Sunday

I have grown to love Sunday more than any other day of the week. Don't get me wrong, Sunday can usher in the "scaries" with such a force, it knocks you down so hard, you forget to make your lunch for Monday. However, this particular Sunday was one of those charming and nonsensical days that makes you forget about the world at large. Instead, it shrinks to the size of a suburban street in an old neighbourhood.

It was the squawking which lured us all out, one by one. I peered through the screen door to find all my neighbours milling about on the sidewalk. As I joined in the collective upward gazing, I located its source. A little green parrot called Shutter, had escaped the confines of her captivity and had thus far eluded capture for 16 hours. A dude I didn't recognize was about eight feet off the ground, wrapped around the elm's trunk, and I knew in that moment if I didn't step in to figure out a real solution, the escaped parrot would not be the real tragedy on this day.

I have a complicated relationship with the fire department, but since I wasn't the one who had done something dumb on this particular Sunday, I felt good about calling the people with the really big ladders for help. Only to discover none of the non emergency lines are open on Sunday. I tried three different ways to reach out, but no luck. Now I don't access emergency services unless there is a real emergency, but with our dubious tree hugger, I figured it was only a matter of time before we called anyway. Dialing 911 is one of those things that gets the blood pumping. When the personnel on the phone stated, "911, what is your emergency?" It is bizarre and hilarious to reply, "there is no emergency... but there is a parrot stuck in a tree, and now a guy is in the tree. I'm afraid if I didn't call you now to request help, then there may be a real emergency in the next few minutes".

There's a kind of high that comes with making emergency services personnel laugh. As she passed me on to the fire department and the next person asked what the emergency was, a lengthy pause followed my explanation. Then she laughed too, (at this point I am now giddy from the chuckles), and said they were on their way.

As the fire truck pulled up, more of the neighbourhood is now standing outside on the street. Shutter's owner had brought out Doritos in a desperate attempt to lure the bird down on her own. Even though they are are delicious, I cannot fault the bird for preferring her newfound freedom. The amount of time the first responders stand around lengthens and then a second fire truck pulls up. Now there are eight fireman, two trucks, one giant ladder, and a tiny parrot in an elm tree.

At this point, I'm starting to feel self conscious, so I ran off to get donuts to have something with which to express some gratitude, and take the edge off my sheepishness. upon my return, the spectacle had grown to three firetrucks, 12 firemen, the entire street's residents, and my neighbour's cat Millie.

Things progressed and then there were two firemen tied off in the tree. One fireman runs up the ladder with a fishing net, while the bird is a foot away from the guy on branch two. Her owner pipes up that if you say "step up", she will step onto your finger. He reaches out and says "step up" and she happily obliges - only to then immediately jump off, fly higher and CATCALL the firemen. The entire neighbourhood is now killing themselves laughing.

Just then, my neighbour Collin started his own squawking about "who's going to pay for this” and “what happens if there's a real emergency". I want to tell Collin to shut the fuck up because I definitely don't have the funds to pay for this. It's not even my goddamned bird! Collin apparently cannot think for himself and realize: a) our property taxes have increased exponentially, which means I've paid for this shit in advance, and b) if a real emergency occurred, they would pack up and ship out. Like, jesus christ Collin, this is a break from the infinite opoid overdoses they deal with on a daily basis - let the firemen have their little feel good interlude, alright?

Eventually Shutter flew off, and they packed up and headed out after three hours of earnest effort. Later on, a power line service truck drove up with the basket to see if the parrot could be coaxed down. Alas, she declined and disappeared around the block. As the rest of us trickled back inside, the only one left was her owner - sitting on her front step with Shutter's cage open and bag of Doritos. A poetic vignette of small grief and hope. She looked like a painting.

It’s been over two weeks now and no one has heard her signature squawk. Her pretty Victorian style cage is getting rusty from eleven consecutive days of rain, and the magpies ate all the Doritos after day one. Her parrot may not have returned, but she has three new loyal birds who worship her choice of snacks.

I did hear a rumour from a friend of a friend today. Whispers from the grapevine say fire station 22 has a new mascot. I’d like to think Shutter “stepped up” into greener pastures. I mean, who isn’t a sucker for a dozen guys in uniform?