Finding someone to blame was no easy task. The kids, in their rush to dash off to the river, totally forgot to lock the parrot in his cage. When Grandma got back from the shops, she flung the window wide open, not giving it a second thought. So, by the time we realised that Timmy was nowhere to be seen that evening, it became clear that our dashing little Amazon parrot had made his grand escape in some unknown direction. For three whole days and nights, we pretty much gave up all other plans to dash breathlessly around the village, hunting for our lost bird. But it was all for nothing. Nobody had seen a feather of Timmy. The kids were a soggy mess of tears, Grandma was wringing her hands, sighing oh dear, oh dear!, and my husband and I took turns blaming first the children, then the older folks.
Mind you, turning our words on our own dog, a sprightly Airedale called Daisy, was pointless in those days. Daisy was in the dumps herself. She only showed a hint of life when the doorbell rangshed barrel into the hallway, barking her head off, but would fall silent almost instantly, realising she was the only one making any noise. Shed look sadly around, then pad back to her mat. For a full four years, our house had always greeted guests with a canine chorus. Timmy barked along with Daisy, sometimes even sounding more like a dog than Daisy herself.
Barking, funnily enough, was Timmys first proper party trick. When we first got him, fresh as a daisy (and green as his feathers), his favourite pastime was tormenting the cat with dog impressions. Hed sneak up on Molly, our ginger moggy curled up in a ball, and absolutely let rip with a bark right in her ear. Molly would leap to the ceiling, shrieking meeeeeooow! and, of course, Daisy would come haring in at breakneck speed, barking for backup. The whole house would be thrown into chaos.
Molly tolerated Timmynot that youd ever suspect she actually liked him. Daisy, on the other hand, adored that bird. The little mischief would perchliterallyon Daisys head, and most of the time lecture her too. Timmy could go on for ages, perfectly mimicking Grandmas tone, pestering Daisy:
Whos going to finish this porridge, then?
And after a perfectly timed pause worthy of the West End, would add reproachfully,
Were not pigs, you know!
Daisy shrugged off Timmy’s lectures just like the kids did with Grandma’s. In other words: not at all. Sometimes, when he was really winding her up, Daisy would give him a gentle shove with her wet nose or flick him off with her rough tongue.
In short, Timmy vanishing was, for all of usexcept perhaps for Mollyexperienced as a personal heartbreak. A couple of weeks passed, and as we slowly adjusted to the idea of never seeing our noisy chatterbox again, rumours started spreading around the village about a new bird hanging about with the resident crows. A bright green parrot with a flashy red beak had joined the mob. This parrot was bold as brassnot only did he squawk at the top of his lungs, but he would bark and even swear in a distinctly human voice. The last detail nearly crushed our hopesas a family, were not strangers to choice language, but we tried not to say anything too unsavoury out loud. Still, we supposed our clever feathered friend mustve picked up a few colourful phrases out on the loose, just as Molly picked up fleas, and so we resumed our search for our wayward Timmy.
Luck finally smiled on us about ten days later. As I was bent over the veg patch, I suddenly heard a very familiar, So, whats going on? There he was, up in the cherry tree, surrounded by a gang of black-feathered pals, helping themselves to the fruit. My baby!
Timmy, I called, come on, darling. Mummys missed you so much. Come here, Ive got lovely sunflower seeds…
Timmy tilted his head as if he was thinking it over.
Come here, Timmy, weve all missed youDaddy, Sophie, Michael, even Daisy… come on, love.
Reaching out gently, I inched closer to the tree. Just as I was about to touch the branch, Timmy piped up, in the unmistakable tone of our allotment committee chairman,
Oi, cheeky monkeys! Then, just like that, he fluttered off with his newfound mates.
Timmys wild life carried right on till the first autumn frost. Hed turn up near the house every now and then, but he wouldnt let us talk him into coming home. Hed just caw knowingly and fly off about his business.
Late in the autumn, people reported seeing Timmy on his own more often. He was increasingly spotted back in our garden, perching sadly on the fence or in the treeshead down, feathers ruffled, but hed never quite let us catch him. So we brought out the big guns: Daisy. I have no idea what Daisy said to him, but one day, Timmy strutted back into the house on Daisys very back, head held high like a king coming home.
And just like that, our family was back together again.
