"Tangerine!" by Amanda Prowse
No 14 - IT'S A F*CKING PARROT!
NO 14 - IT’S A F*CKING PARROT!
Now, for those of you who don’t know I am a little afraid of birds. Or more specifically, I’m afraid of birds in a confined space. So, for example, an ostrich in a field, fine. A peacock on a lawn, fine. A pigeon in the street – fine. A pigeon in a train carriage – me completely hysterical. A robin/lark/wren in my house – me fainting before putting house on market in case it happens again. Just so we are clear.
Last summer my son, Joshy, and I were driving along the lane in rural West Country where we live. He suddenly yelled, ‘There’s a parrot!’ we have two large cedar trees in the front garden, at which he pointed. ‘Mum, there’s a parrot in the tree!’
Having grown up close to London parks where branches were stuffed full of red beaked, green-winged parakeets, I was a) not that excited about his sighting and b) was fairly certain he was mistaken.
‘It won’t be a Parrot, love, it’ll be a woodpecker (we have green woodpeckers in the garden) or another bird behind some leaves. It won’t be a parrot.’
‘It was a parrot Mum. I know what I saw.’
‘Mmm… okay then.’
My standard response when I know I am right, and I know that he is wrong but literally my head is too full of what to make for supper and the word count of my latest novel and did the dogs take their de-worming tablets? For me to find the energy to argue.
Two days later.
I was in my bedroom kneeling on the floor trying to untangle my laptop charging cable which has become one of my hobbies as I spend so much time doing it, when I looked up at the mirror on the wall and to my horror, saw a bird nestling on top of the wardrobe, staring at me with its head at an unusual angle. And not just any bird…
*I felt my insides turn to ice, wanted to scream but was worried I might startle the bird who would then fly, swoop, get its claws caught in my hair and I would run around the house, with the bird attached to my head. Yes, this is my nightmare. I kind of belly crawled, while whimpering and reminding myself to breathe, out of the room, managing to close the door as I went. I then ran, screaming and crying, taking the stairs two at a time as my heart pounded,
‘There’s a parrot in my bedroom! Help, help me! There’ a parrot in my bedroom! It was watching me, it’s on the wardrobe!’
Josh came sauntering out of the kitchen,
‘It won’t be a parrot mum, it’ll be a woodpecker or another bird behind some leaves, but definitely not a parrot.’
I swear if I hadn’t been so distressed and hyperventilating, I’d have taken the sandwich he was eating and shoved it in his face.
‘It’s a f*cking parrot!’ I screamed.
Not my finest hour. Put it down to extreme fear.
My visiting brother, calmly went upstairs, corralled said feathered one and brought him (we called him Horatio) downstairs, popping him into a dog cage for safekeeping, before feeding him some finely diced apple and giving him a drink of water.
‘Why are you feeding it?’ I yelled, ‘it’ll think we like it! it might come back again!’
I can still hear the collective chuckles of all assembled.
‘We are feeding him because we don’t know when he last ate or drank, and he won’t come back again. He’s a parrot not a homing pigeon!’
Some bright spark had the idea to announce on local social media sites that we had a parrot – had anyone lost one?
Long story short. Parrot owner was indeed local and arrived to take Horatio home. Thank God! End of Story.
A week later. I was folding laundry into the linen press on the landing when a small movement caught my eye. Yep. There was Horatio, sitting on the chandelier in the hallway, chirping merrily.
*See above.
…taking the stairs two at a time as my heart pounded, I began yelling,
‘Someone needs to tell Horatio he’s not a f*cking homing pigeon! Because he’s watching me on the landing!’
We called his owner… yada yada… you know the rest.
It’s taken me a year to get over the trauma. Every time a curtain ruffles or there’s a flutter just out of sight, I think the little feathered one is back. Yesterday, I was in my bedroom, when I heard a knocking sound, a little tip-tap. Drawing the curtains, there was Horatio, sitting on the windowsill, knocking at the window with his beak and looking me straight in the eye as if to say,
‘Open the window then! It’s bloody freezing out here!’
I smiled. It was nice to see him. When he’s outside, I can admire his beauty, I even like his cheeky nature and his fondness for my house. But inside, well, just the thought is enough to make me shiver. I figure it’s only a matter of time before he finds his way in again. That f*cking parrot.
For all things Amanda Prowse or to buy her books head to www.amandaprowse.com Thank you ! X
I couldn’t help but laugh picturing you speeding down the stairs for ‘help’ 🤣🤣
I know I shouldn’t, but that did make me chuckle! 😂😘