Drama in Real Life. A Readers Digest Exclusive.
The Taking of Parakeet, One Two Three
A stormy rain swept across the Northern Virginia countryside during June of 2003. Welby was working inside his house, repairing some holes in the drywall made by his parakeets. Welby allows the parakeets to fly around the house because his wife makes him allow it. If it were up to him the parakeets would fly free, out into the big world, but his wife enjoys caging wild animals and watching them suffer. She says its because they’re actually tame, being born in captivity, but Welby disagrees.
When the work was finished Welby cracked open a beer and sat on the couch in front of the TV. He slid his hand into his pants to scratch his balls.
Scratch Scratch Scratch.
Watching TV Welby began to feel drowsy, and finally drifted off to sleep. His hand was still in his pants, and the beer was halfway gone. He awoke to the sound of his wife coming into the house. He scratched his balls again.
Scratch Scratch Scratch.
Welby stood up, greeted his wife, and proudly displayed the repairs he had made to the drywall. It was rock solid and smooth, ready for paint. Welby was justifiably proud of his handiwork, and his wife showed her appreciation for all of his hard work by scratching his balls.
Scratch Scratch Scratch Chirp.
Suddenly Welby’s wife looked at him with a strange expression.
“Do your balls always chirp when they’re scratched?”
I don’t know, let’s find out," replied Welby, putting his hand into his pants to scratch.
Scratch Scratch Scratch.
"No. Apparently not. But I really do appreciate you scratching my balls like that, honey. In fact - "
Scratch Scratch Scratch Chirp.
Welby was surprised to hear the scratching and even more surprised to hear the chirp at the end. Especially since neither he or his wife were scratching his balls.
“What was that?” he asked.
Scratch Scratch Scratch Chirp.
Now his wife heard it. A scratching coming from deep within the walls of the house. They looked at each other, trying to discern where the sound was coming from.
Scratch Scratch Scratch.
Welby’s wife looked around, trying to find where the scratching sound was coming from.
“Sorry,” said Welby. “That was me.”
Scratch Scratch Scratch Chirp.
Welby’s wife moved over to the recently repaired wall. “It’s coming from here,” she said.
Welby listened closely at the wall. His wife was right, the scratching was coming from inside the wall. He wondered what the sound could be.
“Where’s Kentucky?” asked his wife.
“South-Central U.S.” replied Welby. “It’s near-”
“Not that Kentucky,” his wife said, cutting him off. “The bird. Where’s Kentucky Fried Chicken?”
Scratch Scratch Scratch Chirp.
“I don’t know,” replied Welby. I thought he was in the cage with Keisha."
“Oh my Gods!” said Welby’s wife. “He must be in the wall! We have to get him out!”
*
Scratch Scratch Scratch Chirp.*
Welby examined his wall, thinking of the 20 minutes or so of hard work he put into it. He didn’t want to destroy his work.
“Sounds like a Darwinian situation to me baby,” he said. “If Kentucky can get out he deserves to live, if not, he’ll rot inside the walls.”
Welby’s wife glanced at him, weighing his words. What her husband said was absolutely true, but she felt a real connection to the bird, and wanted him freed at once.
Scratch Scratch Scratch Chirp.
“If you don’t open up this damn wall and get Kentucky out of there I’ll scratch your balls with a sledgehammer,” she said.
Welby listened to his wife’s “logic” and decided she was right. The bird should be freed. But how? The wall was repaired and looked good, plus they didn’t know where inside the wall Kentucky might be. The scratches echoed through the wall, making the task of determining Kentucky’s location very difficult. The wall was very large, and Welby’s wife was concerned that he might injure the bird if he started cutting into the wall. He scratched his balls.
Scratch Scratch Scratch.
Welby determined that he should start at the top, where he had recently made the repairs. That might be the best place to get the bird, and it wasn’t likely that the bird was in that area, since it was high on the wall. He cut into the wall.
“CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP AHHHHHHHHHH!”
“Very funny.” said Welby’s wife. “You’re a real laugh riot. Har har. Making dying bird noises.”
Welby chuckled to himself. No sense of humor, this Russian woman he married. None at all. He reached into the wall, searching for the bird, but couldn’t find it.
“Looks like he might be farther down,” said Welby.
He began to cut into the wall nearer to the cross brace.
“CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP CHIRP AHHHHHHHHHH!”
Welby’s wife looked at him with disgust. “I married an idiot.”
“You said it was funny last time.”
“Sarcasm is completely lost on you.”
Welby finished cutting and reached into the wall. Again he found nothing. He decided to cut again, even lower down the wall, right where the cross brace sat. Welby was getting worried. This was the third cut. Now he was looking at nearly 30 minutes of wall repair. That would conflict with his video game time severely. He decided that this would be the last cut. If they couldn’t rescue the bird this time, there could be no rescue. He didn’t tell this fact to his wife, because he did not want her to worry. He finished the cut and put his hand into the wall. There! He felt feathers! Welby tried to get his hand around the bird, but Kentucky was stressed from his ordeal and didn’t understand that Welby was trying to help.
“Ow! Dammit. Stupid bird just bit - OW! Jesus!”
Welby withdrew his hand, which had a small cut from the bite. Blood was welling up on his hand. He turned to his wife for sympathy.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO KENTUCKY!” screamed his wife.
“Nothing! He bit me! I’m the one bleeding here. The damn bird is in there acting like I’m trying to eat him.” replied Welby.
“He knows you hate him.”
“I don’t hate him, but I’m starting to.”
“He knows that you named him Kentucky Fried Chicken as a sick joke.”
Welby put his hand in again, and this time he succeeded! Kentucky was in his hand! Welby took the bird to the cage and put him inside, muttering about 11 herbs and spices and how nice it would be to have parakeet for dinner.
“Isn’t Kentucky a boy?” asked Welby’s wife.
"He’s supposed to be. Why?
“Look.”
Welby looked. There inside the wall were four little eggs, apparently laid by Kentucky.
“Well,” he said. “Looks like scrambled eggs for dinner.”
Scratch Scratch Scratch.