Bird's Eye View By Ardweden Hello. I am called Richie, and I suppose that will do, as my real name is something you humans simply would not be able to pronounce. I am a parakeet--a member of the Belmont family. Life is pretty good; I get fresh food and water every day (and sometimes a wonderful treat like spinach or carrots!), though I must admit that the water doesn't taste very good. It's a strange yellowish color... must be the vitamins Mother adds to it. As for my home, well, it's located in the best position in the house (this is what the little boy, Corey, says, and while I have no reason to believe him, I have no reason not to, as I haven't seen the entire household in all the years I've lived here). It's located next to the halfwall, far enough away from the doors to the outside so I don't get ill, but still feel chills when they open them. From here I can see the entirety of their living area, or where they spend a good chunk of their time-- the television, sitting furniture, and backyard through the screen door (how I'd love to go out there!); also, on the other side of the halfwall, I can see the eating and cooking area. Yes, my location is ideal for snooping, if that was what I wanted to do. I'm rather content. I have a good family that feeds me without question and usually cleans my cage. I do have a few complaints, however, which I will attempt to explain to the best of my ability. First of all, my wings are clipped. This is a terrible, terrible thing that I would not wish on any bird. I cannot fly, so exercising properly is completely out of the question. I do the best I can, though, jumping from one side of the cage to the other and fluttering my wings. One must look good for the ladies, after all. Which brings me to my other point. My roommate is a gorgeous green and yellow parakeet. I'd love to mate with her, but she never seems to hear a thing I say! "How are you doing?" I'll chirp. She stares straight ahead. "Nice weather we're having," I'll say. She stares straight ahead. She doesn't even blink! How am I supposed to propagate when the only bird I can possibly mate with can't carry on a conversation with me? Oh, and another thing, she's a bit odd (aside from the not talking thing). She'll never leave her position on the perch, not for an instant, as long as I'm watching. She doesn't even eat! My theory is that she feeds herself while I'm asleep, but that can't be easy. I would peck her, but I'm too much of a gentleman for that. Besides, she may be easily offended, and then my chances would be absolute zero. Anyway, one day I was rocking back and forth on the wooden swing (I tried to invite my roommate up, but she refused to acknowledge my presence), when I heard the door to the garage fly open. Startled, I chirped and jumped to the back of the cage, and into the living area crashed the funniest old woman I've ever seen. She had these pale, grayish curls for hair, and wrinkles all over her body, and wore a blinding shade of pink. She stomped over to my cage, and said, "Hello, birdie. What's your name?" I was still scared out of my mind, but I wasn't going to look like a coward in front of my would-be girlfriend, so I hopped onto the perch next to her (in order to protect her), and regained control of my vocal chords. "I'm Richie. Pleased to meet you," I tried to say in human-speak. Instead it sounded more like, "Tweet!" "Oh, you're so cute!" she cooed. Someone else stepped into the room; it was Father. "Charlie, you have the most adorable pet!" "That's... that's great, Mother," he replied while trying not to drop the suitcases he was holding. He walked over to the couch and set them on it. I was surprised. Only Mother is called Mother... the fact that there is another Mother astonished me. Maybe humans recycle names? The idea bears thinking about, and I was hungry. Can't think on an empty stomach, after all. I hopped down to the food dish and dug around for some seed. All I got were husks. I chirped indignantly, and fluttered my wings to get their attention. "Aww..." The old woman turned back to me. "You want to play, don't you?" No, I did not want to play. I squawked and started scooping husks out of the food dish, hoping she'd get the idea. She laughed. I squawked some more and continued at a more frantic pace, hoping she'd take the hint. She didn't; instead, she watched in amusement like I was playing some sort of game. Honestly, are all humans outside the household this dense? "I think," Father commented from behind the other Mother, "That Richie's hungry." I chirped in agreement and halted my activity. He took my food dish and walked over to the kitchen. On the way he dumped the husks out in the garbage can. "Come along, Mother. You can take care of Richie," he said as he opened the cupboard that contained my meals. The other Mother smiled and walked after him, watching as he filled my dish. I suddenly lost my appetite. That crazy, loud, pink old woman was going to be my provider? Turning away from the kitchen, I saw the couch spread out into a bed, and the suitcases opened (Father must have been unpacking). What was I going to do? She probably couldn't take care of me at all; in fact, she probably had no experience with other birds! "We're going to die," I told my roommate gloomily. She didn't respond. The old woman was walking towards my cage with my carefully held food when hard; fast pounding was heard heading to my room. This could mean only one thing: Corey. "Nana!" he cried as he grabbed the other Mother in a fierce hug. "Nana, you're here! How are you? How long are you staying? What's going on?" the nine-year-old boy rattled. Some seed spilled over the edge and onto the floor, and I wanted to cry. What a waste of good food. "Calm down," Nana (which I assumed was another one of her names) laughed. "Let me feed the birdie, then we can talk, hmm?" She finished her walk to my cage and slipped the food in. I hopped down to the dish and cracked open a seed, gulping its contents eagerly and doing my best to tune out the conversation, as I preferred to eat in peace. At least the old woman had her priorities straight. When I finished I hopped back up to the swing and settled down for a nap. Not that I would sleep in peace with all the noise Nana and Corey were causing, but I could try. I always felt just a bit sleepy after eating. I shut my eyes tightly and ruffled my feathers for added warmth. It worked for a while, but eventually a voice caused me to waken. "And then the knight yelled, 'Hold, knave! I will vanquish thee!' And lo, the Salami King did stop his evil sausage hunting." I opened my eyes to see Corey sitting on the edge of the unfolded couch and reading from a sheet of paper. Lying in the bed was Nana, who watched the boy intently. "But the Hamburger King and the Frankfurter Queen didn't want to, so they kept at it. So the knight..." I hopped down from my swing and started playing with one of the shiny bells that hung from the ceiling of my cage. I knew I wasn't going to get any sleep at all, not while Corey was so worked up in his reading. So I tried to grab the ding-a-linger in the middle of the bell instead. One of these days I'm going to get that thing. It continued for hours like that: Corey reading, me trying to get the ding-a-linger, and Nana silently watching. Corey must have eventually run out of stories to read, though, because eventually he stopped. "'Night Nana," he said to the sleeping old woman. Dropping to the floor, he walked towards the hall. I chirped my goodnight to him as he walked by. "Shh!" he suddenly shushed as he turned towards me, putting a finger to his mouth for added effect. "Don't wake Nana," he whispered, "I read her lots of bedtime stories to get her to sleep." How odd. The same thing that kept me from sleeping was what caused humans to sleep. Ah well. I ruffled my feathers, hoping Corey would catch the hint. He did. "You cold?" the little boy asked as he took my blanket out from under my cage stand. "Here you go." He put the blanket up over the cage, then yawned and wandered off to bed. I situated myself next to my would-be girlfriend and fell asleep. The next morning I awoke with a start to some blazingly loud noise. The blanket was still over my cage, and I had the feeling I was being attacked. I squawked and jumped on and off the swing, causing it to bang against the metal bars of the cage. Suddenly the blanket was yanked off. "Good morning Richie!" Nana greeted with a giant smile on her face. I almost fell off my perch, she spoke so loudly. "I hope you like oldies. They're the only thing I listen to." With that, she grabbed my water dish and took it to the kitchen. I waited impatiently for her to return; I was very thirsty. She finally did, only spilling a little. "Now be a good birdie and drink your water. I'm going to fix the rest of the family some breakfast." With that, she headed back to the kitchen. I hopped down to the water dish and took a sip. Hmm... not bad. In fact, it was quite good. I took another sip and examined the water. It was clear! No wonder it tasted so good... I gulped some more down eagerly, savoring the taste of normal flavored water and trying to tune out that horrid racket Nana calls "oldies". Mother entered the living room. "Good morning," she greeted. She wore her usual attire: business suit and tie. "What was that?" Nana yelled from the kitchen. "Speak up!" "I said, 'Good morning!'" Mother raised her voice to be heard over the music. "And can you please turn it down?!" "Sure, Sweetie! Just a second!" Nana finished flipping a pancake (or I assume that's what it was, as pancakes are the only human food I know of that needs flipping), and turned the music down a notch or two: loud enough to be annoying, but not so loud that Mother would have to scream to be heard. "Thank you." Mother placed the binders she was holding on the table and walked into the kitchen. I jumped up to the swing to get a better view. "I have your coffee made for you, dear," Nana said, still speaking unnecessarily loudly. She handed Mother a cup of the foul smelling stuff; I don't know what humans see in it. Once, as a practical joke, Corey replaced my water with cold coffee. I don't know what humans put in it, but I couldn't sleep for the next two days. "You like it black, yes?" "Yes." Mother took the cup and sipped, wincing slightly. Nana chuckled. "Too strong? You can add some cream..." "No, no. That's all right." Mother sipped again. "I really have to get going; got a presentation at work." She grabbed her materials and headed down the hall. "See you when I get back!" she called. "Count on it, honey!" Nana yelled back. She proceeded to turn the music back up, and then sing along with it. "Well she was just seventeen, you know what I mean..." I put my head under one of the bells, trying not to hear her. Nana had one of the worst singing voices I ever had the... pleasure... of listening to, and that includes Father and Corey's friends. But it didn't work; I suppose shiny bells don't have the right insulation to block out that much noise. "Oh I wouldn't dance with another, Oooooh! When I saw her standing there..." Hey, there's a thought. Maybe she'll dance with me. Of course, we couldn't dance normally, as my wings were clipped, but maybe the way humans did it... I saw it on television a few times. It didn't look so hard. I walked up to my lady friend (well, I'd like to call her friend), and fancied she was more beautiful than ever (actually, she looked the same as always... but she was still beautiful). "Excuse me," I said awkwardly, "Would you like to dance?" There was no reply. I sighed to myself. Another idea shot to pieces. I went back to sticking my head under the bell, this time from embarrassment. The food must have started smelling really good to humans, as the cry of "Pancakes!" was heard from upstairs. Next came the pounding of feet, and then Corey was once again upon us. "Good morning Nana may I have some pancakes please?" he asked her in one breath while grabbing a seat at the table. "Certainly, young man," Nana replied as she pushed a plate of human food in front of the boy. "Eat up before they get cold!" And eat he did. Corey devoured the pancakes like I devour seed after getting no new food for a week. And Nana kept the food coming, the music kept playing (loudly), and I hopped back onto the swing and started chewing on the wood. "So, where's your father?" Nana asked Corey. "Mnmumph," Corey responded. He finished chewing, swallowed, and tried again. "He has early work." "Oh, that's right!" Nana said to herself. "Early work on Friday mornings... I forgot about that." She flipped another pancake onto a plate and took it with her to the table. "And what about you, young man?" "Um... I'm gonna be picked up by the bus in ten minutes." Corey finished inhaling the pancakes and grabbed his book bag. He then ran down the hall to the front door, where I assume he puts on his going- outside clothes. The slamming of the door marked his passing. Nana proceeded to eat her pancakes silently. I was relieved for the relative silence; a quiet Nana and horrible noise was better than a singing Nana and horrible noise. Heartened, I began my exercises. Jump to the bars, back to the perch. Jump to the bars, back to the swing... I became so involved with my exercising (and trying to show off for my roommate) that I almost missed what Nana said. "Well, Richie, it looks like it's just us for today." I froze. So she doesn't leave? It was going to be a long day. But somehow I survived that day. And the next, and the next, and the next. Nana really did live with me, more so than any of the other family members. She slept in my room, she ate on the other side of the halfwall, and she didn't have work or school to take her away. She was a companion of sorts--a loud, rude companion--but a companion nonetheless. Now I don't know about humans, but parakeets fall in love with the predictable. We hate having our cages moved. We don't like being around people we don't know. About the only unpredictable thing I'd approve of is my roommate actually responding to me. And as soon as I knew Nana... well... I started to like her. Sure, I hated her music and her loudness, but eventually I got used to that (I suppose my hearing started to go, too). She didn't put that nasty vitamin stuff in my water, and she wore shiny jewelry. Lots and lots of shinies, which were always good. Of course, with humans being the fickle, unpredictable creatures they are, it couldn't last. It happened like this: one day, Nana was here. The next, she was gone. And nothing has been the same since. It happened a year or so after she first arrived. We were listening to Nana's abnormally loud music, and I was trying to serenade my roommate by singing along with the song. Nana was changing my food. She almost reached my cage when she fell to the floor. She started convulsing, and her face was twisted in a mask of pain. I squawked nonstop and jumped from one perch to another, making as much noise as I possibly could, but I don't believe anyone was home, and if they were they probably couldn't hear me over the music anyway. Nana stopped ten minutes later. Fortunately, the door to the garage opened about fifteen minutes after that. Mother was home. She took one look at Nana and screamed, rushing to the phone on the halfwall and dialing rapidly. "Hello? We have an emergency at 497 Greenwood Lane. I don't know! I came home and she's on the floor and oh God... yes. Yes, I think she is. Okay." Then Mother did something unprecedented: she slumped against the halfwall and cried. I don't think I ever heard someone say "Oh God" so many times in a row before. The doorbell rang a short time later, and Mother answered it quickly. A few strange people in white jackets ran in and placed Nana on a stretcher, talking rapidly among themselves and Mother, who was hysterical at that point. Then they ran out to who knows where, taking Nana and Mother with them. It certainly was an interesting turn of events. Very different, just like when Nana came to live with us. I didn't like it. And I told my roommate as much while I munched on some seeds. I couldn't drink any water, of course, as it was decorating the carpet. Thirsty as I may be, I had to wait. Mother and Corey returned very, very late that night. Corey was crying uncontrollably, and Mother was trying to comfort him. I chirped my greetings, and was curious as to what happened to Nana (as it was obvious nothing happened to Mother), but they ignored me and went straight upstairs. "This is terrible," I said to my roommate as I looked forlornly at the half-spilled water dish lying on the floor. There was no reply, but I didn't care. I was thirsty. Father came back the next morning, waking me from an uneasy night's rest. I chirped a hello. "Hey, Richie," he said halfheartedly as he walked over to the cage. In doing so he managed to step on my water dish. "So you're thirsty, eh?" He picked up my dish, filled it with water, and set it back in my cage. I hopped down to the dish as Father walked away... probably to go upstairs. Taking a sip, I blanched. It was terrible! Quick inspection showed why: the water dish wasn't washed, just filled. There was slimy stuff lining the sides. Also, Father forgot to pour out the old water, so some of it was stagnant. Still, I was desperately thirsty so I drank my fill (which must have been half the dish). The next few months passed slowly and painfully. I'm still not sure what exactly happened to Nana; nobody ever tells me anything around here. But I suppose she's still alive; Mother and Father alternate Mondays and Thursdays of visiting her. Nobody cleaned my cage since she left so it fell into a state of neglect. Also, they were forgetting to change my food and water, which was most annoying. It was too quiet. Uncomfortably so. Corey doesn't watch television as often, Nana doesn't play her insanely loud music. And the scenery's changed: Nana's bed was folded back into the couch; her things were cleared away from the room. All of this change was terrible to watch. And my roommate still wouldn't respond to me! But gradually the rest of the family got used to life without Nana, and I suppose I did, too. My cage was cleaned. I rejoiced. That brings me to the present, when everything's going to change again. Corey brought up the idea with Father: why not get another parakeet and name it Rachel, after Nana? Now, I don't understand why someone would be named after someone who had a different name than they did, but who am I to complain? Father approved, Mother approved, end of story. They're getting her right now. I can hardly contain my excitement! I've waited for this day for so long, and it's finally arrived! At last, there will be someone who will respond to my advances, who will talk to me! And maybe she'll be able to coax my current roommate into action. Competition does that to people. The garage door's opening. "They're here, they're here!" I chirp happily as I hop from foot to foot. The door to the garage opens, and Mother, Father, and Corey walk in. Corey's carrying a green box with holes in the top. "Here we are." Corey opens the box and pulls the parakeet out, placing it on the lowest perch. "Now be nice. Don't scare Rachel," he says to me sternly. I almost laugh. Me, scare someone? "Hello," I say to the newcomer. It has white and pale blue plumage; pink would have been more appropriate, but I've never heard of a pink parakeet. Then again, I don't get out much. But something doesn't seem right... "Hi," it replies. Then everything connects. The body language, the feather arrangements, the voice, the way it looks at my roommate. It's male. I hate change.