Call of the Wild

Growing-up, we had the most loving white umbrella cockatoo named Roxie.  We bought her at the Santa Cruz flea market, where we bought several other birds that were most certainly smuggled in from far away places and then sold to slightly suspecting bargain shoppers at the drive-in movie/swap meet.  Every night at dusk, Roxie would squawk.  The most ear-piercing, rhythmic, incessant Raaaaaawk, Raaaaaawk, Raaaaaawk!  My mom read that parrots in the jungle call to each other at dusk in order to find their flock for the night.

Jake is a lot like Roxie, regardless of the time of day.  We’re at the mall and I hear a child scream 200 yards away.  It doesn’t register consciously.  Until Jake screams back.

Screeeeeeam!  He calls out to his flock.  His feathered comrades are everywhere… in the park, at school, in the grocery store.  He feels compelled to call to them.  I’m here!  I’m here!

Little screaming kindred spirits, passing… morning, noon and night.


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