The Parrot And The Gypsy Girl
The Scout called home yesterday afternoon and asked me to go to the mailbox to check for a package that was overdue. With phone in hand I went to the front door, opened it, and The Scout claims my next words were, “Holy shit! You are not going to believe what is on our doormat.” I’m not 100% certain that those were my exact words, but it does seem likely.
“What is it?,” she asked.
“A parrot.”
“A parrot?”
“Yes. A parrot. I’ll call you back.”
“Take a picture,” she said just before I hung up.
I did take the picture and then went looking for The Gypsy Girl, the seven year old Field Bred Springer Spaniel that we rescued five years ago.
The Gypsy Girl is a dedicated bird dog. I don’t hunt, so she contents herself with insuring that no bird ever alights on our property for very long. She is quite serious about her work, stalking and flushing doves, quail, grackles, mocking birds, and anything else that flies within the borders of her domain. She also clears birds out of any dog park she visits. She plucks small, slow, dumb birds out of the air on rare occasions, which calls for her receiving only half-rations of kibble at dinner time. Hey, she was born for that work, so I don’t pass judgment. She is otherwise an unfailingly sweet dog. I put her in the bathroom and closed the door.
No one ever told me what to do if I found a parrot at my front door, so I improvised. A dog crate occupies a neglected back corner of our covered patio, a relic of The Gypsy Girl’s early days in our household when we had to cure her of a serious case of separation anxiety. The parrot would go in the crate.
I picked up the parrot and started though the house for the patio. I never picked up a parrot before and I suppose I am not as adept at parrot-transport as I could be. The parrot squawked on the way through the house, raising the kind of barking from The Gypsy Girl that communicates, “What the hell is going on out there and why am I shut up here?” The parrot also bit me twice. No harm done.
I got the parrot in the crate but thought it unwise to leave the crate on the ground. I put it atop a wrought iron marble-top ice cream parlor table that looks nice on the patio but gets little use. Then I released The Gypsy Girl who went dashing madly through every room in the house looking for something that squawks.
Ten minutes later The Gypsy Girl found the parrot. She stood motionless a few feet from the table for a moment and then squatted low to the ground, tail down, neck stretched up, twitching nose pointed at the crate, doing a fair imitation of a dachshund with the neck of a small giraffe. For the next half hour she alternated ignoring the parrot, sticking her nose against the grate that serves as the crate’s door, barking angrily, and trying to push the crate off the table. Smart dog. The parrot seemed utterly unfazed.
I lashed the crate to the table with bungee cords and draped a grill cover over its door, putting the parrot out of sight. I was getting better about improvising around parrots. If you own a bird dog and find a parrot at your front door, get out your old dog crate, a few bungee cords, and a grill cover. Works every time.
A bit of Google wizardry revealed what I had on my patio: in a dog crate lashed to an ice cream parlor table under a grill cover, just a bungee cord away from serving as dinner for a Springer Spaniel, was a valuable Congo African Gray Parrot. Breeder’s price for the parrot at one web site–$1300.
For the entire rest of the afternoon, and throughout the evening, The Gypsy Girl heard me say, “Leave it!” more often than she had over maybe the last two years. She did obey, walking away each time and leaving the parrot alone for about thirty seconds. She only cried once.
When The Scout arrived home she set to doing what she most loves to do–scout. The Internet is one of her territories and she soon turned up the email address of Beth Lee who runs Pampered Peeps Aviary. Late yesterday evening, Beth, who does know what to do if you find a parrot at your front door, uncovered a notice on Craigslist of an African Gray Parrot that had escaped from its home that morning just a few blocks from our house.
The parrot spent the night in the dog crate. The Gypsy Girl spent the night in a state of heightened awareness.
This morning, after a flurry of emails and phone calls, Fluffy The Parrot was retrieved from captivity in the dog crate by her rightful owner. She had escaped when her owner let his golden retriever out. She is used to dogs, which explains why she wasn’t fazed by The Gypsy Girl. In a heartbeat after her escape, Fluffy had disappeared over the neighborhood’s tile rooftops. Her owner had spent most of the day and evening looking for her and was grateful for her return.
Reaching for cosmic meaning in these events, The Scout attempted to link Fluffy’s appearance at our house with my recent trips to the new Rio Salado Audubon Center, where I am doing research for a book. I doubt the connection, but who knows.
The Gypsy Girl’s life is back to normal although the empty crate is still an object of mild interest. When I last saw Fluffy, she was on her way to get her wings clipped. While she was with us, she learned to say, “Leave it!”
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Ha this is great. Mel is Scout? You are gonna explain that to me?? LOL
Now I’ve heard “The Rest…of the Story” and a good one too!
You do have some of the most interesting experiences, kid.
Great story. And what I like the most about this post, besides the great story, is that your dog is smiling in the picture!
You obviously have your wits about you. By the time I had taken the photo, called in the kids, and then thought of the box the parrot would have been long gone. This story made my evening. Thank you.
Yes, T.E., Melanie is The Scout. Will explain next time I see you.
—–
Merrill — thanks for your offer to help with the parrot even though it turned out we didn’t need it.
—–
Rinatta — Gypsy smiles most of the time. One terrific dog!
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And Fred, always glad to make someone’s evening!
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Thanks all for stopping by.
I love this story. But most of all, I have fallen in love with The Gypsy Girl. Please tell her someone’s sent her a huge sloppy kiss from India.
Geetali — EVERYBODY loves Gypsy. And she returns it all. She was an emotional wreck when we rescued her, and her first few months with us were not pretty. But she has grown into one great dog. She’ll appreciate the “sloppy kiss from India.”
What a fun day! The only birds that land on our doorstep are dropped there by one of our three cats. Usually they bring them in the pet door as either gifts or supper. Read this from sunny N. Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, home of the shag.
Barbara — you might want to explain “home of the shag.” Especially for any British readers.
Dear Barbara,
North Carolina “home of the shag” says so much to me! :O
Sincerely,
Anglophone,
former colonial.
Relax Geetali.
You do know Barbara is talking about carpet. Of course you do.
At least I think she is.
What a great story. That bird was lucky that your dog was not out roaming that day.
Kenneth Elliott´s last blog post…Traditional Gypsy Costume