Our Touring Past

At first it was just a faint..."chirp".. then it became louder.. chirp chirp".. then it was a "sqwark" .... then i realised there was something stuck under the bed in my van....
What a surprise to see "Macca The Mawcaw" cringing up in the corner... who knows how long the poor bird had been hiding up there??..
Obviuosly took shelter after being kidnapped a couple of times over the passed 12 months..

I took him down to the vets.. Vet says he is going to pull through..
poor bugger has been through hell at the hands of the kidnappers.. scars on his legs from being chained up??..feathers missing from relentless beatings !!
Emotionally scarred.. ( and flat batteries) ... its gunna be a long road to recovery.. but the doc said he is gunna be OK.

He will be taking a new career path.. i am training him up as a security parrot .
Gunna set him up in my annexe at night so that he can alert me when esky thieving bastards are around at night.
Just gotta work out how to stop the parrot thieving bastards from stealing the security Mawcaw ???

Reddo

One of lifes mysteries solved, I wonder how long he was in there? I wonder where he has been?

JD PSK.

THE LOST PARROT by Susan Mitchell

(Some modifications with apologies to Susan)

He can cry your name from today to tomorrow.
He can Macca you this, cracker you that,
There in the topmost you hang like a Christmas ornament,
your tail a cascade of emeralds and limes.

The man is heartsick. He has taped messages to the mailboxes,
the names you responds to, your favourite seeds.
At twilight he calls and calls.

Oh, Macca, you went everywhere with him,
to the post office and the mall,
to the men's room at the van park where you perched on the stall,
good-natured, patient.

And didn't you love to take his thumb in your golden beak
and, squeezing tenderly, shriek and shriek
as if your own gentleness were killing you?

You were his darling, his cinnamon stick, his pedagogue.
At the beach you had your own chair and umbrella.
Oh, pampered bird. The neighbours sympathize.
But what's love compared with wild red fruit,
a big gold moon, and an evening that smells of paradise?

If he were sober, he'd join the other sad men for drinks,
He'd lick the froth from his beer glass
and say something wise he'd heard said a hundred times before.
Love is a cage, you're glad to be free of it.

Oh, Macca, you were his pope and popinjay,
his gaudy, his flambeau, his magnificant.
You were the postcard each morning delivered to his room, his all-day sunset.

In the topmost fronds you squall and squawk to the other flashy runaways,
Say paradise! No dice, no dice.



hey reddo, by the sounds of it, you're lucky he flew back home.

geoff 'n jude

Having observed Macca formally known as Polly for several years I feel he has had a bad rap.
The sqwarking is usually coming from his room mate!! Lets hope things settle down and they can co-habbitat.
We would not want Macca formally know as Polly to fly the coop again.

JD PSK concerned bird lover.

Love the poem Geoff and Jude..
Pretty much sums him up...


I took him away for a weekend of vintage motorcycling with a few mates last weekend...
he seems to be settling in quite well.. Having trouble finding him a helmet ....