A few days ago, while walking with my daughter and our dogs, my eye caught a tiny creature in the Y of a vine maple; dinosaurs were making a comeback! I loved that someone, probably a child, had left the toy for those passing by to see. It was Movable Art. Two days later, the dinosaur had moved on.
Two bird Stories
Yesterday I visited a friend in Everett whom I have known for almost thirty years. I met her at an English High Tea class I gave in Fairhaven Park, organized by Bellingham Parks and Recreation. Sue is now in her ninetieth year and lives in Langley. We did some shopping; she wanted to buy something special to wear to her granddaughter’s Graduation. Afterward, we headed back to her house via the Mukilteo ferry. While waiting in the ferry line, she told me a story about her friend’s Cockatiel. This little bird had decided it hated smoke. One day a couple came to visit. The man took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, shook one out, and placed it in his mouth. Before the bird owner could say don’t smoke in the house, the bird had flown at the visitor with a squark and ripped the white paper from the cigarette, spilling tobacco on the floor.
I also knew a man who owned a female cockatiel. Because I was his landscaper and gardener, I was often at his house. The little bird took a liking to me. When she heard my truck come into the driveway, she would run down her cage and across the floor to greet me at the door as I entered; I learned to be careful when opening the door. If I sat at a stool in the kitchen, she would run up my pant legs, onto my shoulders, and dance around, nibbling at my ears and hair. The Cockatiel was a delight and made me feel special. It never felt the same in the house after she died.