Birds Of A Feather

Evening surgery was packed once again. Tristan went to usher in what we hoped was the last patient. A nicely dressed woman followed him in, and awkwardly set a large cage on the exam table.

Darrowby was not exactly the place for exotic pets, so I was surprised to see a large parrot sitting jauntily on it's perch. Tristan, always glad of a change in routine, took an instant interest in the bird.

“What a treat!” said Tristan, setting aside his beloved newspaper. “Does he talk?”

“Hello,” said the parrot, as if in response. Tristan walked over to the cage. “Hello,” said the parrot again, invitingly.

“I'm so sorry you had to wait,” I said to the woman, who seemed rather agitated. “What seems to be the trouble with our friend here?”

“I can see you're very busy here,” she replied, “ and normally, I wouldn't mind, but my husband's very ill, and I've left him alone. I hope this won't take long. I'm Norma Williams, and this my sister's parrot, Sherman. I've agreed to watch him while she's on holiday, and I'm terribly worried about him. He seems to constantly pull at his feathers, and I'm afraid there's something wrong. I'd feel just awful if anything happened to him while he's with me.”

I'd treated other members of the avian community, and I suspected it might be a common case of mites, but there were several maladies particular to parrots which I would have to investigate. That would take some time.

“Mrs. Williams,” I began, “I believe it might be mites or some form of skin irritation, but I'd have to rule out a few other things. Perhaps you'd like to leave Sherman overnight, and we'll give him a thorough going over tomorrow and let you know.”

“Amen,” said the parrot, sotto voce.

“Ah, a Christian parrot!” exclaimed Tristan.

The woman smiled. “Yes, my sister's very devout, although her husband takes a dim view of both religion and Sherman.” She hesitated. “I'm afraid Sherman can be a bit naughty sometimes. He very much enjoys company, and will play little tricks to get attention. He sometimes nips at strangers, as well, so I wish you'd be careful.”

“Oh, that's not exactly rare in our business,” I assured her, “we're quite used to our patients taking a dim view of the proceedings. He'll be fine.” I helped her with her coat. “Give us a ring tomorrow afternoon, and we'll let you know what we've found.”

“Goodbye, Sherman,” she called as she was leaving, but the parrot had fixed his attention on Tristan.

“What a smashing bird!” said Tristan,with delight.

“I hope you won't be answering the phone as Blackbeard the pirate,” said Siegfried, throwing his bag on the table as he came in.

“Hmmm, I hadn't thought of that,” replied Tristan.

“Hello,” said Sherman, entreatingly. Tristan walked over to the cage and extended a finger. Before I could warn him, Sherman had delivered a nice puncture to his finger.

“You bugger!” cried Tristan, jamming his finger in his mouth.

“YOU BUGGER!” screamed Sherman, the feathers on his head and neck fluffing in anger. There was a horrified silence. He gave a savage peck to a rubber donut, tied to the side of his cage, fixed a malevolent eye on Tristan for a moment, then aimed another attack at the donut. See what I'll do to you, he seemed to be saying. He climbed up on his perch and sat, apparently planning his next move. His attention turned to me.

“Hello,” he said, in a quiet voice.

In the meantime, Siegfried was gearing up for one of his usual explosions.

“How many times have I reminded you to keep a civil tongue in your head? I will not have vulgar language used in this house, no matter what the circumstances! YOU...” He suddenly noticed that the parrot was studying him rather closely, and as I watched, a fascinating sight presented itself. Siegfried painfully, almost physically, swallowed down a diatribe. His hands found, and clenched, the edge of the desk; his eyes bulged slightly; his chest heaved; and a sheen of perspiration broke out on his forehead. He shook his head, as though to clear it, threw a helpless look at me, and stormed out of the room. We heard his heavy tread on the stairs, followed by a slamming door. Then there was silence.

“I hope he hasn't had a stroke,” I said, only half kidding. I opened a drawer and took out a heavy pair of canvas gloves and a towel. I often wrapped recalcitrant cats before treating them; why not the parrot?

“Pretty bird,” said Sherman disconsolately. Apparently he had an idea that he was going to lose this battle. I examined his feathers and skin closely. It was indeed mites, which would be easy enough to clear up. I prepared some drops for his drinking water and, keeping his head firmly encircled, exposed his body and gave him a wash with a special solution. I decided then that the only thing sillier looking than a soaking wet cat, is a soaking wet parrot.

I gave him a good blotting with a fresh towel, and returned him to his cage, where he sat fluffing and croaking to himself. Tristan, who'd been relaxing with his feet up on the desk, stretched and stood up.

“I think a small drink and a chat by the fire would do us some good, Jim,” he said, as though exhausted by the day's work. To my surprise, he picked up Sherman's cage, holding it carefully out in front of him.

“Surely you're not bringing him with you!” I found the bird somewhat unnerving, and didn't relish sharing the rest of the evening with him. Besides, I would have thought that the bird's underhanded attack would have put Tristan off.

Tristan gave me a broad smile.

“He's my new talisman, James! He goes where I go. That way, Siegfried will be forced to exchange only pleasantries with me, lest Sherman pick up any nasty vocabulary.”

“You mean, aside from what he's already picked up from you.”

“Oh, I'm sure he's forgotten that,” said Tristan breezily. “They probably have to hear it several times before they really learn it.” I could see wheels turning in his head.

“Tris, please don't teach him anything. Keep him with you, if you must, but don't generate any more trouble than you already have.”

We all spent a relatively quiet evening, punctuated by the occasional word or phrase from Sherman. The bird seemed subdued by his unexpected bath, and was apparently content, as long as one of us paid occasional attention to him. He had tried to lure both Tristan and me with the “hello” routine once or twice, but we merely replied from our chairs and continued reading. He and Siegfried blatantly ignored each other.

The clock struck eleven.

“Well, I think I'll turn in,” said Tristan nonchalantly.

Siegfried peered at him over the top of his glasses. “Rather early night, eh Little Brother? Saving yourself for some all night bender tomorrow, in the company of that ghastly barmaid from the Wheat Sheaf?”

“You know perfectly well I'm on duty tomorrow night. And I wish you wouldn't refer to Beatrice as ghastly. It's quite unfair, and most unchivalrous of you.” He turned to go.

“And take that bloo...take that bird with you.”

“I rather thought I'd leave him down here. After all, he might squawk during the night, and I wouldn't want your sleep interrupted.” He gave his brother a wide, charming smile. I was pretty sure that Tristan was planning to slip out later, and didn't want Sherman raising the alarm upstairs.

Siegfried was studying an article in the Journal. “Yes, yes, alright,” he grunted.

Dimly, I heard the phone ringing. Most of the time, I ended up answering it, because Tristan slept like the dead, and Siegfried absolutely loathed going out at night. It became a waiting game between us; who could stand to lie there, listening to the shrilling of the phone, the longest?

Finally, I heard the heavy thud of Siegfried's feet hitting the floor. Feeling smug, I rolled over and prepared to go back to sleep. By then, I realized that the phone had stopped ringing. That would mean Siegfried would be standing at the bottom of the steps, in bare feet, in the cold hallway, waiting for it to ring again. I pitied the farmer on the other end of the line, who was about to get a dose of Siegfried's waspishness.

But the phone didn't ring, and Siegfried plodded back upstairs. The house settled around us, and all was quiet. I was just drifting off, as the phone rang again.

“Blast!” The bedroom door opened with a crash, and Siegfried thundered down the stairs, at which point the ringing stopped again. Back up the stairs he came, halting briefly at my door. Then I heard the snick of the latch on Tristan's door. Siegfried was no doubt planning on waking his brother by sneaking in, and either bellowing in his ear, or dousing him with water from the nightstand. Strangely, I didn't hear anything further.

The phone rang again, followed by a stream of whispered, colorful language from Siegfried. By this time, I was already wide awake, so I threw on a robe and made my way downstairs. The ringing had stopped almost immediately, and Siegfried's face was an alarming shade of purple.

“Have you any idea where that brother of mine is? Because if making prank calls to get me out of bed is his idea of a little joke, he'll soon be laughing himself into the infirmary.”

As if on cue, Tristan slid in through the front door. I've seldom seen a smile disappear from someone's face so fast.

“Have I missed a late night conference?” he asked, feigning complete innocence.

“You've missed your calling Tristan. Here you are, wasting your time on veterinary practice, when you should have been in theatre. Think of the parts you could play! The much maligned assistant; the beloved comedian; the invariably spurned lover; and yes, of course, the VILLAGE IDIOT AND TOWN DRUNK!

Tristan was instantly on the defensive.

“Well, you do a marvelous imitation of a jail warden, class bully, and all round maniac! Here I am, just come in from checking on a patient, only to be verbally assaulted and maligned, yes maligned, by my own flesh and blood. It's simply too much to be borne, Siegfried. You're very lucky that I'm the very soul of patience.”

“Seeing a patient? As this hour? You? I find that a bit difficult to swallow.” Siegfried looked him up and down suspiciously. “It seems our phone is either out of order, or someone has been having us on, because every time I pick it up, no one is there. Well, then, you won't mind if I call them up and see how the patient's doing, then. Professional follow-up, you understand, as well as checking the lines.”

“Go right ahead,” replied Tristan, with his typical injured, yet dignified air.

Siegfried already had the receiver in his hand. The phone rang.

Siegfried looked at it in disbelief. I felt my own sense of incredulity; the ringing was clearly coming from the sitting room, and there was no phone in there.

I went down the hall, and poked my head in the room.

“Hello,” said Sherman, brightly. He gave another rendition of the phone ring.

“Aha!” said Tristan, behind me. “ He's noticed that when the phone rings, people appear. So when he's lonely, he imitates the phone.” He looked at Siegfried in an accusatory manner. “You just assumed it was me, didn't you? I wish you'd give me some credit for intelligence once in a while.”

“I'd like to,” said Siegfried, “but it's awfully difficult when you haven't even got the sense to cover a bird's cage at night.” He rubbed his eyes. “I really would like to get some sleep. I assume your nocturnal perambulations are at an end, dear brother?”

“I think you can safely assume that.” He swept out his arm. “After you, James.”

“Oh no, after you, Tris.”

“Age before beauty, James.”

“Oh no, I insist, you first.”

“My God, I'm living in a madhouse,” said Siegfried, ambling off to bed.

Tristan looked at me. “He just noticed?”

I placed a call to Mrs. Williams the next morning, informing her that Sherman could be picked up anytime. She replied that she would be right over.

“You know, I think I'd like to have a parrot. They're awfully clever, and think of all the things you could teach it to say. A few stock phrases, and it could keep Mr. Biggins busy for hours; the end result would be just the same. He never can decide if he should call us out or not.” It was hard to tell if Tristan was serious or not. “And think what a hit he'd be at the Drover's! Yo, ho, ho, a bottle of rum, and all that!”

Siegfried looked at him over the top of his glasses, but decided not to take the bait.

The door to the waiting room opened, and closed. It was Mrs. Williams.

“Hello,” said Sherman brightly.

“How is he?” she asked me anxiously.

“Just small problem with mites. I've some medication to put in his water. It should be cleared up in a few more days.” I handed her a packet with the instructions on it. “I must say, he's provided quite a bit of amusement.” Siegfried glowered at me from the desk.

“I can't thank you enough. I was that sick, worrying about him. My sister would be terribly upset if anything happened to him.”

She paid me, picked up the cage, and started out the door. Still fumbling with her purse, she inadvertently knocked the cage against the door frame.

“YOU BUGGER!” screamed the parrot.

I froze in horror; the surgery was absolutely silent. Tristan began to ooze his way toward the hallway, until Siegfried jammed the door closed with his foot. This was just wonderful; word would be out by lunchtime that the Darrowby vets had managed to corrupt the morals of a parrot. Not only that; the bird belonged to a woman who obviously set great store by the teachings of the church. I wondered idly if our souls were any sort of danger. Then the woman's voice broke into my thoughts.

“Oh, I am so sorry, really, I am, you can't think how embarrassed I am. It's that husband of mine, a wickeder tongue there never was, and Sherman's picked it up. I feel just awful! Such nice gentlemen as yourselves, having to hear the likes of that!”

Tristan leaped in with his usual asperity. “That's quite all right, Mrs. Williams. We vets have to contend with some unpleasant things now and again, but I assure you, it's as good as forgotten. Now don't you worry about thing, you just go along home, and I'm sure Sherman will have recovered his good nature in a day or so. Goodbye now!” He waved her off enthusiastically.

“You lucky devil,” I said to him, “you always get out of it, don't you.”

Siegfried chewed the end of his pencil thoughtfully. “Speaking of unpleasant things, Tristan, there's a job for you this morning...