I am not a bird lover. There, I said it. I should clarify that I am not totally anti-bird. I love birds that are out in the wild. Daily I see pelicans fly by my window here in the big treehouse on the beach and marvel at these goofy prehistoric creatures who can float through the air in ways I can only dream of.
I’m not even certain when my lack of bird love came about. I haven’t been traumatized by them in real life, well, at least not as a child. I didn’t even know anyone who had birds as pets.
I do, however, remember watching Alfred Hitchock’s The Birds once. I made it as far as the seagull who pecked Tippi Hedren’s noggin when she was rowing across the bay. Then I couldn’t watch anymore of it. I turned the TV off. I didn’t finally see The Birds until I was 40. And I only watched it because my then ex browbeat me into it. She, you see, was a bird lover.
I didn’t know she was a bird lover when we met. I guess it’s not the sort of thing you discuss when you’re suddenly drawn together and are making out in a park somewhere. It would kind of be odd if she stopped kissing me and just blurt out, “Do you love birds?”
In fact, I don’t think anyone I have ever dated has brought up their bird loving on a first, second or even third date. I do know that if they had, there wouldn’t be another date after that. I simply can’t share my life with a fine feathered friend these days.
I met her bird for the first time in her new apartment. Thankfully, it wasn’t a parrot. I know pirates are supposed to love parrots and I am often asked when I am pirating, “Where’s your parrot?” My pat response is “We had it for dinner last night,” which is historically correct for in buccaneer times it was considered a delicacy.
Instead, my ex had a budgie. If you don’t know what that is, it’s a common pet parakeet. His name was Drumstick. My ex always wanted him to know his place in the world, so he didn’t get a name like Fred or Marvin that would give him the impression he was our equal.
“Drummy” and I got to hang out together while she was cooking me dinner. She asked me to sit in the living room, which was great, until she propped open the door on the birdcage so Drummy could get a little exercise.
I put on a brave front. When she was in the living room, I was fine. We talked about our days and had some good laughs. But every time she went around the corner and into the kitchen to check on our dinner. I would roll off the couch and onto the floor, mortally afraid the bird was going to do a Tippi Hedren on me, pecking my head.
This continued throughout the afternoon. She would pop around the corner and I would be sitting on the couch, back around and I’m on the floor again.
Eventually, I got used to Drumstick. We made friends and I actually came to like him a bit.
I say a bit because Drummy had a dark side. It turned out that he was a real lover of white wine, as am I. Every time he saw a glass of wine in the house he would fly over to it. It didn’t matter if it was on the coffee table or in a guest’s hand. He would flutter over and perch on the rim of the glass.
There, he would begin to do the limbo. He would spread his legs as wide as he could and then dip his head down into the glass and suck up some of God’s nectar. We used to make him really work for it, seeing how much he could contort his body to make it to the last drops of wine in the bottom of a glass.
Eventually, Drumstick would get a little tipsy. It didn’t take much wine obviously This could have been very entertaining, but he was something of a mean drunk. When you tried to get him off the glass he would peck at you, trying to get you to give it up for his own vile pleasures.
It put him in a very amorous mood as well. Since we didn’t have another bird in the house (and that is an entirely different story) he would decide it was time to make out with your hand. He would perch on your finger, pull his wing across and start doing what I can only describe as the “Dirty Bird.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or look for a cigarette.
Eventually, Drunkstick had to part ways with us. It was a sad day. We didn’t want to get rid of him as he had really become part of the family. But we figured his days were numbered if we kept him because our new pet, Jasper the beagle, was taking tremendous interest in him, chasing him from one end of the room to the other like he was a new puppy toy instead of a real bird.
I still smile every time I think about what whacked out drunk of a bird. If any bird had the personality to lose my fear of birds, it was him.
Parrots? They still creep me out. I don’t trust them. Never will. I think it’s because they know that I look upon them as a possible meal. Drumstick anyone?
Out on the Treasure Coast, giving the bird to the birds who fly past my window on the world,
– Robb