One of the greatest travesties of the devastating May 2010 floods was the loss of our beloved flamingos. Betsy and I found their poor shattered bodies washed up against the chain-link fence. The funeral mass was held at Christ Cathedral and was attended by hundreds of mourners, including Mayor Karl Dean, then-Gov. Phil Bredesen, Dolly Parton, Faith Hill and Tim McGraw.
Oh. I believe that might have been an exaggeration. Actually, a lie. But that’s what should have happened. In actuality, they were scooped up by a bulldozer, along with everything else in the House of Toxic Poo, and packed off to an undisclosed landfill.
How could we go on? Pink flamingos don’t just grow on trees or from the pages of the Oriental Trading Company. Everyone knows of their rarity. Betsy and I were resigned to a flamingo-less life. Until our beloved accountant, Ceanne, somehow, somewhere, found two replacements. They spent most of 2010-2011 grazing in Ceanne’s backyard while we reconstructed the interior of the building. I understand they were great pets and grew very close to Ceanne. However, I believe Ceanne was ready for them to move once the building was done. Flamingos make extremely annoying noises for such delicate birds.
So, one day a few weeks ago the birds came home to roost. Free birds. Actual free birds because Ceanne provided them to us at no charge. Free to stand majestically in front of CRC. Free to observe the constant stream of concrete trucks that fill up at the concrete plant across the street. Free to watch that strange lady who power walks up and down Visco Drive every day around 11 a.m. Now that they’re home, hopefully they’ll tell the annoying UPS delivery man that if you stick a notice on the door that you are trying to deliver a package and then watch it immediately fall off, that the Chicks WILL NOT SEE IT.
We’re expecting a lot from these birds. They follow in the footsteps of greatness.