The Parrot

So, two Saturdays ago I’m in me shed, minding me own business, swallyin’ beer and working away. Out of nowhere a big green parrot swoops into the shed and starts squawking. I carefully place my beverage on a level surface and quickly get the fuck out of the shed. Seconds later the bird flies out of the shed and up into the adjacent oak tree. He squawks at me for a while and then vacates the tree. Nice looking bird. Probably someone’s pet that escaped. Minnesota, being landlocked, led me to believe he did not originate from the shoulder of a pirate. 

Fast forward to a week later. This time I’m in the front yard playing with the kids, not swallyin’ beer this time. A familiar squawk suddenly comes from the oak tree by the front door. I look up and there is my old friend, happy as Larry. We look at each other. I see you, you scamp. I point him out to the kids but they can’t see him. They don’t have the requisite bird watching skills that I have. They’ll come to them, God willing. 

Yesterday evening I went for a walk with the kids. Clara says to me “Daddy, guess what Elise saw today near our school?” I reply “Wha’?” “The green parrot” says she. “Son of a bitch” says I. 

The winter will kill him.