Denise and I had been finger training our young pet budgerigar, Scooter, for several weeks. Now he stepped onto the proffered fingers quickly and confidently. Such is trust. And it was a thrill to feel his little warm feet gripping our outstretched fingers.
But now the time had come to take him out of the cage on the finger and introduce him to the little playpen of toys we had made for him and to the wider world of the house.
After he had hopped onto my finger I very slowly withdrew my hand towards and then out the cage door. So far so good.
Then a sudden bang from the neighbour’s yard spooked him and he took off in a panic, flying back and forth across the kitchen and into the lounge, crashing into windows, curtains and furniture. We crouched down so as not to impede his flight and waited until he was still.
But where was he? We were fairly sure he’d last headed towards the kitchen window and fallen onto the sink. But we couldn’t see him there among the dirty dishes. We searched everywhere in the kitchen and the lounge – on top of cupboards, behind the stove, under the table, on chairs, behind and under the lounge, behind curtains and blinds and behind and in bookcases – all without success. We’d just have to wait until he decided to reappear or made a noise. But the cat would have to stay out, obviously.
We decided to get on with our chores and returned to the kitchen sink to do the dishes. As I picked up the vacuum flask from our picnic lunch to rinse it out I heard a slight fluttery noise. I looked inside and there was Scooter at the bottom of the flask, ankle deep in coffee dregs.
I upended the flask. Nothing happened – other than the coffee dregs pouring out. I gave the flask a little shake and then a more vigorous one. Still no budgie came out. He must have been hanging on for dear life. Or maybe he was stuck. I laid the flask down on its side and we waited, hoping he’d walk out, unsure what else to do if this didn’t work. Eventually a very bedraggled and sad looking Scooter appeared.
Denise offered him her finger and he climbed aboard to be carried back to his cage. Once in the cage he retreated to the furthermost perch and very pointedly turned his back on us. Such is disdain.
Burnside Writers Group 