I was pet-sitting for my next door neighbor, watching and taking care of their bird. It was about three days till they were due back, and went over in the afternoon to do the normal bird care routine. When I went over, the bird was calmly perched on the bar, oddly not making any noise. When I went to open up the cage, it fell on the floor and didn't move. I poked it a few times, making sure that it wasn't just sleeping, and after proclaiming to no one that it was most definately dead, I left it there... not knowing what to do with it.
Later that night, I was waiting for the Patti Duke show to come on Nick at Night and my dad came home drunk. After telling him what had happened, he suggested that we go over and take care of the ugly matter.
Upon arrival, he plopped down on the floor and commenced to laugh for a very long time on how I killed the bird and that it most certainly was dead. After his fit of giggles, he instructed me to go get a zip lock bag from downstairs and bring it up to him. I did.
He took the bag, reached into the cage, and scooped the dead bird out, placing it in the bag. He then slammed the door to the cage and threw the bag to me, still laughing pretty hard.
We walked down stairs where he took the bag back, opened up the freezer door, put the bag in, and slammed the door behind it. My father then suggested rearranging all the furniture in the house, and then going home. I prompted him to just go back with me, leaving the furniture as is.
The next morning, I called the neighbor and told him that the bird had died and that I was going to bury it, which he was fine with. My father woke up shortly after, and I told him I was going bury the bird. I believe his exact words were, "what bird? what are you talking about? I need coffee."
So I buried the bird, I think it's still there... in that damned zip lock bag. And my father still does not remember anything that happened that night.