Friday, February 25, 2011
Walking Home After Work/Mr. Bard @12:20 am
Chelsea
A lot of people have dogs in New York. And most of these people live in apartments, so they must walk their dogs. You see people out at all hours walking their pooches, so I thought I’d try and get some after dark photos of New Yorker’s out and about walking the dog.
Okay, full disclosure here. While it sounds like the introduction to these are written right before I walk out the door of my night job, a lot of times I write them in advance. I had the dogwalker idea last night and wrote the introduction today before I came in to work. Well, it turns out I had to work late and it's after midnight, I'm beat after working over 12 hours and it's rainy and shitty out here. But that's the beauty of this blog as opposed to the 365. A year ago I would've had to go to a bar and whooped it up and while that sounds like fun, it's not when you feel like shit, which is precisely how I feel right now. So I've decided to snap a few photos on my way home and then write a story for this in lieu of a lot of photos. Since tonight I was going to take pictures of pets, I think I'll write about the only pet I had during my adult life. But first, a few photos.
Holy shitballs, I almost stepped in this! That would've freaked me out.
Holy smokes...oh wait, I used that last night...never mind. Let's move on.
Ha! Good luck getting a cab on a night like this! Glad I live within walking distance.
What am I drinkin'? You talkin' to me?
Well, let's go in to this deli and I'll show you exactly what I'm drinking.
THIS is what I'm drinking. Oh, and thanks for asking!
Okay, a couple soggy blocks and I'll go home and write my story. This is another thing I like about this blog, I get to write more. I didn't write much last year doing the 365 blog, because I was so beat all the time, so it's nice to write some short stories again. The tale will be right below this when I finish it. Till then, goodnight everybody and I'll see you tomorrow after dark.
Mr. Bard
Growing up my family had a variety of dogs as pets, but since I’ve been on my own, I only had one pet. It was a bird I named, Mr. Bard. He was a green and grey cockatiel and a great little pet and friend. I bought him from a woman in 1988 who was a friend of a friend. She raised birds to sell as pets and I bought the cockatiel from her. I named the bird, Mr. Bard, after a neighbor we had when I was about five-years-old.
We moved to Louisvile, Kentucky when I was five and there was an old guy who lived across the street. He was retired and loved to work in his yard and garden. He had white hair and kind of looked like the guy who played Perry White on the old Superman show. My older brother Jim and I used to go and help him garden and do yard work. He had Parkinson’s disease and he was in a constant state of shakiness and this fascinated my brother and I. I remember once eating some corn with a spoon and shaking it all over my plate. After watching me do this repeatedly I remember my mom asking me what I was doing.
“I’m playing a game called, “Mr. Bard,” I explained.
I remember my mom laughing and telling me that it wasn’t funny all at the same time. I think that’s when I first discovered sick humor and I’ve always appreciated Mr. Bard for allowing me to laugh at the dark moments of life. So I thought it was the perfect name for my new bird.
We settled in well together. I bought him a huge cage and all kinds of toys and things to eat. And that first night I discovered that we had one thing in common, we both loved beer!
After I got him settled in to his cage, I took him back out and walked him around my apartment and showed him around. The cool thing about Mr. Bard was that the woman I bought him from hand-trained him, so he wouldn’t fly around when he was out of his cage. He loved to ride on my shoulder, pirate style when I was walking around, but if I was sitting in a chair or reading a magazine or book lying down, he’d just walk around, either on me or nearby. It was kind of like having a tiny little feathered dog. The first night I had him I went to the refrigerator and popped open a can of Budweiser. The popping noise intrigued him and he walked down my arm and up to my wrist and was looking at the can. I took a sip brought it back down and he stuck his beak into the rim and lapped up a little of the beer. I swear by the end of the night and after about eight beers, he was kind of staggering, so I put him in his cage and put a sheet over it and let him sleep it off.
I got up the next morning, took off the sheet and he was sitting there on his swing. He woke up, looked around and immediately swooped down to his water and took a nice long drink. I think he had cotton mouth. After he was done drinking he started chirping like crazy and I took him out of his cage and let him ride around on my shoulder.
The next day I had to go to work. I worked the third shift back then and had to be to work at 11:00 pm. I didn’t want to put the sheet on the cage, because I wanted him to have the same hours as me, so I left the lights on and put him in his cage and when I put on my jacket he must’ve sensed I was leaving and he went nuts. He was hanging on to the side of his cage and he started squawking like crazy. He did this the day before when I left, but I was hoping he’d get used to being alone, it didn’t look like this was the case.
“Shut up, I’ll be back in about nine hours,” I said to him.
He just kept going nuts, so I walked out of my apartment and locked the door. I stood there and he continued to sqawk and caw for over five minutes. I had to go to work, but I was afraid if he kept that up all night my neighbors would start to complain.
I went to work that night and got back home around 7:30 in the morning. I lived on the second floor and as soon as I opened up the door I could hear him squawking.
“Fuck,” I said to myself and ran up the stairs. I opened the door to his cage, threw it open and he was hanging in the same spot as when I left him. He was making all kinds of noise, I ran to his cage and threw open the door and stuck my hand in and he hopped on my finger.
“You gotta knock this shit off, I’m going to get complaints and then I’ll have to throw your ass out of here,” I told him. He didn’t seem the slight bit fazed, so I went and got a beer. I swear when I opened the refrigerator and grabbed the can, he let out a happy chirp. This bird brain was already a booze-hound! The two of us drank beer and I watched the Today Show and listened to some music. About one in the afternoon, both of us were half-stewed and tired. I put him in his cage, put a sheet over it, turned out the lights and went to bed. That evening I got up, ate dinner and fucked around till it was time to go to work. I was hoping Mr. Bard wouldn’t pitch a fit again, but the same fucking thing happened.
This time he knew for sure I was leaving so he battled me on going back into his cage. He flew away from me and landed up on a light hanging from the ceiling. He was staring down at me and I know he was thinking, “Tough luck asshole, I can fly and you can’t.”
I could’ve had his wings clipped, but he liked to fly around the apartment occasionally and I thought that would be an unnatural and mean thing to do to him. I didn’t want him flying around loose when I was gone though. There’d be bird shit all over the apartment when I got home. Then I thought of a way to trick him.
“Okay, fuck it, I won’t go to work, let’s see how you like it when I run out of bird food and I can’t afford to buy anymore for you to eat,” I said to him taking off my jacket and throwing it on the couch. He perked up a little when I did that. Then I went to the kitchen and opened up the refrigerator and walked out with a can of beer. He saw the can and flew right down to my arm. I grabbed him and put him in his cage and he went nuts and did the hanging on the side bit while squawking up a storm. This happened every night and the couple that lived next door never complained. I was amazed, but relieved.
I had had Mr. Bard for about two weeks when I ran into Caroline, one half of the couple who lived next door to me. I didn’t see her or her husband Robert very often because we kept different hours. They were early-risers and I think went to bed between 10 pm and midnight, so we were on opposite clocks. They were kind of straight-laced people, but we got along fine. I didn’t have people over a lot, but if I did I always told them to knock on the door if it was too loud and they never did. Anyway, it was a Saturday night around nine in the evening and I was leaving to go meet some friends. Mr. Bard was going through his squawking routine as I locked the door.
“Hey, stranger, when do I get to meet your bird?” A voice rang out in the hallway. It was Caroline and she was carrying a bag of groceries.
I said hi and then said, “I hope his squawking isn’t driving you two nuts, he goes crazy when I leave, he doesn’t like to be alone,” I explained as she set the bag on the ground.
She laughed and said, “It’s the nuttiest thing, we can hear him chirping when you leave, but as soon as you’re out of the building he stops. Then in the morning about five minutes before you come home, he starts up again. Somehow he knows the time of morning when you come home.”
“That little fucker,” I said, “I was actually worried it was bugging the shit out of you guys, but you were being nice and not saying anything about it. I was also worried about him and that he was hanging on the side of his cage going nuts for nine hours every night!”
Caroline laughed and said, “Believe me, if he did that all through the night, you’d have heard from us. We’re always up at night when you leave and when he starts his morning thing, we’re having our coffee, It makes us laugh.”
I always thought that it was nuts that he knew when I was coming home. We settled in nicely together and he was a great pet and beer drinking buddy. But five years later I decided to move to New York. There is a way to have a bird sent somewhere, but cockatiels are indoor birds and they can easily catch a cold if outside and that leads to pneumonia and that’s how a lot of them die. Plus my apartment in New York was tiny and there was no way to fit the huge cage in there. It would be too much of a hassle to have him there, I hated to think about giving him away, but the only other alternative was to take him to a vet and have him take that last flight into the sky via a lethal injection, and there was no way I was doing that.
I had some resumes being printed at a local print shop and I went to go pick them up. I knew the manager, Don and told him about the move to New York. I also told him about the Mr. Bard situation. This caught his interest.
“My dad lives out in the country and he’s got about six birds, all in different cages,” Don told me. “He might want it, are you giving him away?”
This sounded perfect. I told him I was not only giving him away, but his dad could have the cage for free. I told him I had paid over a 70 bucks for it, but I wanted it to go with Mr. Bard. Don said his dad would be real interested. Then I told Don he was hand-trained and you could keep him out of his cage. That did it. Don said his dad always wanted a bird that you could let out of his cage, he told me to hang on and he called him right then and there. Don talked to him and when he hung up he said his dad would take Mr. Bard.
Two months later I was about a week away from moving and Don drove out to my apartment. The day had come, it was time to take Mr. Bard to his new home. I had bought a little cage for him to travel in. Don had a pickup truck and we could put his large cage in the back. I had his food and toys packed up in a grocery bag. Don came in and took the cage and the bag out to the truck. Then he came back to my place.
“Okay, we better go,” Don said.
“Fuck, he’s going to flip out when I put him in there,” I told Don as I walked over to the tiny cage. After a bit of a struggle I got Mr. Bard into the cage and he was going nuts thrashing around and making noises like I never heard him make. I put a towel over the cage to cover him up. In the five years I had him, he had never left my apartment. This was going to be like taking him to a new world. And so far he wasn’t happy.
“Let’s go,” I said to Don, “this isn’t going to be a good day.”
And it wasn’t. Don’s dad lived out in the sticks and it took us around 45 minutes to get there, with Mr. Bard going batshit crazy the whole way. I was really afraid he was going to hurt himself. Finally we got there. I took Mr. Bard inside, met Don’s dad and immediately took Mr. Bard out of the cage. He flew up to my shoulder and was hiding behind my head. He made a huffing noise when he was scared and he was huffing and shaking. I put my hand up and he instinctively climbed up on it. I brought him around and was petting the top of his head. He always loved that.
“This is your new home, Mr. Bard, you’re going to love it here,” I told him as he settled down. After a few minutes of looking around, he stopped shaking and seemed to be okay. Then Don, his dad and I took him into the room where the other birds were in cages. When we got in there I took Mr. Bard up to a cage that housed two love birds and they chirped when they saw him. I wish I had a film of Mr. Bard looking at them. He turned his head sideways and looked at them like he was thinking, “Who the fuck is this?”
We stayed about an hour and Mr. Bard really took to Don’s dad. I instructed his dad on how to put his finger touching Mr. Bard’s claws and he’d hop on. I showed him how to pet the top of his head and Mr. Bard looked like he was enjoying all the attention. Every now and again he’d fly over to me as if to say, “Where the fuck is the beer in this joint?”
After about an hour it was time to go. Mr. Bard was sitting on Don’s dad’s shoulder, and I thanked Don’s dad and said goodbye to Mr. Bard. As Don and I walked to the door, Mr. Bard flew over to my shoulder.
“No, you’re staying here, Mr. Bard,” I said to him and walked back to Don’s dad, who took him again.
I told his dad to pet his head and turn around so I could leave. They turned around but Mr. Bard got loose and soon was back on my shoulder. He let out a chirp as if to say, “What the fuck is going on here?” Jesus, this was like leaving a kid at the orphanage and then trying to leave while he’s tugging on your pant leg.
“I’m going to have to put him in his cage,” I said walking over to his cage in the corner of the room where we set it up. Immediately he started squawking and I said to him, “Look, I gotta go, you’re going to like it here, I promise.” I put him in his cage and he jumped up on his swing and he just looked at me. I was amazed he wasn’t going nuts. Maybe it was because Don’s dad was there and there were the other birds, he wasn’t alone. Maybe he sensed I really had to leave him there.
“Bye Mr. Bard,” I said and Don and I walked out the door to his pickup truck. We got in and started down the road.
“That wasn’t easy, was it?” Don asked.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I told him and turned on the radio.
Two weeks later I was living in New York. I had job interviews scheduled at People magazine and Entertainment Weekly. Plus I had already scored a freelance writing assignment with a weekly paper called, NY Weekly. I was feeling good about things and decided to call Don to see how Mr. Bard was doing. I had called him before I left and found out the first two days he was there he was kind of listless and wasn’t eating. Then on the third day he was eating and Don’s dad was having a blast with him. I was glad his dad was taking him out of the cage a lot. I didn’t want to give him to someone that would leave him in the cage for a long period of time.
I talked to Don and had to laugh at what he told me. He said Mr. Bard had developed a morning ritual at his dad’s house. Every morning Don’s dad would let Mr. Bard out of his cage and Mr. Bard would fly to the top of the other bird cages, where the birds couldn’t fly free and would stand on top, chirping and stretching out his wings as if to say, “Hey Motherfuckers, I’m free and you’re not!”
Ha ha ha! I loved it. Mr. Bard was the king of the fucking hill! Then he told me one more thing.
“My dad changed his name,” Don revealed to me. “He hated the name Mr. Bard.”
I have to admit, I was a little pissed off.
“But that’s the name he answers to, he won’t know another name,” I said to Don.
“No, he answers to the new name too,” Don said. It sounded like he was stifling laughter.
I didn’t think that was possible. It would be like giving a new name to a dog who’s answered to the same name for over five years.
“So what’s his new name?” I asked flatly.
Don laughed and said, “Marty.”
Ha ha ha! That was perfect. Marty is close enough sounding to Bard, that Mr. Bard probably didn’t notice the difference. He became a Marty and I became a New Yorker. Sometimes thing work out in life and this was one of those times.
Further reading: Biscuits and Bath, Three Dog Knight, Downtown Pets and Mr. Bard.
And when I awoke, I was alone, this bird had flown
So I lit a fire, isn't it good, Norwegian wood.
------------------------------------------
Bonus Art By Jaws!
Jaws sent in this piece of art to accompany his story/comment. Thanks, Jaws!
Little Avian Sociopath by Jaws.
31 Comments
Reader Comments (31)
Great read. Thanks Marty. Only you would have a beer drinking bird!
I love the short stories you're including here. Great story about Mr. Bard/Marty! And I love what you're drinking! LOL!
How did Mr Bard taste like pheasant under glass I bet.
Kidding I did a a white pigeon once, but no shit a cat ate him. Dumb ass bird would not go back in his bird house. Someone clipped his tail feathers and he could not fly, I was keeping him our shed until his he could fly again {like the movie born free}. One night my Dad could not get him in the shed and that's when the cat must have got the poor bastard. he used waddle over to me when ever I called him his name Charlie. I hope that cat at lease enjoyed good ol Charlie.
Just thought I would share that with Marty after Dark
Oh that is awesome Marty
I am deathly afraid of birds..
we were in Hawaii and I tried to be nice and play with the ones but i swear they stare at you and they think.
there were hundred of them every morning at the slider doors.
my dad laughed cause he knows they give me the creeps.
I found a huge toad and stuck it on the back porch to scare them away.
the big 8 inch toad peed on me and took off. and the birds stayed.
My boss had a mean big white bird that called me names once. ughhh
even if the bird is cool and drank beer Marty i'd still be hiding in a corner from it.
you'd have to save me from your bird. hahaha
but glad you had a little friend:)
and yes I know they make meds for this...
HA!
Smoopy is going to cry after reading this story !
@Happy Cappy: Thanks, glad you liked the story. I still miss the little guy!
@Barfly: Glad you're liking the stories, I'm having fun writing them.
@KNUCKLES: Thanks for sharing. I used to threaten to cook up Mr. Bard all the time when he misbehaved.
@Gidgie: You're not alone in your fear of birds, a lot of people were freaked out when they'd come to my place and would be introduced to Mr. Bard.
@GENE: Have a Kleenex and a beer ready when Smoopy reads this tale.
This was a great story that had me hooked, thinking about Mr. Bard because leaving him there, regardless of the circumstances, is emotional. An excellent idea to take him out there to be with other birds. I know you had a tear in your eye. I know this story put tears in my eyes, thanks for sharing it.
this story made me cry and then laugh at the end. you're a good storyteller, i could picture it in my mind. and a perfect song for the nighcap!
My family had parakeets when I was a kid. Our first one was named Jose and was extremely bright and playful. He'd follow you around on the floor like a little green and blue dog and try to untie your shoelaces, so you always had to be careful not to step on him. He'd hang from my father's reading glasses and pick his nose for him while he was watching the news, and perch on top of his head (he was balding) and do this little disco dance while flapping his wings to keep from sliding off. We let him out of his cage alot he was so smart and freindly and loved to play, then one day he saw an open door, made a beeline for it, made it out of the house and we never saw Jose again. Us kids were heartbroken, so dad went and bought a pair of parakeets to replace Jose. These two birds, for some reason (perhaps they were mistreated while young or something, I don't know,) were meaner than snakeshit. If you got them on your finger and tried to teach them to talk, they'd let out a string of angry sounding peeps and they they'd bite the hell out of you. That's the only thing either one of them were good for, Letting out with that weird high pitch machine gun peeping noise and carving up your finger with those sharp little beaks. Quite a let down from Jose.
Well, my sister was a talented piano player, and my folks sprung for a piano tutor to come out to our house a couple times a week. We didn't know at the time, but HE had a deathly fear of birds. Well, He came over one day while I was making a final try at teaching one of the nasty little fuckers to talk, and it was happily chwing away on my finger for my pains. Then the little avian sociopath got a load of my sisters piano teacher. Nasty little fucker must have been able to smell the fear on the teacher, 'cause he took off with a squawk and began his straifing runs a the teachers head. I swear to God, Marty, the bird's eyes were shining with delight and it looked happy for the first time in it's miserable life as it chased the teacher round and round the dining room table, and then finally UNDER the dining room while the parakeet patrolled the air space over the table. The teacher was in his mid forties, hiding under our table and he screamed like a little girl while my sister bawled at the top of her lungs, my mother was hissing death threats at me to get that damned bird while I chased it around the table with my butterfly net. Well I caught him, retrieved him from the net and the moment I did he bit me of course, and I swear to God he was smiling while he did it. We were lucky that piano teacher didn't sue us. True story.
Now, who would put a bad luck spot right there on the fuckin' sidewalk? That's some bad karma, dude. Anyhoo, glad you sidestepped it and got to your tallboys unscathed. I love the Mr. Bard/Marty story. It's always nice to have a drinking buddy. And one who can poop on your head, but doesn't, is a real bonus.
@Al: Glad you liked the story. It's fun writing stories like this because it forces you to remember times from the past that otherwise maybe you wouldn't think about.
@rita r. Thanks. And I was pleased to have thought of Norwegian Wood. A favorite Beatles tune of mine and a bird reference to boot. Although Lennon's bird was a groupie.
@Jaws: That's a wild story, indeed! They sound like demon birds!
@Biff: Mr. Bard pooped on my head and other places lots of times. The price you pay for a feathered beer drinking buddy!
Might be talent, more likely luck; either way "7. THISi9swhatimdrinking-11.jpg" is a pretty epic shot. The modified classical posing. The use of the pose to bring the eye from the background to the mid-ground to the foreground's Sistine chapelesque "Divine Beer." The specular highlight from the flash add to the effect. (especially off the tall boys) Nice Job!
P.S. Shhh, I'm also a slacker, my Mr. Bird brain hasn't let me read the story yet, but I really did like the shot.
Mr. Bard...you brought a tear to my eye Marty...what a great friend he was....
TO Mr. Bard!
Great story. I wouldn't have been able to pert with him, the cheeky little bastard!
part with him...I need to pay more attention to the keyboard.
@cp: Thanks! It was pure luck. Whenever I get a real quality photo, it's what I like to call a happy accident. Although I am learning to pose people. I had him hold it like that for effect, so maybe I'm learning along the way.
@tehennessey: The woman I bought him from knew Tina, do you remember who she was? I remember she was married to a biker.
@Clacky: It wasn't easy, but I couldn't have moved him out here and if I could, his cage would've taken up half of my apartment. He really did like it out at Don's dad's place once he got used to it.
I wish someone would go around and mark all the bad luck spots. My sis had a love bird in h.s. that was hand trained. It was a fun bird. He never had beer though. Another sister left the front door open one time and the bird flew away, my sister was heartbroken. I'm glad you found a good home for Mr. Bard when you moved. Giving up a pet is a hard thing. Great and touching story, definitely tear worthy. I'm also loving that you get to write more on this blog.
Great story Jaws
@ Kari; Why thank you!
Hey Martin,
Her name is Debbie , his is Denny... sorry got busy
@kari: Thanks, so much, glad you liked the story. That had to be tough when your sister's bird flew away. At least I knew where Mr. Bard was and that he liked it there.
@tehennessey: That's right, I knew that it was you and Tina who told me about her raising birds, but couldn't remember her name. I think I destroyed too many brain cells at your house through the years!
well fuck...where does one start?....hey MAD when i saw Mr. Bard ...i said....sumthin' 'bout to be or not 2 b...damn that one belongs in "firetruck" sumwhrer...that said....
rr
@rr: Thanks, I'll be writing more firetruck-like stories in the future, there's plenty that couldn't fit in the book. May as well tell them here.
I agree with @rr, would make a great addition to a firetruck book
@kari: Thanks!
an afterthought...gidget posts about "mr. bean"...ev posts about an unnamed hawk...MAD posts about "mr. bard" ... then the guy who sexually molested a horse...and then i read a one word comment "lemmings"...a week of all kinds of animals...
rr
Your search - an afterthought...gidget posts about "mr. bean"...ev posts about an unnamed hawk...MAD ... - did not match any documents.
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Nice story. Best bit: The Mr. Bard Game. Sick humor emerging from innocence and curiosity—that's as good a definition of Marty as you can get.
@rr: It's been a zoo on the internet this week!
@cp: ????
@Ned Sparks: Thanks, that Mr. Bard game is one of my favorite memories.
Sorry, just my extra chromosome kicking in.
cp...hell maybe that is my problem...never really considered that...
rr
@cp & rr: That could be all of our problems!