It was impossible to find the culprit. As the children rushed off towards the river, they forgot to close the latch on the parrots cage. Granny, returning from the grocers, flung the windows wide open to let in a gust of fresh country air. By evening, when everyone began looking for Tommy, it became heartbreakingly apparent: our splendid Amazon was nowhere to be found, vanished into the dreamlike labyrinth of the English countryside.
For three days and nights, we abandoned every routine to roam the village, tramping through hedgerows and along winding lanes, searching for our lost bird. But Tommy had slipped beyond the reach of reasonor hope. No one had seen a trace of green. The children smeared their tears across their faces, Granny wrung her hands in despair, and my husband and I, with mutterings and reprimands, laid blame first upon the old folks, then the young.
As for letting our own dogMickey, the loyal Airedaleoff the leash to search, that was pure fantasy. Mickey was sunk in a fit of melancholy. She stirred only at the jangling of the doorbell, bounding to the hallway with spirited barkingthen, as if realizing her eager noise was met by emptiness, shed slink back to her rug, posture drooping. For four years, every guest in our home had been greeted by a hearty canine chorus. But Tommy the parrot outdid even Mickey at barking: he could mimic it so commandingly, there were times it seemed hed bested the dog at her own service.
Barking at the catthat was Tommys first parrotly ambition. When he was just a wholly green chick, in every sense, he would sneak up behind Maisie, our tabby, and bark full blast into her ear. Maisie would shoot skywards in a yowl of outrage, and this would bring Mickey charging with a volley of howls, until chaos rippled through the house. Maisie tolerated Tommy, but only up to a point; you could see she bore him out of vastly divided patience. But Mickey harboured tender affection for the birdTommy would often perch shamelessly atop the dogs head, lecturing her in pitch-perfect imitation of Granny:
Whos going to finish the porridge, then?hed demand.
And, holding a dramatic pause worthy of the Royal Shakespeare Company, hed add sternly, Were not keeping pigs, you know!
Mickey reacted to these parrot scoldings just as resolutely as the children did to Grannys: that is, not at all. If Tommy became too insistent, Mickey would simply flick him off with a gentle nudge of her rough tongue.
So when Tommy disappeared, all the household felt a personal sorrow (Maisie perhaps less so). A couple of weeks slipped by, and as we gave in to the idea that our chatterbox had really fled for good, whispers began winding their way through the village: a rowdy, green, red-faced crow had joined the local rook troop, plundering orchard after orchard. This newcomer cawed louder than the restsometimes, if gossip was to be believed, it would bark, or even shout profanities in a most unmistakably human twang. The last detail nearly snuffed out what flickering hope wed rekindled; though we all knew those words, none of us used them aloud if we could help it. But we did reason that, roaming wild and free, our feathered prodigy might well have picked up such phrases the way Maisie picked up fleas. So the hunt for Tommy was reluctantly resumed.
Fortune at last cast a glimmer over us about ten days later. As I bent over the vegetable patch, I heard the unmistakable question float down:
Well? What now?
And there he wasmy boyperched amid a group of black-feathered companions, bandits feasting on the cherries.
Tommy! Come here, darling. Come let Mum fuss you, come for tasty seeds
Tommy tipped his head thoughtfully.
Tommy, were all longing for youDad, Sophie, Michael, and Mickey. Come to me, sweetheart
I stretched out my hand, inching towards the tree, nearly touching the branch when
Heh cheeky lot, arent you! Tommy retorted, perfect imitation of the garden club chairmans nasal drawl, and with his black-plumed fellows, swooped away over the garden wall.
Tommys wild adventure continued right into the first frost. He appeared by the house from time to time, but we could never persuade him to come home. Gentle pleading only prompted philosophical croaks, before he vanished with a flurry into the grey English sky.
As autumn deepened, folks spotted Tommy alone more and more often. More frequently he settled in our yard, hunched and gloomy atop a fence or in the bare branches, but would not permit a hand near. Thats when we brought out the heavy artilleryMickey. What quiet promises she made to her friend, I can only guess. All I know is, Tommy returned at last with head held high, riding grandly into the house atop the rust-red dogas if the whole episode had been nothing but a peculiar, wonderful dream.
