If Walls Could Talk, Part Eight: Dicky Bird

If our dining room walls in the farmhouse could talk, they could tell you about the only pet I had that I considered mine.  How I came to have him is an unusual story.

One Sunday afternoon my brothers and I were sitting on our front lawn near the tall twin pine trees, enjoying the beautiful day and eating popcorn.  Suddenly, I was mightily startled as a small bird flew onto my shoulder and seemed to beg for some popcorn.  My startled reaction soon gave way to delight as I saw a beautiful blue parakeet perched, unafraid, on my shoulder!  I was able to grasp him gently with my right hand and carry him into the house, calling out for Mom and Dad to come see what I had.

Don't you know, they found a pale yellow bird cage with a stand in the attic of that old farmhouse, and we put Dicky Bird inside.  That's what I named him, because it just seemed to fit.  We gave him water, but I'm not sure what we fed him until we could buy some parakeet food.  A likely scenario would be that Grandma Ollie gave us some because she already had a parakeet.

I loved my little pet and was enamored with him, especially because of the way he had chosen me to perch upon when he flew in from parts unknown.  Mom and Dad said we had to put a notice in the Meyersdale paper asking if anyone had lost a parakeet, and they included our address and phone number.  (I remember part of that phone number on the farm: it was MEcury 634-???. We always dialed the "ME" and then the phone number of the one we were calling in the area. I guess the phone company assigned words back then instead of having all digits like we do now.)

Oh how I hoped nobody would call and claim my Dicky Bird!  Visitors and dinner guests would exclaim over him, and he always gave me a good story to tell -- how he just miraculously appeared and flew onto my shoulder.  That always "wowed" them. : o)   Miraculously, nobody ever claimed him!

He was such a good bird, and he was mine.  I considered him a little love token from Heaven just for me, kind of like when the Holy Spirit descended on Jesus's shoulder at His baptism. I know it must have been a childish idea, but remembering that thought touches a special place in my heart. Thank-you, Jesus, for Dicky Bird.

My joy turned to sorrow one morning that winter when I came downstairs and found Dicky Bird dead in his pale yellow cage.  Mom said it was positioned too close to the radiator.  Poor Dicky Bird.  I don't remember where we buried him.  The blue painted board dining room walls cried too.

Copyright © 2012 Elaine Beachy