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A Tale Of Two Parakeets: The Real Killer Is Revealed.

An Electric Chair at the National Museum of Cr...

The thrilling end of the tale that started here.

You may recall that Clarence was one of two parakeets bought for me by a woman I dated. I named Clarence after an old wino I knew and he outlived two other birds who’d lived in the cage with him.

Clarence took the rap for the demise of both the birds he outlived. Both times the girlfriend was convinced he had killed the other bird because I’d given him the name of this wino. I was beginning to be convinced of certain things about her.

Clarence Does Time In Solitary

So having “killed” two other birds, she decided that we were not going to give Clarence another victim to live with. I went along with this because it was not worth the debate. Perhaps I’d have had a bit more of a leg to stand on if I hadn’t tried to hide the death of that first bird.

Over time, I started noticing some changes in the now solitarily confined parakeet. He got quiet. His appetite stayed good, but he looked awful. He had feathers sticking out in places they shouldn’t have been. I thought Clarence was dying. I felt sure he was, but he kept hanging on. He ate, he stared off into space, he got shabbier looking. Day after day, he didn’t improve, didn’t get worse.

I commented about Clarence’s condition to my girlfriend. I tossed out the idea that his health concerns might be related to a lack of a social life. She told me there was no way that bird missed anyone. She told me that he probably was just bored because he didn’t have anyone to kill. I was sort of starting to not like her as much as I did before. Maybe it was because she was not tuned in to bird psychology like I was.

She bought a new bird for me, even though she wasn’t a psychologist that I liked.

Suddenly, Improvement. Sort Of.

We put the new bird in the cage with Clarence. Almost immediately, he started tidying himself up. Clarence sang for the first time in months. I pointed that out to her; she said whatever the equivalent to saying “whatever” was back then. Whatever that whatever was, it was getting old.

I named the new bird Burdette. Like Clarence, Burdette was another wino I knew on a  professional basis. Since it sounded like Bird-ette, it was an easy sell to the girlfriend and I was happy knowing I now had two birds named after old winos with extensive criminal histories. Or perhaps I was just into being  jerk as the inevitable end approached.

Finally, it happened. No, another bird didn’t die, but that’s coming. She moved out.

In the long run, we were both better off that it happened. As I think about it, in the short run, it was pretty good for both of us too. A few years later, I told her that Burdette was a wino. I also told her the last part of the tale, it was good for a laugh. Or perhaps she saw it as one last bit of justice.

Whatever.

Unlike O.J., I Find The Real Killer

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Well, you had to see this coming. I came home one day and Clarence was gone. He’d led a full life. What other parakeet could say he had beat a murder rap and survived solitary confinement?

When I first saw him there,with his back on the newsprint on the floor of the cage and his feet pointed at the little bell at the top of the cage,  it never occurred to me that Burdette might have killed Clarence. Now I think he might have.

You see, while I was in the process of getting Clarence out of the cage, Burdette escaped. I was certain he was heading for the patio door I had open, but he landed on the carpet facing me. He just sat there, looking at me. I ran past him and closed the door. When I turned from the door, he’d moved and was facing me. We looked at one another for an awkward moment.

I decided I should try to limit the number of rooms he could get into so I’d have an easier time capturing him. I ran past him and down the hall. I closed the bathroom, then the bedroom door at the end of the hall. I turned and there he was at the end of the hall, facing me for another awkward moment. It occurred to me that he was following me. Being stalked by a bird is no picnic. Then, he tried to kill me.

Yes, kill me. He took flight toward me. I was at the dead-end of the hall, with the door closed behind me, and he flew at me.  I ducked and he hit the door behind my head. I ran to the other end of the hall. He was standing with his back to the door, facing me. Another awkward moment, then another airborne kamikaze run at my head. I ran into the living room. We battled for an hour, until a pillow case and I captured the winged desperado alive.

O.J. Simpson scoured golf courses around the world in his search for “the real killer”. He was looking in the wrong place. The real killer was in my living room, wearing feathers.

I wonder if she trained that bird.

“She was not what you would call refined. She was not quite what you would call unrefined. She was the kind of person that keeps a parrot.” Mark Twain

Whatever, Mark. Whatever.

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26 Comments on “A Tale Of Two Parakeets: The Real Killer Is Revealed.”

  1. Todd Pack says:

    Sure, parakeets have brains the size of a pea, but they’re wired for one thing: murder.

  2. Did your girlfriend murder Parakeet #1 and #2 and lay the rap on Clarence?!?!?

    • omawarisan says:

      Yes, all the while, training a 4th parakeet to kill Clarence and I.

      I am going to swap the genders and rewrite this as a movie for Lifetime, Love And Hate On The Same Perch

      • planetross says:

        You could rewrite the movie about the fish “perch”, if you wanted to get really smartypants with the title. hee hee!
        Hey! it worked for Jaws and Nemo! … I’m sure those stories were written about parakeets.

  3. Also did you notice that Clarence’s condition seemed to mirror the state of your fading relationship with your girlfriend? “It didn’t get better, it didn’t get worse” but all the same, clearly deteriorating? That is really profound! 🙂 I am fascinated by the psychological facets of this story 🙂

  4. Lenore Diane says:

    This makes me sad. Poor Clarence. Did Burdette get the chair?

    • omawarisan says:

      Burdette and I lived together for another year or so before he moved on to the next plane.

      There is a singer/songwriter named Robbin Thompson who wrote a song called Real Mean Dog…about a guy living with the mean dog a woman left behind at the end of a relationship. Burdette and I co-existed like that, but it didn’t sound as cool as Robbin makes it. I highly recommend him. Robbin Thompson, not Burdette.

      • Lenore Diane says:

        Listening to Robbin Thompson now via MOG.com. Real Mean Dog is a great song, as are the others I am hearing. Seems he’s been around awhile… better late than never I suppose. Thanks for the recommendation (and clarification).

  5. omawarisan says:

    Formatting seems kind of goofed up…sorry everyone, I’ll fix it when I get home.

  6. Spectra says:

    This was histerical. Especially the ‘awkward moments’ where Burdette lands in various locations, and stares at you. And of course, that you named him after yet another Wino.

    I had a pair of parakeets for 6 years, solid. They like greens. When I’d forget to place their greens in their cage, after a couple days, they’d have something like a prison riot/uprising, screeching, flapping and chattering non-stop until the required ruffage was re-submitted for their consumption. They died simultaneously- it was a very Romeo and Juliet kind of ending. Nothing as scandelous as a murder, though.

  7. Yep, can’t turn your back on ’em.

  8. Laura says:

    This is like a really low budget version of that Hitchcock movie.

  9. Katybeth says:

    Your blaming your girlfriend for the death of your other two parakeets and accusing her of buying you another parakeet that attempted to kill you? When you told her this story I bet she was laughing from for relief that she escaped…and who names Parakeets after wino’s anyway and then hides the true meaning of the replacement birds name? It does sound like a low budget version of a Hitchcock movie. . .I have a firm POLICY of supporting the blogger I read…not the girlfriend I don’t but you are making this tough.

  10. Blogdramedy says:

    A bird in the hand is worth two at the bottom of a bird cage. But then, there is a difference between worth and value. Wonder, if after posting this post, you now have a price on your head? 😉

  11. Snoring Dog Studio says:

    Well of course there’d be mayhem and murder. You put something in a cage, it either dies or becomes a violent, crazed felon once let out. I think the same thing goes for cubicles.

  12. I hate birds. They always try to kill me. All of them…except penguins.

  13. queensgirl says:

    My father has told me that, when he was growing up, a neighbor’s parakeet flew into the pot of spaghetti sauce my grandmother was cooking. And the bird lived to, uh, chirp the tale!

  14. Lafemmeroar says:

    This could be the makings of a mystery novel–“The Parakeet Murders.”


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