I've been killing myself laughing over the past few months every time my buddy Peter Mitchell shares one of his "adventures with birds" stories. And he's shared quite a few of them. In fact, it even inspired another old friend we hadn't seen in years (Kimberly) to tell her own scary-funny bird story.
But something I don't think I've told my old pal yet is this interesting coincidence.
My Baba recently got a bird - a budgie. (No, that's not the funny part -- wait for it). She hasn't had one for at least 25 years (no, still not the funny part). When I was a child, she always had a bird, a budgie, and there were at least half a dozen of them or more, in succession when I was a child. At one point, when I was about 3 or 4 years old, one of the birds she had used to sit on top of my head as I walked around (without once pooping on me, I might add). It would jump down onto the table and turn over the jugsaw puzzle pieces when I was working on them, it loved taking "showers" in the kitchen sink. (Yes, still not funny - to some, it might be a cute childhood snapshot image)
The interesting thing about the succession of birds that were in my life, thanks to my Baba, is that she wasn't all that concerned about giving each one a new name. No, instead, she decided to give them all the same name -- and it's the name she's using for her new bird, now too.
Peter.
No, I know, the punch-line isn't all that funny to the average reader. But I can envision my buddy Peter is sitting there, having just read this, and is staring at his computer and shaking so much that his tea is spilling all over the keyboard . . . because he's wondering at the strange motive of mine to have invited him to head up north and visit my Mom and Baba (and as a result come face to face with his feathered-friend namesake). I guess this is a bad time to also tell him that I come from a family of nudists.
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