At dawn, the telephone rings.
“Hello, Señor Gene? This is Ernesto, the caretaker at your country house.”
“Ah yes, Ernesto. What can I do for you? Is there a problem?”
“Um, I am just calling to tell you that your parrot died.”
“My parrot?!” Gene shouted.
“Yes, Señor Gene. I’m very sorry.”
“That bird cost me $5,000! How did it die?”
“Well, Señor, it ate rotten meat.”
“Rotten meat? Where did it get that?”
“From the dead horse.”
“Dead horse?! What happened to the horse?”
“He worked himself to death pulling the wagon.”
“What wagon?”
“The wagon carrying water to put out the fire.”
“Fire?! What fire?”
“The fire at your country house.”
“My house caught fire?!”
“Yes, Señor.”
“How did the fire start?”
“The candles fell over during the funeral.”
“Funeral?! Who died?”
“Your wife, Señor Gene.”
“My wife is dead?!”
“Yes, Señor. I’m very sorry.”
Gene was silent for a moment.
Then he asked,
“How did all of this happen?”
Ernesto sighed.
“Well, Señor… that’s actually why I called. I wanted to tell you about the parrot first.”
Gene stared at the phone.
“Why would you tell me about the parrot first?”
Ernesto replied,
“Because I knew you would be upset about the parrot.”
