That Bird Talked to Me

Saturday, we took our kids to the Tautphaus Park Zoo because it was free, and that's about the only way we can afford it at the moment. I was not looking forward to the petting zoo, because all it means is watching a bunch of lounging rabbits, a bitey llama and those goats who shed hair and stink slightly, of, well, goat.

But those goats were pretty entertaining this time around, much more than the lions, who were taking it easy because they knew their new cubs were leaving and they'd no longer have to fuss with the likes of homework, play dates with the tigers, et cetera. The boys (our boys, not the goat boys) had some food pellets to feed the goats. Two of the goats were rather aggressive, cooperating quite nicely with the boys but getting as much in each others' way as possible. They got to fighting so much about the food that they each darted to an opposite corner of the pen, charged at each other and klonked skulls. I thought they only did that on Mutal of Omaha's Wild Kingdom or in a posed Marty Stauffer special.

Then there was the parrot. They had a rather scraggly looking parrot, a cockatoo, I believe, walking on the rail around the goat pen. I glanced at it, then got distracted by Isaac. Next thing I knew I heard a little cawing sound. I looked up and into the eyes of the bird, staring at me from the rail, about a foot from my face. Startled, I said, "How's it going, bird?" "How's it going," the bird replied. Then it waddled off. Weird. Birds NEVER talk to me. I've always prided myself on that clear marker of my mental stability. No longer, apparently.