August 3, 2010

A Helmet of Hair Makes a Mediocre Nest

Around the time I started 7th grade, my dad ruined my life by bringing home a sassy female parrot named Alfred. Alfred and I had only two things in common. We both kinda looked liked birds, and we both hated one another.

Alfred came to us from our cousin's house. My Aunt was intelligent enough to get rid of this demon bird who never shut up. My dad, who doesn't really like animals but is randomly a bird lover, was naieve enough to take her in. She came with some baggage, including a hatred for teenaged males and the ability to verbalize a range of annoying words and phrases. Having a talking pet that hates certain people causes some strange complications. First of all, whenever I entered a room, Alfred would go bonkers, swooping around trying to peck my eyes out.

Also, her voice sounded strikingly simillar to my mom's.

We missed approximately one half of our phone calls.

Once, the guy who rented the apartment over our garage knocked on our door to ask a question. Alfred called out, "Hello?" so the man assumed he should enter.

Other favorite phrases of Alfred's included saying "Oh my gosh" over and over in a gutteral voice (I think she got this from my teenaged girl-cousin), as well as repeating the name "Lou Bega" over and over again. Of all the musicians out there...

I think the worst part about Alfred was how much she and my dad loved each other. It was gross.

One morning before school, my mom was fixing her lunch for work. She had her makeup on and her usual perfect helmet of hair sprayed into place. My dad was reading the paper and had let Alfred out on her perch by the table. Then I rounded the corner to get some breakfast.

Alfred went homicidal. She launched herself into the air in full attack mode, only I ducked and she missed. She didn't know what to do next. There was no place to land, so she panicked and began swooping around, skwaking wildly. Finally, Alfred spotted the largest surface she could find, my mom's hair, and with her claws-out, went in for the landing. This didn't really suit her, as my mom kept moving, screaming and swatting at her, so she tried to take off again. The problem was that her talons were all tangled in my mom's hair. She kept skwaking and flapping about, trying to break free, while my mom screamed angrily at my dad for letting the bird out. The more Alfred wriggled, the more her talons became tangled. She just kept flopping up and down, yanking my mom's head around, while feathers rained down around the kitchen.

Finally, Alfred broke free, leaving my mom stunned, disheveled, and out of breath.

Alfred ended up going nuts a few years later and bit about half of my dad's hand off. The next day she had mysteriously "died of a disease," but I was suspicious.

Some questions are better left unanswered.


Foxy said...

The Lou Bega comment made me laugh so hard! Blogging gold!

John Henry said...

your dad looks like a little boy

David said...

No John, he's just far away in comparison to Jordie so he looks small and boy-like. In real life, he's a dinosaur.

Glynnis said...

You can't run and you can't hide - you and me gunna touch the sky.

Carol said...

I so needed a laugh tonight..great story!!