Parrot Ave Animals from Pixabay

The Unlikely Demise of a Feathered Friend

Unexpected fortune and fame resulting from death and unjustified fear.

“You don’t want to do that,” said Bubby. I didn’t know what to think. Parrots talk but not in context and with authority.

“Bubby, what did you say?”

“Joe, I don’t want you to turn the air conditioning so low. My feathers are going to freeze.”

To say I was stunned is an understatement of grand proportions. Yes, my red-crowned amazon had previously copied words and small phrases I said but never a conversation.

“Have you been wanting to tell me about the temperature for a while now?” I asked to see if I was insane or the bird actually was composing thought-out sentences.

“Yes, Joe…squawkkkk…you always keep it so damn cold in here.”

I had to sit down. Bubby was preening herself. Had I just slipped into a new dimension?

My thoughts began swimming in a jumbled mix of next steps. I called
Channel 17 News. Bubby buried her beak in feathers and took a nap.

The excitement I delivered to the Channel 17 News “Hot Line” was convincing enough for them to send a reporter and camera crew. Fame was just around the corner.

I could feel it.

Bobby Ann Rodgers, the local star headline-grabber, arrived at my house a half hour later. I explained how Bubby suddenly had become more intelligent and began having a conversation with me. They were videoing my entire story.

“I can’t wait to show you. Oh look Bubby is waking up.”

“What’s a parrot got to do to get some fresh food?” Bubby asked.

Bobby Ann Rodger’s mouth dropped and the camera man’s face lit up with surprise. The news team expected my claims to be a sham but they were shocked my claim was legit.

“Come on I’m starvin’ here. I need water too. And, Joe, when are you going to clean out my shit from the bottom of this cage. Awkward! squawkkkk…”

“Hi, I’m Bobby Ann,” the reporter said, “How are you?”

“I’d be a lot better if I could come out of the cage and sit on your shoulder,” Bubby said. “Your the reporter on TV Joe watches and masturbates to sometimes.”

Bobby Ann laughed then turned to the cameraman, “ Are you getting this? Priceless. Don’t turn off the feed.”

I unlocked and opened the parrot’s cage but I couldn’t look the reporter in the eye. My embarrassment skyrocketed like mercury in a thermometer rising and about to burst.

Bubby flew out of her cage and landed on the reporter’s shoulder. Bobby Ann forgot about me and spoke to Bubby.

“Do you like living here, Bubby?”

“Sure it’s great. I get all the seed I want to eat. But, he keeps it way too cold. My cage gets freezing at night. You know what that does to wings and feathers? It’s a nightmare.”

Living in tropical Florida you never know when wildlife will make an impromptu appearance. My window shades were open.

A red-shouldered hawk landed on top of my hedge next to my living room window. It must have sensed possible prey to feast on. The hawk’s shriek screamed loud and shrill.

“Eeeeahhhhhh…..!”

Bubby’s wild instincts jumped alive, “Oh shit…..” and the parrot quickly flapped her wings flying straight into my beloved Picasso print hanging on my living room wall.

Somehow the print wasn’t damaged but Bubby broke her neck and passed away.

I cried and Bobby Ann screamed, “Oh my!” The interview was over. Bobby Ann stayed with me for a few minutes after the cameraman left. She hugged me and was consoling.

“This story is unbelievable. We can be famous and I usually don’t ask this because it’s implied when you invited us over but is okay if we run the story?”

I nodded yes and Bobby Ann gave me a tight hug. Burying Bubby in the backyard was not easy but I had to let go.

Bobby Ann and I have been dating for 3 months now and our story has over 20 million views. The government’s Cognitive Research Center came over and asked to unbury Bubby’s body to do forensic research on her brain.

Bubby’s memory will go on.

“Squawkkkkkk…”

Bird Parrot Colorful from Pixabay

Bringing real feelings along with messages of inspiration and imagination to life. Awakening is the symptom of my infectious condition. Poetry is my condition.

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