Heavenly Beverley : Macho Michael and the Pirate Parrot.

Tuesday 10 May 2016

Macho Michael and the Pirate Parrot.

Today, the task could be put off no longer. The Pirate Parrot's cage had deteriorated from mildly offensive to truly awful. I had no idea that one smallish bird could produce so much pooh.

Cleaning Red's cage involves removing him from the safety of this space and perching him on Michael's shoulder. We had the added excitement of an extra dog in the house. Muddy was really quite transparent. I caught him eyeing off the bird and licking his lips a number of times. Talk about pressure.

With him firmly attached to Michael's tee shirt, I began to open the front door to take out the revolting cage to be cleaned. The bloody bird had a rush of blood and attempted a bolt to freedom. With screams of "Shut the door" ringing in my ears, the cage was unceremoniously dropped and the door slammed. Searching for the little sod, I found him innocently sitting in my washing basket. On my clean washing. Muttering threats of a possible demise - "next time, I'll feed you to Muddy" - I invited him onto my shoulder and thence back to Michael sitting at the table.

Take two. Success. I managed to remove myself and the cage from the house. Setting up my accustomed stack of milk crates, I prepared to declare a war of cleanliness on the interior of the cage.

Remove sodden paper from cage tray. Check. Balance tray in a fork of the pepper tree and blast with the hose. Check. Retrieve tray from halfway across the garden due to the force of water. Check. Systemically aim full volume of water on the bottom of the cage and the accompanying metal shelf. Check. Fail to notice squirt of water ricocheting straight towards my glasses. Check. Wish for windscreen wipers for my glasses yet again. Check. Hose and hose and hose and hose until most of the nasty stuff had been removed from the cage. Check. Realise I have nothing to wipe the cage dry. Check. Leave thongs on the bottom step to enter the house and stand on a double gee...

After a few choice words, I strode into the kitchen, tore off a ream of paper towel and exited again. Michael and the bird were both watching me whilst I was inside. They appeared to be having a very pleasant tete a tete. I returned to finish the job and get the cage back in its rightful position.

Surprisingly, there were no further injuries. His cage back in the laundry, fresh food and water in his dishes and his bell reattached to the top, Michael returned Red to his home. Without a single squawk of thanks, he retired inside and immediately started munching out of his seed bowl.

I think Michael and Red may have set up some sort of Secret Men's Business in my absence. Either that or Red has realised he is living in the asylum. If looks could talk...