I dial the number of my parrot-sitter. Blaze’s voice on the answering machine
message comes over the line. I hear a
familiar noise in the background: the
squawking of a multcolored, orange-eyed parrot named Pablo.
Pablo has this thing about telephones. He hates them. He especially hates them when I’m talking on
one, and he loudly makes his displeasure known. Occasionally I have to leave the room to carry
on a conversation.
If he isn’t screaming about it, and he’s out of his cage, he
will get into some kind of trouble—do something he knows he isn’t supposed to
do. That something usually involves chewing and/or going to forbidden places.
Last night, he took more direct action:
What a character!!!
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