POLLY WANT A CRACKER?

POLLY WANT A CRACKER?

Ya fookin’ bastard

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

My grandparents inherited a bird. Not just any bird but a parrot.

Paddy Sullivan owned a grocery store that was located only one block away from the apartment he shared with his wife, Agnes, and their four young children. Though they didn’t have life easy, they were determined to save what they could in order to sell the grocery store which had begun to lose money to the larger market in town and purchase the bar which sat around the corner. “Agnes, men will always drink!”

And two years later, Paddy sold the grocery store and used most of the income to purchase the bar.

It wasn’t flashy; it wasn’t trendy. It was nothing more than a bar where men would go to have a drink or two whether on their way home from work or on a Saturday. There was no TV above the bar to occupy the attention of the patrons. Entertainment relied on conversation.

Until one warm spring day ….

It was a sunny but cool day in late April when Ziggy Murphy walked into the bar carrying a large, covered item which he immediately placed on the bar.

“Paddy, me boy, you’ve got to do me a favor. I’ll owe ya,” Ziggy said in this thick Irish brogue.

“Owe me what, Ziggy? You’re as poor as I am. This bar isn’t makin’ me rich, ya know.”

Paddy saw the five other patrons glance his way and considered.

“Well, I guess it doesn’t hurt to hear what you have to say. What’s this favor you need?”

“You know, Paddy, my folks met their Maker five years ago.”

Paddy interrupted him. “I know, Ziggy. I was at their funerals. Your mother died six months after ya da did.”

“Yes, sadly, Paddy. One day she started coughin’ up blood and the next day, she was gone. Anyway, we’re getting’ off the subject. When mam died, my aunt, Eileen took mam’s old bird. You remember Eileen? Anyway, Eileen’s takin’ sick and can no longer take care of the bird. I can’t take it because the fookin’ thing hates me. Won’t let me near it. I’m sure between you and Agnes, you’ll give the thing a good home.”

“A bird? That’s all? Just a bird? Let me see it.” Paddy lifted part of the old rag and peered into the cage. He saw such a beautiful green and yellow parrot.

“He seems quiet enough. Docile, is he?”

“It would seem so, Paddy. Seems content to sit in his cage and whistle.”

What Paddy didn’t know, and Ziggy didn’t tell him was that Ziggy’s tale wasn’t quite accurate. The parrot didn’t belong to his parents. It had once belonged to Ziggy’s uncle Angus, an old seafarer who kept the parrot with him wherever he’d roamed. Ziggy didn’t mind bending the truth, as long as he found a home for the bird he didn’t want.

“Okay, then, I’ll take the bird but in one condition.”

Ziggy’s bubble almost burst when he said, “And what is that, my friend?”

Paddy smiled as he said, “You said you’d owe me, remember? Since I’ve four children to feed and now you want me to feed a damn bird, you’ll pay me two dollars each month for the feed. I think that’s fair. Don’t you?”

Ziggy was so relieved and shook Paddy’s hand. “Indeed, yes, indeed. It’s more than fair.”

The deal was made, the cover back completely over the cage, and Paddy, being a strict Irishman from the “old country” wrote up a contract which bound Ziggy to the $2.00 monthly deal. In Paddy’s mind, there was no way he’d take the bird for nothing.

The day drew to a close and at nine in the evening, Paddy turned off the lights in the bar, picked up the bird’s cage, left, locked up, and walked up the two floors to his apartment.

His children were asleep and his wife, Agnes, was sitting in the kitchen enjoying a cup of tea when he opened the door and walked in.

Agnes looked up and said, “And what in the bloody blue blazes have ya got there?”

Paddy put the cage on the table and related the story Ziggy told him as yanked off the cover. When he pulled the cover off so suddenly, it awakened and frightened the bird who now began to squawk ferociously.

“Paddy, put the damn cover back on it. Hurry before the damn thing wakes the children. Or the entire neighborhood.”

Oops! Too late. The children came running from their rooms to find what was making all the noise.

“Mamma?” Daniel started to ask. “Before anyone says anything,” Agnes shouted, “Paddy, shut that bloody bird up or we’ll be havin’ it for tomorrow’s supper!”

Mary, the oldest child walked over to the cage and lifted the cover. “Hey, there, pretty bird. Polly want a cracker?”

The bird must have liked Mary’s soft voice because it immediately quieted and tiled its head.

Agnes smiled a little, looked at Paddy and said, “Well, we know who’ll be taking care of this thing, now, don’t we?”

The parrot looked into Mary’s eyes and said, “Polly want a cracker, you fookin’ bastard!”

Agnes’s eyes went wide. “Oh, Paddy, this will never do. If we’re goin’ to keep the bloody thing, we’ll have to curb his language.”

The children covered their mouths with their hands to hide their laughter as Agnes admonished the bird. “If you’re to be in this family, you’ll watch your tongue, you fine feathered monster.”

The parrot bounced up and down, probably realizing he had a home. He began to chant: Polly want a cracker? Dopey bugger. Fookin’ bastard! Watch the portside! Man overboard!”

It was then that Paddy realized the true history of the bird, but the children had already fallen in love with it.

Agnes made a decision. “Children, from now on, if this THING uses any inappropriate language, you’re to shake your finger and say, ‘That’s not nice’, pretty Polly. Maybe we can train it.”

And she crossed her fingers.