The thing is, I didn't know the bird my brother, Paul, gave me was named Breaker. In fact, nobody knew. The bird told me. I better start at the beginning. I was visiting Paul and family in Interlachen, Florida. A bird that had been given to him was in a little cage yelling. Yes, yelling. My brother said, "You want that bird? Take it." I really didn't need a bird but thought I might as well take it to my daughter, an animal lover. By the time I drove back to my home just north of Tampa, I decided to keep the little guy. I called him Chipper. But several weeks later, the bird changed that.
I was piddling around in the kitchen and was quite stunned when I heard a wee little voice say: "Breaker. Breaker pretty bird." I looked at the bird. He had actually talked. And then he whistled at me. As time passed, Chipper was dubbed "Breaker."
Since then Breaker has traveled throughout the South East with Phil and me and has now come to roost in Georgia's Blue Ridge Mountains.
His last trip was to Tennessee where he stayed alone in a bedroom for a couple days before returning home (he was being babysat by his grandparents). Once back in Georgia, yesterday, he just wouldn't shut up. He was so excited, flying through the house from mirror to mirror to water faucet, in and out of small opening from the kitchen to dining room and livingroom and back to his cage again. He whistled the "Andy Griffin Theme Song" with nearly every breath and called "Breaker. Breaker pretty bird" into the chrome faucet and mirrors. He ate French-fried potatoes from our plates, drank from a stream of water while I washed dishes, and perched on my head while I worked on a story today.
On the way back to the mountains yesterday, Breaker kept trying to utter a new word. I haven't yet understood what it is, but I think he might be saying: "Home Sweet Home."
This is a new page. I hope to add to it soon. Please come back.
|
|
|