Batty Brooks

"Are you going to write more stories about your crazy bird?" I was asked. Do you want to read more about a small bundle of feathers I had to ask in return. I thought I was done with the escapades of our batty bird. "Oh yeah, she's so funny!" Humourous she may be - for the most part after the fact.

Like the evening I came home to find the house quiet and her cage covered up with towels. Uh Oh! Now what? M shows me Brook's latest signature marks: this time on the back of his neck. One is a real doozy. Her best one to date. It looks sore and red.

If you like to live dangerously, walk into the room with a bunch of grapes in your hand when Brooks has full flight. "Honey," I say, my voice as even-toned as possible, "I've told you not to eat anything when Brooks is out her cage. She's not like a dog or a cat. She won't obediently sit and watch while you eat." Nope, not Brooks. She wants what you have and she'll come and get it. Ready or not.

At least she fights fair. Brooks is no stealth bomber. In attack mode, she whips across the room at fighter jet speed. She lets you know she's coming with intimidating high pitched screeches. You are warned: drop it, hide it, or suffer the consequences.

Kleenexes (tissues) are a personal pet hate of hers. She's game to chase one whenever she spies it in your hand. We use them to clean up after her when she's out her cage. It's become a game to see how much we can fool her and clean up without her seeing what we are doing. M and I pass the kleenexes between us as stealthily as any drug deal on the street. But Brooks is no bird brain. She's smart and often catches us out.

Recently, I cottoned on how to get Brooks to move off the window screen in our sunroom. The floor was still wet from M washing it and I didn't want to cross it. I pulled a scrunched up kleenex out of my pocket and called, "Brooks, look what I have." True to form, our green dynamo with blue racing stripes, left her perch and screeched across the room after the offending kleenex. Swiftly, I hid it again in my pocket. Mission accomplished: Brooks was on my head and off the window screen.

Game and set to Brenda!
Match?