for seven years. The volume of Natalie’s singing spoke volumes of her love.
When the singing was over she carefully place her dear dead canary in the hole she had dug and filled it in.
My soul is completely still.
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That’s the alcohol in the still.
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Ah.
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And thus follows the stillness.
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It does indeed!
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This is very sad. I’m crying now.
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Did you know that canaries can live as long as cats and dogs (I googled it)?
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Yes! That’s a short lifespan in bird terms.
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Shorter lifespan for a wild canary (apparently)
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Wild animals usually have a harder time.
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But…but…how COULD she sing without dear Randolph‽
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You are a sensitive soul, Herb.
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I have to buy a canary so it can sing at my funeral.
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Yeah – who said it would sing!
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Better a mute canary, than the terrible alternative who don’t sing right.
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True!
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I always wondered If your stories, article by article became a daily mainstream press release in some major publicacion, how the world might be viewed differently,
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Yes – I would like to think sometimes that I might be “discovered” after I’m dead! No money in it though!!
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Now don’t make fun of the depth of grief one can feel at the passing of a pet. Even a canary, and even though she didn’t sing like one!
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I know the feeling of loosing a pet. Katherine Mansfield (New Zealand short story writer) has a wonderful short story about an old lady looking at a nail on the porch wall where her canary cage used to hang.
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