The lighter side....

I feel that I have been unduly "deep" for the last little bit so thought I would do my best to give you a laugh, a hoot or a giggle to lift up your day. The following is a true story from our family memory catalog. Some of you may even remember the incident. 

There are times in life when your children go over and above to show love and devotion to their parents. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it creates a special memory.

Once upon a time, I had a little bird, a green Quaker Parrot. The kids had cats and fish and rats and dogs, but I had a bird. A bird who could talk. He was all mine. He ruled the roost, quite literally. The kids, dogs and cats all had great respect for this little eight inch dynamo. He rode around on my shoulder while I was working in the house or watching television. And, yes, I actually had a “poop sweater” that I wore because it is virtually impossible to potty train a bird! And, on more than one occasion, I actually went to the store forgetting to take it off.

One cold, dark January night, I went outside to put the dogs to bed and forgot that my little green friend was on my shoulder. He took one look at the great outdoors and took flight. I was sick. I rounded up the kids and we walked the streets whistling his favorite song, “Do Your Ears Hang Low”. This is a true test of devotion from your teenagers. Oh, the humiliation of being seen by their friends walking the streets, whistling at the top of their lungs while searching for an unseen bird. Eventually we located him about 75 feet up in a huge tree in the neighbor’s yard. We called, threw things, tried climbing the tree but there was no way of getting to my bird. It was cold and dark, we were freezing, and we were fresh out of ideas.

At my wits end, I called the police department thinking they might have a ladder or other means to get up a tree. Thus the conversation goes. Me: “I have a parrot up a tree.” Dispatcher: “You have a carrot up a tree?” It went down hill after that. Eventually the police cruiser arrived, and then the second one, and eventually a third, all with their lights flashing. It must have been a slow night for the entire department to show up . . . or perhaps this was the most interesting call they had had in some time. One officer fingered his gun. They could get my bird out of the tree alright, but I probably wouldn’t like the condition in which he came down. REALLY! Not funny!

The next suggestion was to call the fire department. They have ladders, you know. Now I have three police cruisers (with their lights flashing) and a fire truck with its lights bouncing off the neighboring houses. Did I mention that these particular neighbors had a reputation for selling “unseemly, illegal items” out their back door? They arrived home in the midst of our little yard party and probably proceeded to flush all their profit down the toilet. It could have been a very costly night for them.

The fire department does have ladders, but as they explained ever so nicely to my teenage daughter, their ladders would not reach that high. My darling child reamed the fire chief up one side and down the other. I suspect they probably purchased a longer ladder the next day.

The only viable solution was to shoot him out of the tree with the fire hose. I can not make this stuff up, nobody would believe it. So they rolled out the hose the full length of the block, hooked it to the hydrant and proceeded to shoot my poor, frightened bird out of the tree. First shot unlocked his frozen feet from the branch, the second one hit him full force and he fluttered to the ground. I rushed over, stuffed him under my coat and ran for the house only to trip in the irrigation ditch and come crashing down on top of him. By now he was not only suffering from hypothermia and being blasted out of a tree by a water cannon, but he was sandwiched between my chest and the frozen ground.

I took him inside and thawed him out under the hot water faucet. The vet said to give him some honey. I did that and put him to bed figuring we’d have a funeral in the morning. But low and behold, by morning he was back to his old self, whistling “Do Your Ears Hang Low”. He promptly went to the birdie salon and got his wings clipped. One midnight escapade was enough!

The bird survived, the children were not seen by anyone who mattered, and life went on. But the memory will remain in the annals of our family lore forever.

It was a happy ending. And he provided joy and entertainment for another 6-7 years before he packed his little birdie suitcase and left home for good. Another amazing escape from which he never returned.

Just Writin' on the River Road