I went to the bird hospital today.

One of the ducks is having a problem. What? I don’t know. So, today, we went to a bird hospital. It is a real veterinarian who only sees birds – mainly parrots – and cures their many ailments. The waiting room was quite possibly the weirdest place I have been in years. We don’t need a reality show, this waiting room does!

Old women, seeming normal couples, definitely odd couples, and “forever” single peoples packed this waiting room with numerous parrots in various travel containers. Did you know you can put a parrot in a plastic box? Or just carry one in on your shoulder like a pirate? Cat carriers were also popular. And cardboard boxes.

When parrot people meet other parrot people, they greet the birds and not the individuals. Suddenly the room is filled with kiss noises, or dangling keys. Like that annoying uncle trying to get a baby’s attention. And then, inevitably, a conversation will ensue between the parrot and the human. The parrot may bob it’s head, or make a popping noise. The human will compliment the parrot’s dancing or it’s beautiful noises. “Is Cassie excited to be at the doctors?” Barf.

And so, the duck? Who knows what’s wrong. Time will tell. But like cat shows and the people who raise dozens of ferrets in their basements, I have found a new fetish. A new documentary. I may make a name for myself yet at Sundance. Get me a producer. Oh, and have them meet my llamas. Wouldn’t they make a great reality show. Forget those darn birds!

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