PET TALES

Meet my new friend.

He's bright green with

a splotch of crimson on

his head. Oh, and did I

forget the fella has a sleek

tail?

If you guessed a colorful character from

Saturday Night Live - well you got one

part right.

I met this little guy last weekend at the

Charlotte County Animal Shelter in Port

Charlotte. Someone had found the feathery

pal in their backyard and had turned it into

the shelter.

For a few minutes the parrot and I eyed

each other with curiosity. A moment later

after I apparently checked out OK, the

hook billed critter began playing with his

toys that were tethered in his large cage.

He captivated me with his acrobatics

and mischief as he lunged at a wooden

donut. But that's parrots for you.

Many of the tropical birds can talk and

even carry on a lively conversation - hey

it's more than we can sometimes say about

some of the human species.

It's because of these enchanting ways I

cannot forget my first pet bird. It's been

more than 20 years, and still the memory of

Perky, a feisty little parrot, has not faded.

Perky died suddenly on an otherwise

sunny April 3 in the mid-1980s after he flew

into a mirror and hemorrhaged.

But that is not how this bold bird-spirit

would want to be remembered.

Perky was a Halfmoon Conure, or for

the less than parrot savvy, a dwarf parrot. He was given to me and my siblings as a

holiday present when we were kids, a gift

that would long surpass the Atari game

system and other funky toys we got while

growing up.

We could watch Perky for hours and

never tire. His outrageous antics and love

of flying endeared us. I used to marvel

at how this bright green, pint-sized bird

would strut around his playpen, climbing

rows of little wooden ladders effortlessly.

But our favorite thing about Perky was

his devotion to being free. We would watch

in awe as this tiny green being would step

into form and just slip into the air. This

was Perky's consummate love - a love

that surpassed his favorite treats and even

getting scratched on his head - a love that

would ultimately take his life.

Unfortunately, my siblings and I encouraged

Perky's love affair with taking to wing,

against our parents wishes. We would hold

out our arms and act like mobile landing

pads for our intrepid flyer.

We took great joy in watching him

swoop and soar, feats that in our young

minds we knew we would never be able

to do. So we lived though Perky's jaunts

through the house.

And he was a bird watcher too.

Perky's favorite place to hang out was

atop a high curtain rod in the family room.

He would perch there for hours watching

the wild and totally free birds outside

glide along the sky. Sometimes other birds

would fly over to the window and look at

him, which would always freak out our

domesticated little guy.

On several occasions Perky would take

his flying liberties a bit too far for my dad's taste. My father would find him sitting on

top of the curtain rod and tell him it was

time to go into his cage. My dad would

approach Perky with his finger extended

to let him perch. But instead of jumping

aboard the finger express, Perky would

get a glint of mischief in his little parrot

eyes and take off. My father, getting visibly

miffed, would walk over to wherever

Perky landed and try to collect him. But

once again Perky would zoom off in another

direction.

Then my father would give him the look

- the same look he would give us when

we pushed things too far. Now Perky knew

he was in the soup and would gingerly hop

on top of my Dad's hand.

But all of these shenanigans came to an

abrupt end when Perky one day flew into

a bathroom mirror. To this day we don't

know why he took that tragic flight. But we

surmise he thought he saw one of his own

feathered friends and wanted to say hello.

So a day after his clash with the mirror

we found him bleeding and huddled up, a

ball of soft green feathers on the bottom

of his cage. It was too late to get him any

medical help. My dad, who worked 50

miles away, raced home but by the time he

got there all he could do was hold us.

We had lost our beloved Perky.

Oddly enough, Perky's favorite song was

"Fame." He used to bob and sing every

time it went on the radio. The lyrics said

in part, "I'm going to live forever... Baby

remember my name."

And though he is buried in our old childhood

backyard, beneath the very window

he used to love to perch above - his spirit

has moved on with all of us.