It happened a little after eight o'clock on that fateful Tuesday. My
girlfriend and I were sitting on our couch watching TV and relaxing
while my trusted African Grey Parrot, Ziggy watched along with us,
squawking happily.
It wasn't until I heard Ziggy say, "I love you, Gary," that I noticed something was amiss.
I looked at Ziggy and asked, "What did you say?"
"I love you, Gary," he repeated.
"It's Terry, Ziggy. My name is Terry. What's wrong with you?"
Ziggy rolled his eyes. I'd raised him from a chick over 8 years ago, and lately he'd taken to calling me Gary. I looked over at Becky, who was caught up in American Idol.
"Did you hear what Ziggy just called me? He called me Gary."
"Oh," was her reply. The fact didn't seem to bump her at all.
But something was fishy. Gary was the name of one of Becky's coworkers she'd been spending a lot of time with lately.
"Gary's the name of that friend of yours from your office, right?" I asked her.
"Yep," she said, her eyes never leaving the image of Simon Cowell.
"Doesn't it seem strange that this bird is saying, 'I love you Gary' instead of, 'I love you Terry?'"
"I guess."
I went over to Ziggy and looked at him a moment.
"Tell me everything, Ziggy," I asked, stroking his feathers lovingly. But he'd already gone dumb and was trying to look around me. One of his favorite contestants was back on, and I was blocking his view. "Tell me what you know, and I'll let you watch the end of the show."
Ziggy looked uncomfortable and ruffled his feathers. I wasn't moving. Ziggy wasn't blinking. The contestants sang on and the bird was becoming more and more irritated with every passing moment.
"Move," Ziggy said.
"No," I replied.
I tried to stay far enough away so that if he lashed out, I could evade his razor sharp beak. But I was going to get to the bottom of this.
Was Becky having an affair with Gary and the only clue available was locked away in my own parrot? If so, I needed to find out now, before my relationship with her went any further.
Now my African Grey was bobbing, a sure sign of irritation, but I wasn't going to let him have his way.
"Out of the way, meathead!" he squawked.
"Forget it, I'm not going anywhere." I grabbed him gently around the throat. "Tell me."
He looked at me with a sidelong glance and then began to feign a heart attack and calling out, "I'm coming to join you, Elizabeth!" Which was something he'd seen Red Foxx do countless times on reruns of Sanford and Son.
Only this time he actually fell to the floor. I rushed down to him.
"Ziggy! Are you alright? Can you hear me, Ziggy?!"
He opened one weary eye.
"I'm not well, Gary. Not well at all."
"It's okay, Ziggy. Don't worry. Dammit, Becky, get the medicine kit!" I called out to get her moving. Becky finally took her eyes off the TV, yelled out, "Oh my gosh," and rushed away.
Ziggy's eye closed and then opened a bit. He struggled to open his beak.
"Becky... Becky..." he fought to pronounce the words.
"Yes?"
"...and Gary," he sputtered.
"Yes!?" Now my ears were ringing from the sound of blood rushing to them.
"Are having..."
"YES?"
"Are having..."
"OUT WITH IT!!!" I could contain myself no longer. That cheating two-timer!
"Your surprise birthday party this Friday at the Acapulco Restaurant."
And then he closed his eyes. And was gone.
Becky rushed into the room with a glass of water and an aspirin and just looked at me.
I looked back at her.
And thought for a moment about all the work she'd been doing for my birthday.
And how she and that rotten Gary killed my parrot.
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It wasn't until I heard Ziggy say, "I love you, Gary," that I noticed something was amiss.
I looked at Ziggy and asked, "What did you say?"
"I love you, Gary," he repeated.
"It's Terry, Ziggy. My name is Terry. What's wrong with you?"
Ziggy rolled his eyes. I'd raised him from a chick over 8 years ago, and lately he'd taken to calling me Gary. I looked over at Becky, who was caught up in American Idol.
"Did you hear what Ziggy just called me? He called me Gary."
"Oh," was her reply. The fact didn't seem to bump her at all.
But something was fishy. Gary was the name of one of Becky's coworkers she'd been spending a lot of time with lately.
"Gary's the name of that friend of yours from your office, right?" I asked her.
"Yep," she said, her eyes never leaving the image of Simon Cowell.
"Doesn't it seem strange that this bird is saying, 'I love you Gary' instead of, 'I love you Terry?'"
"I guess."
I went over to Ziggy and looked at him a moment.
"Tell me everything, Ziggy," I asked, stroking his feathers lovingly. But he'd already gone dumb and was trying to look around me. One of his favorite contestants was back on, and I was blocking his view. "Tell me what you know, and I'll let you watch the end of the show."
Ziggy looked uncomfortable and ruffled his feathers. I wasn't moving. Ziggy wasn't blinking. The contestants sang on and the bird was becoming more and more irritated with every passing moment.
"Move," Ziggy said.
"No," I replied.
I tried to stay far enough away so that if he lashed out, I could evade his razor sharp beak. But I was going to get to the bottom of this.
Was Becky having an affair with Gary and the only clue available was locked away in my own parrot? If so, I needed to find out now, before my relationship with her went any further.
Now my African Grey was bobbing, a sure sign of irritation, but I wasn't going to let him have his way.
"Out of the way, meathead!" he squawked.
"Forget it, I'm not going anywhere." I grabbed him gently around the throat. "Tell me."
He looked at me with a sidelong glance and then began to feign a heart attack and calling out, "I'm coming to join you, Elizabeth!" Which was something he'd seen Red Foxx do countless times on reruns of Sanford and Son.
Only this time he actually fell to the floor. I rushed down to him.
"Ziggy! Are you alright? Can you hear me, Ziggy?!"
He opened one weary eye.
"I'm not well, Gary. Not well at all."
"It's okay, Ziggy. Don't worry. Dammit, Becky, get the medicine kit!" I called out to get her moving. Becky finally took her eyes off the TV, yelled out, "Oh my gosh," and rushed away.
Ziggy's eye closed and then opened a bit. He struggled to open his beak.
"Becky... Becky..." he fought to pronounce the words.
"Yes?"
"...and Gary," he sputtered.
"Yes!?" Now my ears were ringing from the sound of blood rushing to them.
"Are having..."
"YES?"
"Are having..."
"OUT WITH IT!!!" I could contain myself no longer. That cheating two-timer!
"Your surprise birthday party this Friday at the Acapulco Restaurant."
And then he closed his eyes. And was gone.
Becky rushed into the room with a glass of water and an aspirin and just looked at me.
I looked back at her.
And thought for a moment about all the work she'd been doing for my birthday.
And how she and that rotten Gary killed my parrot.
__________________________________________________
APRIL FOOLS INFO
If you think everything in this newsletter is absolutely false, congratulations. We thought you might enjoy an April Fool's Day treat. We hope to heck we're right.
__________________________________________________
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