Having just read about lost dogs and parrots, I recall when my African Grey flew away twenty eight years ago in Sandton where I was living at the time. I searched the neighborhood for over a week and then, after almost having given up hope, I was walking down another road which is the boundary between Parkmore-where I lived-and Sandown, whistling and calling his name, when a gardener came walking to the large gate of the property where he worked and asked me if I was looking for polly? I said yes, and he told me that the parrot (Charlie) was sitting in the top of a large Christmas tree on the property. The problem was that the gate was on a timer and could not be opened before five the following morning and the owners were abroad. Well, I was there before five and, after the obliging man opened the gate at five, he pointed to Charlie who, fortunately, was in the same place. So with the hosepipe, I managed to douse him before he took flight but, due to his wet wings, he didn't get very far and I managed to retrieve him. He was shaking and shivering like a little child and I was overjoyed to get him back. I clipped his wings of course-something I always did- but obviously not regularly enough. He was around a further eight years or so until I again neglected to clip his wings and this time he made good his escape. I repeated the search process with no luck and I have always suspected and hoped that he was found and picked up by a homeowner in the vicinity, rather than by a dog, cat or, hit by a car. That was my second Grey; the first one-five years earlier-was so tame and loving that we also caged him only when we went out. Well, one cold winter's night, he walked down from his cage/pedestal and, after climbing up the bedspread of our bed, he found an opening into and under covers where it obviously was warm and comforting between my girlfriend and I. My girlfriend woke me up at about two o clock in the morning, with the dead bird in her hands. I, or her, obviously had had rolled over and smothered him. Oh, how we cried. He was so tame and would follow us all around the house and we figured that because he was so young that he probably never had seen a bird in flight and did not even realize that he was meant to fly. His name was Gandalph and I then said I would not acquire another cage bird. Charlie had belonged to an aunt whose husband had passed away and Charlie would call her in his voice which of course upset my aunt when she would hear the voice of here late husband. And so, when she heard about Gandalph's unfortunate demise, she asked me if I might like to take Charlie. Well, I guess I had bad luck with parrots in cages, but I hate seeing any caged animal anyway-other then the two legged ones who hurt the four legged ones.
