Faint Feathered Friends     April 18, 2013

            Our bird has always walked around our house.  He won’t fly up into his cage.  He doesn’t fly at all—just walks around and sleeps beneath the furniture.  We’ve had to put his food and water dishes under the couch.  I have to confess I prefer vacuuming up his little messes to changing the paper in his cage.  But it is nerve wracking.  He seems to be successfully avoiding the dog too, except for that one time when I thought he was a goner.  His little birdie instincts saved him.  He slyly went limp until I convinced our Maltese to drop him, whereupon he belligerently squawked to safety under the couch.

            Doggone bird talks all the time, but you can’t understand anything he says.  We finally took him to the pet shop.  I handed him over to the young lady who offered to take him to the back room when we arrived (the pet psychiatrist was seeing patients back there).  She returned after we had time to examine every product in the store. 

“Doctor says your bird is afraid of heights,” she shrugged, and handed the sorry sack of feathers to me.  It said something snotty to her and eyed me suspiciously.

            “So that’s it,” I said to my wife, “The bird is snotty, talks gibberish, he’s afraid to do what he’s supposed to do, and his greatest talent is going limp when things get complicated.”

            “That’s why I named him Senator,” she smiled.