I feel deflated and defeated and that de-big-guys squash me. It reminds me of the story of an elderly woman who took her canary to the vet, explaining he no longer sings.
“Did you leave the window open? Have you gotten new pets or had visitors? Has anything usual happened?”
“No. No. And no. I just don’t understand it.”
“When did he stop singing?”
“The last time I cleaned his cage.”
“What happened then?”
“I decided to clean the bottom of the cage with the vacuum cleaner. Well, Birdie flew down to investigate, and got sucked up. I thought I’d killed him, but when I cut open the bag, I found him covered with dust, but still breathing — just barely. So I took him and put him under the water faucet and washed him off real good. Then I used a hair drier to dry his feathers. He looks fine, but he hasn’t sung since that day.”