Thursday, October 04, 2007

squawk off

Had a parrot looking in the kitchen window this morning. The old owners used to feed them and we haven’t gotten around to carrying on the tradition. Parrots land on the bird feeder, a platform hung in a tree, only to find it bare. They look at the feeder, they look at the house, they squawk curses like a three-year-old in sugar withdrawal. Bastards.

They don’t even talk. Polly got a cracker because Polly learned the un-natural act of vocalizing in a manner similar to human speech, as have many of the people I work with. That’s certainly worth a cracker. But not these bastards, they just want a free lunch. Sure, last Sunday they staged Death Of A Salesman in the back yard, but I found the dialogue forced and the actors ill-rehearsed. And they left the green room a mess, bird shit everywhere.

I’m pulling my funding and moving it to a dog I heard about that paints with a rag on a stick. It’s a better tax write-off too because he’s a veteran. A lot of his work is very dark, but he’s housebroken and can balance a treat on his nose.

And he won’t squawk at me at 5:30am as I stand in the kitchen trying to remember how coffee is made, reassuring myself it’s only 25 years or so until I don’t have to go to work anymore.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

Feed the parrot. Love is a verb.

Unknown said...

Lemme take some of those birds off your hands. I have a little macaw and want more!