The new bird

Forty-seven, I thought. I'm forty-seven years old and I have no business being up in a cedar tree on a Sunday afternoon trying to flush a stray cockatiel out of it. But my daughter was distraught, all the other people trying to coax the bird down had left, and there was just this cedar tree standing between us and the bird.

I hauled myself up there (quite gracefully, under the circumstances) and reached toward the bird, who very sensibly flew away. I got back down without ruining my shoes, and consoled my daughter. The bird was gone. We'd done all we could. Maybe his owners would find him. We started to drive away, and a Helpful Young Man in a car stopped to tell us that the bird had flown to a soccer net across the field. We drove over, and sure enough, he'd flown about a hundred yards and was roosting on the net, this time at ground level. A few minutes later, he was wrapped snugly in a spare sweatshirt I had, and was grinding my finger in his beak. I extracted the finger without blood-letting, either his or mine, and we installed him in a canvas bag I had in the car (and this is why you shouldn't clean out your car very often. How do you know what you'll need that day?)

A stop by the pet store for Nutriberries, and a stop by the clinic to set him up in the incubator, and we were off to the hockey game. The next day I posted him on spca.org and checked with the closest bird store and Farmers Branch animal control, and nothing came up. We named him Beanie, after the play we'd been to see on the Brookhaven campus where we found him. This may change, since, let's admit it, Beanie is an awful name.

So help us name the bird! He's a boy, and a good flyer until I clipped his wings. He hasn't bitten seriously since I caught him, so I think he'll be a pretty good pet. He's not too freaked out by small dogs and a certain cat, who do think he's fascinating and would love for him to come out and play.

And, yes, that is a brand new cage and perch and food and dish and toy. Why do you ask?