Cacophony of life

So many voices trying to get a word in edgewise.

Cacophony of life

 Our neighbors are having carpet installed. The installers are using their driveway as a cutting location. Works great for them. Butters is appalled. She can see all their doings through the front window. All their doings!
 Two men yanked a roll of carpet out of the back of their van and it landed with a percussion that reverbed inside our house. Which set off the Butters Turtle Alarm. Her parrot brain couldn't corollate or categorize the thing that landed across the street. It deftly chose "Turtle", and hit playback. Which set off a Hound outside in the backyard, and his I'm Barking At Anything I Don't See Alarm. Which insulted a Felix who took laser beam shots at Butters. Butters did not die. That caused a Snickers to rocket off his roost branch, chase Butters to another location and shout, "STOP!"
 I've pulled the blind so the view no longer exists. Butters knows what I've pulled and she's moved to another spot, that, if she perches just right, leans just right, tilts her head just, right, she can see a portion of that carpet installation driveway. She's growling. Insulted. Threatening all kinds of eardrum violence to all inside her 120 decibel alarm system range.
 Not to be outdone by carpet installers, the garbage man is working our street. There's a precise squeal then squeak when his apparatus lifts a can to dump onto the truck's head. Which isn't mechanical speak, but that's what it looks like. A drunk truck with an arm dumping garbage on it's own head. Felix admires this squeal/squeak and has honed in on it's wavelength and decibel. You only know it's the real drunk garbage truck on Monday or Thursday. Otherwise your eardrums are bleeding because of you know who.
 My purse's zipper has a distinct frequency Felix relishes. If I open a certain drawer, he knows I'm pulling my purse out. "Time to go byebye!"
 "Yes, Felix. I gotta go."
 "Byebye. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzIP!"
 "Not yet, Felix. Soon."
 "BYE. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzIP!"
 "Felix not yet I ..."
 "zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzIIIIIIIPP!"
 My keys jangling pull in two dogs wanting walks, because keys mean walks. Sometimes. Parrots understand the idea of sometimes. Dogs do not. Dog brains decided long ago that it's much easier to pocket all things into all the time. No need to think on the matter. Just be ready. React for all contingencies at all times. It gets messy. But the odds are good a dog could be right. About something. Sometimes.
 Parrots know better. Parrots see every sometime as a negotiation moment to further the training of their human. We all wake up to the fact sooner or later. Clicker training is just us fussing about with a widget. It keeps us busy and out of the way of that treat. Treats come faster when there's a clicker involved. They know it.
If you've a room of parrots, sometimes becomes a covert glance to each other for a confirmation moment. I can feel brainwaves pass through my skull while these flighted overlords discuss my weaknesses. I am entering a room where decisions have already been agreed upon, and plan made. No way am I eating any of what I have in my hand with ease. I'll loose half of it before I make it to the couch. Feathered trolls demanding tolls.
When all the groceries are on the counters and I've tucked my purse and keys away the difference between a dog and a parrot is blatant. Dogs run to each bag smelling, stand on the counter sniffing, snorfle my shoes for clues, knock one bag off the table to see what falls out, then sit drooling expecting something. Anything. But something.
 Parrots wait where they perch. They send one of their comrades to latch onto the child gated pass through. Hanging there one parrot telepathically reports back to the others what I am pulling out of bags. If results are poor, said parrot calls out "BOGUS!" And returns to where he or she started.
 The dogs sit tall, drooling. Sometimes, something.
Parrots go back to parroting. Sometimes isn't good enough. Do you even know who you're dealing with?
 

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