Forthy's Burden

The bird's voice, amazingly human-like, but way too loud, filled the studio apartment with a cacophony of words that Jim Forthy did not understand but whose volume had sent him to the edge of a severe headache.

The creature, an African gray parrot, was screaming words in Swahili and French and would not stop. Forthy, a young man of mild, but unambitious disposition, had begun seriously entertaining bird recipe thoughts. The parrot, with the packet of literature that came with it, was described as “an unsurpassed talker.” That was manifestly evident from the moment Aunt Bertha Smythe, nee, Forthy, had presented her nephew with what she considered a grand present, which also involved considerable difficulties at the airport. Aunt Forthy had returned from Kenya with the gift for a young man she considered in need of a hobby. That last thing Forthy thought he needed was a hobby even if his parent thought of him as a Young Man Without a Plan.

Aunt Bertha had once given him a cat, a Chartuex cat, when she returned from Paris. Forthy did not like cats; he thought they were snobbish and their fur made his left eye swell shut on occasion. But Aunt Bertha was a flamboyant, Auntie Mame sort, and Forthy had been warned to behave and tolerate her mannerisms because she was lonely and adored him.

Plus Auntie had the task of passing through US Customs upon her return from Africa with the bird, an ordeal multiplied by a suspicion that she might be transporting an animal protected by the Endangered Species Act. That suspicion required her to sit in a detainment room at the airport while the Transport Safety Administration called the Nairobi store where Aunt Bertha had purchased the bird to see if Kenya required an exit permit, which it did not because the bird was not protected under Kenyan law. The animal was intended as a Christmas present for Forthy but no one in US Customs could figure out why it kept squawking “Happy Fourth, Happy Fourth,” which is not an African holiday, in addition to words like “hujambo (hello in Swahili)” and “bonjour (hello in French.”

“Darling,” Aunt Bertha had said. “I'm told by the bird people that parrots make great pets, but there are certain rules that must be followed. First you should not use the cage cover except at night, otherwise it will make the bird nervous.”

So it sat in Forthy's cramped studio apartment in a cage that he covered with a blanket, against orders, but that was supposed to quiet the animal. It did not and the bird, besides being loquacious, was smart and adept at pulling the blanket off the cage with its beak. “Happy Fourth, Happy Fourth,” said the bird, over and over, until Forthy left for the corner tap and a beer glass that would be refilled many times before the afternoon became night.

The cat had been taken to the local Humane Society Center with the excuse that Forthy's allergy could not tolerate cat fur, and Aunt Bertha understood. But the bird was another matter. Forthy's eyes were not bothered by the bird's feathers, but his ears were assaulted by the noise of “an unsurpassed talker,” and he had no idea of what to do with the animal except feed it seeds that could be purchased at a pet store, and keep it watered, Forthy thought, like a lawn in danger of going brown.

The information packet included basic instructions for keeping a parrot, and Forthy learned, to his surprise, that parrots are quite sensitive animals that understand human body language and tend to be nervous when they perceive a threat. The African gray parrot also is especially good at mimicking the human voice, and a number of other sounds, like fire alarms, phones, and noises that most people don't notice because they are so common, like that of traffic.

But Forthy's bird seemed equipped with a special mimicking skill that included repeating the “F” word, at high volume because that's how loud Forthy was during the initial getting-to-know-you phase. And so in addition to “Happy Fourth,” the bird repeatedly began to scream “Shut the fuck up,” which would send Forthy back to the corner tavern to mull his and the bird's future. The bird, meanwhile, had learned a couple new phrases that included “You little bastard,” and “I'm gonna strangle you.”

And then, between the fifth and sixth beers, a brilliant idea surfaced. He called Aunt Bertha and told her of a new problem:

“Auntie, I'm being forced to sign a new lease on the apartment,” he said. “As of this Dec. 31, the tenants no longer can keep animal pets, unless they are something like service dogs. I'll have to part with the bird, as much as I hate the idea. What can I do?”

Aunt Bertha thought for a bit and then suggested Forthy bring the bird to “Feathered Friends and Others,” a shop in her neighborhood that catered to animals that had to be offered for adoption. Forthy thought that was a great idea and he soon was on his way with the parrot.

The shop was long and narrow and featured all sorts of cages and aquariums and little kennels.

“I'm told you will take in birds that can't find a home,” said Forthy as he entered the store, walked its length and stood in front of the older woman at the counter.

“Yes,” she said. “I see you have a parrot. We get a lot of parrots. Why are you bringing it here?”

“My lease has changed and I can no longer have it in my apartment. I'm sorry. I was really enjoying it.” And he set the cage down on the larger counter, along with a half-box of bird seed, and the shop owner began to fill out a transfer form for Forthy to sign. When it was finished, Forthy thanked the woman several times and said goodbye to the bird, which had been strangely silent throughout the transfer, which worried Forthy because of the potential for a language outburst, but also surprised him because it had never been quiet while it was in his possession, and he hurried toward the front door with a feeling of relief.

As he opened it and took his first step to freedom he heard the woman say “Hello,” to the bird, and he heard the bird's answer:

“Shut the fuck up you little bastard.”