GIVING ME THE BIRD

Sun Conure.  This one does not appear to be pining for the fjords.  Nor is she angry.

In the Beginning was the Word...

                                                     - John 1:1

A-well-a, everybody’s heard about the bird 
Bird, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word 
A-well-a, bird, bird, bird, the bird is the word 
A-well-a, bird, bird, bird, well, the bird is the word 
A-well-a, bird, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word 
A-well-a, bird, bird, bird, well, the bird is the word 
A-well-a, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word 
A-well-a, bird, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word 
A-well-a, bird, bird, bird, well, the bird is the word 
A-well-a, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word 
A-well-a, don’t you know about the bird 
Well, everybody knows that the bird is the word 
A-well-a, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word 
A-well-a 

A-well-a, everybody’s heard about the bird 
Bird, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word 
A-well-a, bird, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word 
A-well-a, bird, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word 
A-well-a, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word 
A-well-a, bird, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word 
A-well-a, bird, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word 
A-well-a, bird, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word 
A-well-a, bird, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word 
A-well-a, don’t you know about the bird 
Well, everybody’s talking about the bird 
A-well-a, bird, bird, b-bird’s the word 
A-well-a, bird 

Surfin’ bird 
Bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb, aaah 

Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa 
Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-ooma-mow-mow 
Papa-ooma-mow-mow...

                                                     - The Trashmen, “Surfin’ Bird”

We present to our Esteemed Readers the Conure, a type of small parrot (or humongous parakeet) with exceptionally colorful plumage, a long lifespan (on the order of thirty years), and a Fucking Sharp Beak.

If I were to purchase a bird as an Animal Companion, I would probably want one of these bad boys.  Beautiful, while at the same time reasonably companionable.  (The one pictured above was friendly enough - or tolerant enough - to allow me, a total stranger, to scratch his neck with my fingertip.)

I’m sure Levon would appreciate it, too.  Something for him to gaze at while burning with frustration.  “Why can’t I just play with him for a while?”

Back in our small-kid days, the Other Elisson and I used to keep parakeets.  The advantage of the parakeet, AKA the common budgie, is that despite their relatively short (~3 year) lifespans, they are easily domesticated, friendly, and their little turds - about the size of a large barley kernel - are dry and easily flicked away with a fingertip from whatever surface they land on right into your kid brother’s eye.

The Other Elisson, possibly owing to our favorable experience with parakeets, went on to commit the monumental error of getting a cockatiel, basically a huge-ass parakeet with a correspondingly rotten disposition.  His bird, Teppie (short for cocktepple, the Yiddish word for chamber-pot), was very much a one-man critter.  Once in a blue moon she would fly to me and land on my shoulder, departing hurriedly as soon as she realized that I was not the Other Elisson.  Damn bird lived over twenty years, by which time my brother was thoroughly sick of her.  (Or so he says.)  And you do not want to know how much a cockatiel shits.

Alas, the chance of me ever owning one of these feathery fellows is roughly nil: the only bird anyone is likely to give me is of the middle-fingered variety. The Missus, she does not like the Bird.  Unless it is a turkey or chicken, cooked, in which case she will deign to tolerate the white meat.


“Hey, did somebody say ‘white meat’?”