Untitled

I stumbled towards the glass doors that led to the yard. The stumbling was partly the usual this morning, the result of two pugs scrambing around my feet, acting like they couldn't hold it in one second longer. They fooled me every morning and then I'd watch, half asleep, as they sniffed the ground for ten minutes before finding the perfect place to go.

I slid the door open. It had somehow gained weight in the night. The pugs tumbled into the weedy yard and commenced their detailed inspection. I had no idea what about its smell could possibly have changed so much from yesterday, but my opinion carried no weight in the matter – they were the experts.

I yawned. It was hard to wake up in this apartment at the best of times. What they called a "garden apartment" around here, meaning it opened right onto this tiny backyard, to distract you from the fact that it was a basement with no windows. There was no morning light to ease you into conciousness before fat pugs started walking on your full bladder.

But this morning there was another reason I was only half awake. I'd been up all night tossing and turning. Today I had to decide.

"Come on," I moaned at the pugs. I needed some coffee, so bad it was like a physical pain. I really didn't want to wait ten minutes this morning.

They didn't even look up. I didn't have the strength to argue. I sunk down to the ground and sat leaning against the glass doors. I glanced back into the apartment, at the phone, lying there like some malignant sleeping creature.

Whichever way I decided, one part was going to be easy. I wouldn't need to use the phone - I could just get on the computer, and either register for classes or drop out.
There would be no one to ask me if I was sure, no one to remind me that I was throwing away a chance at a respectable career in a clean office, one where the worst injury I was likely to get was a paper cut. That I was crazy to give all this up so I could clean up animal poop for almost no money.

Which was what everyone had been saying in one way or another, of course. And which was what made the whole thing so hard. I was sure I wanted to drop out. I was sure I wanted to stay in my job at the zoo. I was insanely lucky that they offered me the chance to stay on past the summer. It was the coolest thing I had ever done, maybe that anyone had ever done, even if everyone else I knew couldn't see it.

And it wasn't just the animals, the chance to hand-feed a sloth an orange slice, watch its alien pinprick eyes as it took the fruit awkwardly with its long, curved, immobile claws, better suited to hanging from branches. It was also how it had made me realize how painful it was for me to sit still all the time, cooped up at a lecture or stuck at a desk. All my restless energy – it was an asset instead of a liability when I had to run up and down the stairs, climbs around on rock walls, scrub and hose things and chop vegetables all day.

The whole thing suited my nature. It was the niche I belonged in. But the thing is, I also knew another thing about my nature, that it was stubborn and contrary. The more people pushed, the more I pushed back. Was I sure I wasn't doing this just to show them?

Gus finally lifted his leg and peed. Rose waddled over and sniffed, then added a second opinion.

"Breakfast!" I called.

That was of course one of the words the pugs knew. In a more challenging situation I'd have to call "cookie" or "cheese" or "peanut butter," but first thing in the morning "breakfast" was enough.

They both turned and started to hurtle towards me, as aerodynamic as a couple of flying meatloaves. I got up and trudged back into the apartment toward the tiny kitchen, leaving the doors open behind us. If we couldn't have light at least we could have fresh air. It might help wake me up enough to remember how to make the coffee.

As I passed the desk I reached over and turned the computer on. It had to be on, either way. Whichever way I decided. But that would only be half of it. For the other half, I had to pick up the phone, to either quit or say I was staying in the job I'd had all summer. And I had to say it to Chris.

Did I forget to mention that I had a little bit of a crush on my boss? I had been trying to put that aside in the decision making process. He was always careful to remind me that he wasn't really my boss, that he didn't supervise people and that he had no personnel authority. But he was in charge of all the animal stuff, which was more important. He knew everything about animals, which was part of what made him so crushable. Really, that was most of it, I swear, but he also had the most amazing blue eyes –

Oh god. I really had to not think about that part of it. I was maybe about to throw away a whole year in graduate school to do something that everyone else I knew said was crazy. My boss's blue eyes could not enter into this.

I filled the bowls with kibble, my thoughts momentarily drowned out by excited barking. It was nice that they were so enthusiastic, I reminded myself as the noise reverberated in my skull, I hated the kind of animal you had to coax to eat.

I watched them contendedly hoovering up the kibble without any evidence of chewing. Where was I? Oh, right. Blue eyes. Not a factor. Really, not a part of the decision-making process. But also, it was just as stupid for what other people thought to be part of it. They didn't have to live my life. They didn't have to sit in classrooms and lecture halls feeling like they were about to explode with impatience. They didn't have to spend the rest of their life thinking they had thrown away the best thing they ever did just because other people said it was crazy. No, I was ready. I knew what was right for me.

"OK, it's time," I said to the pugs.

I always talked to them, I couldn't help it, as a primate, I naturally never shut the hell up for one second. The monkeys I took care of were just the same, always chattering and screaming whether there was a reason to or not. It didn't seem to inconvenience them, but in my case, it meant that the pugs had learned all kinds of words it was a problem for them to know, because I was unable to stop myself from announcing things like "I need to cut your nails" which, of course, sent them flying in the opposite direction.

They looked up, cocking their heads. Oh, right. "Time" usually was followed by "time to go outside and pee" at the end of the day. But they'd just been out, and it wasn't the end of the day. Now they were terribly confused. Yeah, welcome to the club.

"Sorry," I said. "I meant, now I'm doing it. I'm going over to that computer and withdrawing."

"No way."

I nearly jumped out of my pajama bottoms. "What the – "

There was a great commotion from the open door to the backyard. It took my sleep-deprived, stressed-out brain a moment to process the totally unexpected sight. A large bird had just flown in and settled on the back of a chair.

The pugs exploded in a frenzy of high-pitched barking. Justified, at least, for a change. They'd bark like mad at recycling bins or overly large strollers – perhaps they were offended at the ostentation of pushing a child around in something large enough to have its own cup holders – but I was never sure if I'd be able to trust them to announce the presence of an actual intruder. Nice to know.

I peered at the visitor. I didn't know a damn thing about birds, I was a mammal person. But even I knew that this was an African grey parrot.

It cocked its head at me.

"No way," it repeated.

"Who asked for your opinion." I knew, it had no idea what it was saying. But I was so used to talking to animals. I talked to the zoo animals whether they responded or not. In fact, just the other day, I'd found a tree shrew dead at the end of my shift, and had to stay late to bring it up to pathology. I was glad no one was around to hear when I exclaimed to it, "If you weren't dead I could go home now!"

But the worse influence was the years of talking to the pugs, who actually responded most of the time – not always cooperatively, of course, like when they ran away when nail-trims were announced – but intelligently.

And I knew these were really intelligent birds.Everyone knew about the late Alex, the famous grey who a psychology researcher had taught to answer questions about numbers and colors. She'd proven through careful experimentation that he really understood the words he was using.

But even in my sleepless, pre-caffeinated state, I knew that this bird's intelligence didn't extend to having an opinion on my career situation. The real problem was whose bird he was. It was the same deal as whenever I saw a loose dog. I had to do something because it was karma. What if my pugs got loose someday? The thought was too horrible to contemplate. If they managed not to get hit by cars, they were of course completely unsuited to life in the wild. Their highly evolved skill at being cute enough to make people want to feed them was all they had to rely on. And what if those people thought they were so cute that they wanted to keep them?

So I always had to fall all over myself to catch a loose dog and find its owner, because I hoped that someone would do the same for me. But I had no idea what to do about a bird.

"Look," I said, gesturing at the door. "I know you're smart enough to find your way home. Why don't you just go back the way you came?"

"No way."

We looked at each other. It was clearly a standoff. The bird didn't want to leave. I didn't want it in my house. It would poop everywhere, for one thing. And though the pugs had calmed down for now, I suspected that they'd go wild again the minute it moved.

OK, I had no bird experience. But, I had seen how people had them walk onto their arms. If I could get it to do that, then I could put it outside.

"Here you go,' I said, holding out my arm, nudging its toes a little the way I'd seen make birds lift their feet and step onto someone's arm. Not this time, unfortunately. The parrot scooted sideways on the back of the chair to avoid me instead.

"No way." I swore it laughed this time.

"Look. I have important business here, today. I can't be distracted by a bird. Can we be reasonable here? I need you to go home."

"No way."

Oh, for Pete's sake. I could have seen that coming. I was just getting myself in ridiculously deeper. But I couldn't help it.

"Fine," I said. "Make yourself at home. I'm just going over to that computer to get on with my life."

I waited a moment for the predictable comment, but this time, the bird just cocked his head.

Whatever, I thought, managing to keep it to myself this time. I walked over to the desk and sat down at the computer. I got so involved in beating my head against the university's recalcitrant computer system that I'd forgotten about the bird's presence by the time I got to the last thing I had to click to complete the withdrawal process.

Which meant that I almost had a heart attack when, just as I was about to click, a huge flurry of feathers landed on the back of my chair.

"No way! No way!" The shriek blended with my own as I jumped up and with the immediate addition of a duet of hysterical yapping.

"You little shit," I gasped as the parrot as the racket died down.

The bird looked quite pleased with himself. No doubt all the action was entertaining. And as my heart slowed, I had to admit it was kind of funny. Especially because if the bird really had been trying to stop me, he didn't know my nature. Now, bird or no bird, I was going to click on that last thing if it took me all morning.

However, I didn't really want to sit back down with him on the back of the chair. I wouldn't say I was frightened. It just seemed prudent. That was a sharp, pointy hooked beak he had. The claws were nothing to sniff at either. There was no need to have them so close to the back of my neck. Or any other part of me.

So I just reached out slowly toward the computer mouse.

"No way," said the bird, but this time in a much smaller voice.

I reached further, all the way, and clicked.

I felt an absurd surge of triumph. Take that, bird! Take that, office-working, classroom-sitting world!

The parrot turned and flapped back to the chair he had started on. It was an obvious admission of defeat. I decided that I could be big enough not to rub it in. So without further comment, I picked up the phone and dialed.

I kept my eye on the bird. One ring. He glanced over at me, saw I was watching, and looked away. Two rings.

"Small Mammals, this is Chris."

I was momentarily speechless. Not because it was a surprise, since he usually answered, and he was the one I needed to talk to. But because he always affected me this way.

"Um," I said.

"Hannah," he said, easily.

Oh, I thought, he recognized my voice just from 'um.' I was overcome with that feeling like my insides had turned to armadillo gruel, including my brain.

"Yeah. Uh," I said, brilliantly.

He waited patiently. This was another part of the thing about him. He was like the still center of chaos in the building. All the rest of us talky monkeys, never shutting up or sitting still and always panicking about the least little thing, running out of peanut butter or some animal looking at us cross-eyed in a way that surely meant that it was at death's door with some ailment we hadn't noticed till it was too late. But he always took a moment to think before he opened his mouth, or managed not to open it at all just for the sake of filling the silence. It was calming, usually, but not so much right now. It meant I had to step up.

"Uh, OK, so, I'm going to stay."

"No way," the shriek came from behind me, one last hopeless objection thrown to the wind.

"I'm glad – what was that?"

"Uh, yeah, I have kind of a problem here, do you know anything about parrots?"

"What do need to know? Gwen at the bird house is best for that. I'll give you her number."

I was pretty sure he knew anything I needed to know, but that was another of the reasons he was so crushable. He would always defer to someone else's expertise, even, sometimes, mine, when he knew damn well I didn't really have any. But it was the only way I'd learn the job, to have to make my own decisions.

I wrote down the number. "Thanks."

"I'm glad you're staying," he said.

"Uh me too." Oh, so articulate. It was a good thing they'd hired me to pick up poop. Yeah, that was only part of it, but you could always fall back on that part of it when someone's blue eyes meant you couldn't think straight enough to form a coherent English sentence.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," he said.

"Yeah." As I hung up, I swear my heart went pitter-pat. Oh god. I'd solved one problem, but now I was going to have to deal with this other one for the long term.

"Way!"

Oh right. There was this other other problem, even before that.

But wait a minute. "What did you say?"

"Way!" The bird flapped its wings with enthusiasm. Yeah, that is an anthropomorphic description. So sue me.

"Well, thanks for the vote of approval. So can you leave now so I can go back to bed?"

"No way," the bird cackled.

I sighed.

"Fine. I may not know how to catch a parrot, but I know people who do. I am picking up this phone. I am calling Gwen, and she is going to lend me a cage. She is going to come over and catch you, and then we'll take you to the animal shelter or the parrot rescue or whatever. You can just wait right there."

I reached for the phone.

"No way," the bird laughed again. Then it turned, spread its wings, and flew out of the apartment.

I ran to the glass doors – followed by the pugs, as usual - and pushed them shut. I sunk to the floor with all kinds of relief and watched as the bird disappeared, the pugs whining beside me.