Category: Sentient Animals

Charlie’s Room: The Parrot

Posted on by

There was a training at work, so Isaac would be going into work late. It was strange to see Charlie off to school and Marianne off to an appointment and have the house to himself. When was the last time that happened?

The house was quiet and still. The sunlight pouring through the windows painted a stark contrast between light and shadow. It was the kind of morning where he felt as though if he listened close, he’d be able to hear the music that was always just beneath the surface of everything.

He sat still, listening, and he could almost hear it. He leaned forward and listened more closely. Just when he was sure he’d heard a few notes, someone started yelling outside, breaking the silence.

“Help, help, help.” The voice was loud, but it sounded high-pitched, like a child’s voice.

Isaac raced to the front door and threw it open. He looked left and right. The street looked deserted. The neighborhood was quiet in the middle of the day, when everyone was at work or school or somewhere else. “Hello?” He shivered. It was cold, and he could see his breath.

“Help, help,” the voice called again. It was across the street and to the left. Was someone behind the oak tree?

Isaac stepped back inside to pull on his coat and quickly change his shoes. He crossed the yard, the snow crunching under his shoes and sparkling in the sun. “Is someone there? Do you need help?”

“Help, help, help.” The voice was right overhead.

Isaac looked up into the knot of bare branches. Was that a flash of green? “Hello?” he said again.

“Help, help. Get me a taco!” A bright green bird stepped out of the shadows and onto a branch. A parrot.

Getting the parrot out of the tree and finding its owner wouldn’t be easy. Isaac glanced at his watch. He had forty-five minutes. He took a deep breath. He could do this. He couldn’t leave the parrot outside in the cold. It wouldn’t last long.

Twenty minutes later, Isaac was running out of ideas. The parrot didn’t want bread or cereal or lettuce or apples. It didn’t want to fly down and snuggle into a warm blanket or through the open door into his house. It didn’t want to investigate the parrot videos on his phone.

“Help. Get me a taco!” the parrot said sadly. It flapped its wings and fluffed up and somehow looked miserable.

Isaac sighed. He had one idea left, but it seemed a little ridiculous. Unfortunately, the other options hadn’t worked, and he was running out of time.

He started to whistle a happy, lilting tune. The parrot cocked its head to the side. He whistled the tune again and reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a paper-towel wrapped parcel. The parrot watched closely as he unwrapped the paper towel and held up a taco.

The parrot flew from the tree and landed on his shoulder. “Get me a taco!” the parrot proclaimed, and then it began to peck at the taco shell. Isaac walked carefully back to his house, crunching across the icy snow and whistling the taco song from the recent dinosaur movie one more time.

Once inside, Isaac made a nest of towels in the bathroom next to the heat vent. He put the taco in a pie tin next to the nest and the parrot hopped down to continue crunching on its treat. He brought a dish of water to leave next to the pie tin. He left the light on and closed the bathroom door.

Isaac texted Marianne about the parrot and left for work. He checked his watch as he packed up his things. It was five minutes later than he’d wanted to leave, but somehow he arrived to the training just in time.

When Isaac arrived home after work, Charlie met him at the door. “Dad, guess what? There was a parrot here that could whistle the taco song from the dinosaur movie.”

“Isn’t he still here?” Isaac asked.

“No, mom found his owner. He really likes the dinosaur movies, too, just like we do. And tacos.”

“I guessed that,” Isaac said. “Was the parrot all right? It was really cold outside.”

“He seemed fine to me. Can we get a parrot?”

A pet that could escape and fly away? Isaac wasn’t sure he was ready for that. Maybe they could start a little smaller. “What about a pet rock?”

“Daaaaaaad.” Charlie didn’t look impressed. “Well, if I can’t get a parrot, could we invite that parrot to our dinosaur club? I think he’d fit right in.”

“We’ll see. I think he’d have a hard time participating in the activities.”

Charlie thought for a moment. “Maybe you’re right. Oh well. I can’t wait to tell Thomas about him. I didn’t know that parrots are so cool. Almost as cool as dinosaurs!”

“Almost?”

“Almost.”

Sloth Picnic

Posted on by

Finally, finally, one day the sloths all came together for a picnic. They’d been talking about it for maybe a hundred years or more. Someone brought it up every decade or so:

“Hey…what about that picnic idea?”

And a month or two later:

“I like picnics. It would be fun to invite everyone.”

Somehow, over time, this expanded at random times to include sloths volunteering a dish or suggesting a venue. And then, the sloths all started traveling in the same general direction.

When they all realized that somehow they were actually at the legendary picnic, it was all a bit confusing. They’d never even agreed on the games to play after lunch.

“I thought we had another decade to plan this,” some sloth said.

The other sloths all nodded. Slowly.

A little sloth looked around, clearly confused. “What kind of games do sloths play at picnics, anyway? I’ve never been to a picnic.”

An older sloth scratched her chin thoughtfully. “I saw a picnic once. They had a race. The winner got a prize.”

The sloths all nodded. “Of course. A race,” some sloth said. It was decided.

The lunch itself took a week, but eventually it was time to finish the meal and start the race. The older sloth directed a friend to watch the finish line. She stood at the other end of the dirt path in the rainforest clearing and waited.

The other sloths all lined up along the edges of the path. No one lined up along the starting line. “The racers need to come line up now,” the older sloth said.

There were no racers.

“Surely some sloth wants to win the fabulous prize,” she added.

“What’s the fabulous prize?” the littlest sloth asked.

“I haven’t thought of it yet,” the older sloth admitted.

They all waited and watched the starting line. Nothing happened, until suddenly it did. The bushes rustled and a turtle plodded over to the starting line. The sloths cheered.

“We need one more racer or there’s no point,” the older sloth said.

They waited. The next morning, a rabbit came bounding out of the jungle and stopped at the starting line. The sloths cheered.

“On your marks, get set, go!”

The rabbit hopped like a blur and disappeared somewhere. The sloths weren’t sure where it went. It was hard enough to keep track of the turtle, who was moving at a faster pace than the usual sloth.

They cheered on the turtle, shocked when he reached the finish line by mid-afternoon. The rabbit must have wandered off somewhere, because it wasn’t at the finish line. They declared it a forfeit, and awarded the turtle the leaves he found and was munching on near the finish line.

“Best picnic ever,” the littlest sloth said. “Can we do it again?”

Surprisingly, it took far less time to organize a second picnic. It happened when the littlest sloth was the oldest sloth, most likely hurried along by her fascinating descriptions of the original event. The second picnic followed the plan of the first, because it was now considered the traditional way that sloths arranged picnics.

And so, a week after they first sat down to eat, it was time to start the race. The oldest sloth calmly directed some sloth to wait at the finish line while she sat by the starting line. The other sloths stood along the path.

“So, who’s going to race?” the littlest sloth asked.

The oldest sloth smiled. “Someone will show up. They did last time after all. It was most exciting.”

They all knew the story, of course. Eagerly, they watched the nearby bushes. No sloth was surprised when a turtle plodded to the starting line. It was tradition now, after all.

What did surprise them, was the snail that slid in place next to the turtle at the starting line. Perhaps rabbits just weren’t good racers. The last one forfeited after all.

The racing snail was a clear match for the speedy turtle. The sloths couldn’t look away from the exciting match up between the former champion and the new challenger.

It was close, but the turtle won. He ate his victory clump of leaves, kindly sharing them with the snail.

“Will we ever have another picnic?” the littlest sloth asked.

“Of course we will,” the oldest sloth replied. “It’s tradition.”

“I hope the snail comes again,” the littlest sloth said. “Can that be a tradition too?”

“We’ll have to wait and see,” the oldest sloth said. But that was okay. Sloths are good at waiting.

Happy Second Anniversary!

Posted on by

Happy Anniversary!

I have been posting stories for two years now. I have learned a lot over the past two years. It’s been pretty brilliant. I have so much more I want to learn.

So, I’ll be changing things up again next week. I have some new things to try. I hope it goes well. Please tell me what you think!

Thank you for reading and joining me on my journey.

Summer

Subscribe to Blog via Email

Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Here’s a bonus comic to celebrate!

– Now remember, kids. You don’t have to be the best or the fastest to win the race. You just have to be the one who doesn’t quit.