It proved difficult to find someone to blame. The children, dashing off to the riverbank, had forgotten to shut the parrot safely in his cage. When Grandma returned from the village shop, she flung the window open wide to let in the sweet summer air. As a result, when evening fell and everyone realised that Stanley had vanished, it became clear our handsome Amazon parrot had taken off in an unknown direction.
For three days and three nights, we dropped everything and scoured the village for our missing bird. But it was all hopeless. No one had seen Stanley. The childrens cheeks were streaked with tears, Grandma sighed and fretted, and my husband and I blamed first the elders, then the children, and then anyone in between.
Even our own dog, the Airedale terrier, Molly, was impossible to direct her frustration anywhere during those days. Molly was utterly dejected. She barely stirred except when the doorbell rang, at which point she’d dash to the hallway, barking with hopeonly for her voice to falter in the empty echo. Realising her bark rang out alone, shed glance around and then shuffle back to her rug.
For four years our home had echoed with the ‘duet’ of dog and parrot. Stanley was a virtuoso at barking; sometimes youd be certain he did it better than Molly herself.
Parroting dog barks was Stanleys earliest mischief. As a truly ‘green’ chick (in every sense), he harassed our cat, Tilly, in this way. Creeping up on a curled-up Tilly, hed bark into her ear with all the spirit of a proper terrier. Tilly would shoot skyward with a piercing Miaow! and, summoned by the commotion, Molly would come running too, barking at the chaos. The result was bedlam.
Tilly tolerated Stanley, though at times it seemed she just barely managed. Molly, on the other hand, adored the bird. That little rogue would perch right on Mollys headnot just figuratively, but quite literally! Most often, Stanley would lecture Molly in Grandmas own intonation:
Whos going to finish this porridge, then?
After a dramatic pause, hed add reproachfully:
We havent any pigs in this house!
Molly– much like the children with Grandma– met the parrots sermons with indifference. Sometimes, when Stanley grew too tiresome, she would shake him off, giving the nagging bird a gentle nudge with her rough tongue.
Stanley’s disappearance struck everyone but Tilly as a personal tragedy. After a few weeks, just as we were coming to terms with the loss of our chatty bird, rumours trickled through the village: a new arrival had joined the rowdy crows raiding the local gardens. A brilliantly green bird with a bold red facecheekier than the resthad been spotted. Not only did it caw, but it could bark and even swear in a startlingly human voice. This last rumour nearly dashed our fragile hopes, since none of us at home would say such words aloud. Still, we reasoned that life among the crows might have Stanley picking up all manner of unseemly habits, as Tilly picked up fleas. So, hope renewed, we began our search anew.
Ten days later, luck found us. I was bent over my vegetable patch when a familiar voice called out:
Well, what now?
There he was on the cherry tree, surrounded by a few black-feathered friends, feasting on ripe fruit.
Stanley, come here, darling. Mummys got some lovely seeds for you
Stanley cocked his head, considering.
Stanley, weve all missed youDad, Sophie, Michael and Molly too. Come on, sweetheart
With my hand outstretched, I moved closer to the tree. I was nearly close enough to touch him when
Typical! Stanley piped up in the chairman of the residents associations mocking tone, and then flew off with the crows.
Stanleys wild life continued right up until the first frosts. He visited near the house a few times, but wouldnt listen to any of our gentle coaxing. At our pleas to come home, he merely squawked philosophically and vanished once more.
As autumn deepened, people began to notice Stanley alone more and more often. He returned to our garden, fluffed up and forlorn, perching on the fence or in a treestill refusing to come to us. Then we brought out the big guns: Molly.
Whatever Molly said to her feathered friend, well never know, but Stanley triumphantly made his way home, perched regally atop his beloved ginger dog.
And so, we learned that family and friends will always welcome you back, however far you may stray; home will always have a place for its wanderers.
