Parrot
“A parrot? Are you crazy, Mirko? What are we going to do with a parrot? Who's around to spend time with it?”
Mirko shivered, pulled the heavy blanket around himself. He took a peanut out of the bag, holding it between two fingers offered it to the bird. The parrot squawked, grabbed it. “I'm here, Dad. I'll look after it,” Mirko said.
The father poured his beer, made sure the head was just right, sipped, burped, stared into the glass. The parrot screeched, scratched his tail feathers. The father glanced at Mirko, scratched the top of his head sticking out his tongue and grimacing. They both broke into laughter.
“Does he at least swear?” the father said, wiping his cheeks.
“Your mother does sailors,” the parrot screeched.
“We'll get along just fine then,” the father roared. “I'm used to the place being cold, Mirko, but it looks like an early winter this year.” He burped again, looked at the dirty plates, empty bottles, spilled mustard on the counter. “Tomorrow we'll get wood for the stove.”
Mirko shivered, pulled the heavy blanket around himself. He took a peanut out of the bag, holding it between two fingers offered it to the bird. The parrot squawked, grabbed it. “I'm here, Dad. I'll look after it,” Mirko said.
The father poured his beer, made sure the head was just right, sipped, burped, stared into the glass. The parrot screeched, scratched his tail feathers. The father glanced at Mirko, scratched the top of his head sticking out his tongue and grimacing. They both broke into laughter.
“Does he at least swear?” the father said, wiping his cheeks.
“Your mother does sailors,” the parrot screeched.
“We'll get along just fine then,” the father roared. “I'm used to the place being cold, Mirko, but it looks like an early winter this year.” He burped again, looked at the dirty plates, empty bottles, spilled mustard on the counter. “Tomorrow we'll get wood for the stove.”
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Author's Note
Nothing like a naughty parrot.
A continuation of the adventures of Mirko, a teenage hoodlum in Bratislava.
Other stories by Andrew Stancek
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love talking parrots.
Tells a lot here, Andrew, in a little space. I like the attempt to bond, the change that's about to return them to normal.
enjoyed this very much...as always, when mirko stays over with one of his micros. his dad and the beer head did it to me especially this time. full of fine observations. onward, mirko.
Great storytelling, Andrew. Mirko and his dad come through.
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Good piece, Andrew. Especially like this imagery in the middle - "The parrot screeched, scratched his tail feathers. The father glanced at Mirko, scratched the top of his head sticking out his tongue and grimacing." Enjoyed.
Tomorrow....
Love it. Love the series. More, more!
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Your stories have this quality of being very good without trying to. Not easy to pull off but you do, Andrew
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I'm intrigued, Andrew.
I like how you use the bird and a bit of indirect dialog to develop the father. Nice work!
Thanks, Estelle. I fear for the parrot in this household.
Thanks, Susan. These two need a lot more to bond them than just a parrot.
Marcus,
a comment from you always thrills.
James,
I take lessons from you.
Sam,
so glad you liked it.
Jack,
I really appreciate your support of the series. Much more to come.
Susan,
I am always thrilled when you come by. Thanks for a beautiful comment.
Thanks, Jen, for your support.
Essentials of life with Father: wood for the stove, and parrot. But neither will suffice. Great stuff. *