Whilst out walking at the weekend with my pal Lorna, she happened to tell me the sad tale of her pet budgie, Smokey.

“Smokey?” I laughed.

“Why did you call him Smokey?” I had visions of a wee budgie puffing 20 ciggies a day.

“Cause he wiz the colour of fag ash,” explained my walking buddy.

Apparently Smokey was a chirpy wee thing until one morning Lorna approached the bird cage to say good morning to her much loved wee pet, only to find poor Smokey lying on his side at the bottom of the cage.

“He never said a cheep,” Lorna added.

“Which was very unusual.”

Lorna was quite taken aback because the previous night Smokey had been flying around the living room and seemed absolutely fine.

However, as she stared into the bird cage, she reckoned he was anything but fine.

“Janice,” she snivelled.

“He seemed disorientated and was flapping about the bottom of the cage in circles.”

Having never owned a budgie, I tried to imagine what a disorientated budgie looked like, but could see that Lorna was upset at her wee pet’s predicament.

“Every time I tried to put him back on his perch,” she sniffed.

“He just fell off.”

And I reckoned that repeatedly falling from his perch wouldn’t have helped poor Smokey’s medical condition.

At the vet’s surgery Lorna patiently waited with a tissue lined shoe box on her lap containing Smokey.

“Smokey McLuskey.”

“Smokey McLuskey,” repeated the vet’s assistant as Lorna waited nervously for the diagnosis.

“Janice,” she sobbed.

“He didn’t make it through the night and died of a cerebral apoplexy.”

“A what?”

“A stroke,” Lorna snivelled.

And that explained why poor Smokey kept falling off his perch.

“I noticed he had gone off his food and was unusually quiet because every single morning without fail as soon as I approached his cage he squawked.”

“Morning Lorna.”

“Morning Lorna.”

“Oh my…” I sympathised.

“And every night before I put the lights out he would say.”

“Night night Lorna.”

“Night night Lorna.”

“Oh my …….” I repeated over and over.

RIP Smokey McLuskey.

Thinking about my pal and her wee pet I thought how nice it would be to have my own colourful talking budgie.

After all, I had had no luck with the goldfish I bought, and wee talking budgie surely wouldn’t take much looking after.

“Hello Mr Abercrombie,” I greeted the man on the other end of the phone who was selling baby budgies.

“My name is Janice Bell and I was hoping to buy a talking budgie.”

“Sorry Miss Bell,” he explained.

“You can’t just buy a talking budgie,” he continued.

“You have to teach it to talk.”

“Well how do I do that?” I had no clue how to teach a bird to talk.

“There are several things you must do.”

“Firstly, you must tame your budgie so that he becomes more responsive to you talking.”

“Tame a budgie?” I queried.

“Yes, place his cage near human activity so that he becomes accustomed to humans.”

“Fair enough.”

“Separate budgies if you have more than one so that they become responsive to only you.”

“I only want one,” I replied.

“And male budgies are more prone to talking than female budgies.”

“Well that makes a change.” I tried to be humorous but Mr Abercrombie ignored me.

“When talking to him, you should hold your face close to your budgie and watch for his pupil’s dilating.”

“Eh?”

“This means he’s listening.”

I now thought Mr Abercrombie had lost the plot as he continued.

“And always speak enthusiastically to your budgie.”

“Enthus……..”

“Begin with individual words like hello or goodbye.”

I was now silent on the other end of the phone.

“And remember Miss Bell.” He sounded like an old school master.

“You may not be able to understand him at first as he may mumble.”

“You’re joking.” I smirked.

“How can a budgie mumble?”

Ignoring me again the talking budgie expert continued.

“Remember to give him verbal praise now and then.”

“Verbal praise?”

“Yes, and a mirror in his cage may help.”

“A mirror?”

“You should also leave the television or radio on when you go out so that he can get used to the language and hopefully pick up odd words.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” he confirmed.

“Also for the first few months you must speak to him for at least a couple of hours every day.”

Well, that was enough for me.

“I don’t have two hours a day to speak to a bird,” I explained.

“Is there no other way of teaching him?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Two hours every day speaking to a budgie?”

“Sorry Mr Abercrombie.” I sighed.

“But I don’t spend that amount of time speaking to my kids!”

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