Persil: Dead or Alive?

Longtime readers of this blog will recall that a year ago my family was split asunder for February vacation. My father and sister headed off on a cross-country ski trip entitled Camping Snobs 2010, which they neglected to invite my mother and I on. Hence, Mom and I planned our own trip, Rebellion 2010, which was a resounding success.

So successful, in fact, that this year my entire family is embarking on Rebellion 2011. That's right, Camping Snobs is officially dead, and since Mom and I are welcoming, non-exclusive types, we've decided to allow the former Snobbers to join us.

All of this leaves me with a familiar dilemma: Who will take care of the apple of my eye, my helpless little lovebird, Persil? Dreamy has become quite fond of Persil, and now insists that he be present when we Skype. He plays birdcalls to watch Persil's reaction, and when they shower together, I often hear peals of laughter coming from through the bathroom door. As soon as we enter my house, Dreamy asks, "It okay if I let P-Diddy out?" When we first started dating my sister expressed surprise when I mentioned that Dreamy liked Persil, and the Sensitive Bostonian's brother commented that, if he were Dreamy and he liked me, he'd like Persil, too. At this point, I think it's safe to say that Dreamy likes Persil for his own sake, not just mine.

So Dreamy immediately offered his services in caring for Persil when I'm gone. Then I had a conversation with his friend Brian, who pulled me aside and whispered to me, "You might want to leave Persil with me, not Dreamy. I wouldn't want anything to happen to the little guy."

So, is Dreamy responsible enough to keep my bird alive and happy? In his defense, he did successfully turtlesit over the summer, and as far as I know the turtle in question, Franklin, is still alive and healthy. Moreover, a couple of weeks ago, when I got the flu, I asked Dreamy to feed Persil one night when I felt so exhausted it seemed impossible. But as I was heading into my room, I got worried: Would Dreamy remember? I turned around and filled his bowl, only to berate myself for my lack of trust when Dreamy poked his head into my room as I donned my pajamas to ask where his food was.

On the other hand, this weekend I asked Dreamy if he'd mind waiting till after I showered before I heated up our leftover boeuf bourguignon Valentine's dinner for lunch. He answered, "Get in the shower! I can heat it up, silly." I followed his instructions, telling myself there was no reason to feel nervous, only to emerge a half hour later to a merrily boiling "stew" that was no longer quite so stew-y, with at least an inch of boeuf glued to the bottom of the pan. "Oops," Dreamy said, "I got involved in my work and forgot about it." Will he get involved in something and forget about Persil??

Nonetheless, Dreamy is my boyfriend, and if I'm going to do this thing I'll have to trust him at some point. So I've decided to entrust little Persil to him, and to tell Brian that I think he can handle it, although I'd love to use Brian's birdsitting services at a later date. And maybe I'll send a few text message reminders.

'Cuz seriously, if he kills my bird, I will be PISSED.