A Parrot Trail

Snickers is a double Yellow Scarlet Macaw. He is the first in line to start things, and the last to leave. He prefers stuffed toys to throw around, and has a nice collection on top of his cage for tossing. His vocabulary is as huge as his attitude, both of which he created on his own.

A Parrot Trail

There's a trail at least. That will help. You know, I didn't get up this morning thinking I'd loose one. In fact, this is the first time I have lost one. Normally they are loud and easy to spot. Not this morning.

It's a good thing I made coffee before I opened up this missing can of worms. The room is quiet except for the sounds of beaks in bowls humming and munching. Of course the cockatiels are chattering while hanging on the front of their flight cage acting as though they will explode if I do not open that door.

Wow, this coffee tastes good. Whoa, I really need to mop this floor. Why is there bird poop up there? Who went up THERE?! The problem with following a trail in this house is you find other trails. Like this housekeeping needs to be done trail. I can't look at this, I avert my eyes and continue on.

There's only 1600 square feet down here, he's got to be somewhere. The trail of toys and toy shrapnel at my feet takes a turn into my office. Wait. I'm out of coffee.

I turn left into the kitchen. What's another 3 minutes of missing macaw anyway? Butters bursts through the pass through and lands on my head. Her upside down face is at my eye level, "Gimmekiss!"

She doesn't care Snickers is MIA. Why should she, that's more head space for her. We exchange complimentary kissies and go on our expedition together, coffee in hand and bird on head. Sometimes when Butters is on my head it feels like she's trying to steer me with my hair. I have reigns of hair and she's busy trying to get me to the dining room chandelier I think.

"You know you can fly Butters." I say out loud.

I ignore her steering and go back to the trail in the office.

'COME'RE!" Butters calls out for her partner in crime. I keep on the trail. She works on getting me to go right again for the chandelier. Kirby swoops in and lands on my forearm. He looks at me as if to say, "I see you left me out of the fun. Not cool."

The trail is going cold, and the posse is growing. Felix is on his tent mumbling about it being alright, and wanting popcorn; which he has in his mouth. I'll have to figure that out later.

"Snickerdoodle?" I offer inquisitive calls, trying to sound fun and ready for play. Snickers prefers a good reason to show up most of the time.

"Snickerdoodle...where ARE you!?"

The posse rounds through the open pocket door into the dining room. Score. Butters hops off and onto the kitchen island, the dog biscuit bag is under there and she knows it. Butters doesn't care about the biscuits as much as taking out the biscuits and throwing them around. They are projectiles. Kirby takes flight having been donked in the head with a biscuit before. The dogs show up FAST sliding on the hardwood floors taking position to catch projectile biscuits. If I just stand here, I could charge admission to this circus. But the trail is cold here, and I'm on a mission.

It's just me and my coffee again. Then I hear my trail get warm. A big Snickers laugh, a thud and Snickers yelling "Stop it Snickers!"

He's upstairs. He's in the Master Bedroom, alone. I take double stair steps up and take a hard right and there he is, on the bed laying on his back with my hair brush. The hairbrush has insulted him it seems. He is punishing it with grand and mighty slams against the pillow. Well I'm glad that's solved. I lean against the wall and watch this circus act while finishing my coffee. Snickers finishing his wrestling match about the time I finish my cup. He steps up with a laugh.

I hear a thud and a bark and a laughing macaw downstairs.

Which is fine, I need more coffee anyway

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