This is a special, live parakeet edition of my Street Finds series.

So there we were, Ellie and I, walking down our block. I was listening to a conference call (hour three of four, which is why I had to take a short dog-walk break). Suddenly, Ellie lunged and I saw a flash of blue. To make a long story short, I spent the next 30 minutes trying to catch a parakeet with an apron and a dog carrier while listening to a conversation about grant applications, the Farm Bill and conference lodging. I’m a good multi-tasker, I tell you. But not that good because I didn’t catch the parakeet.

He was obviously a pet, and over wine tonight my neighbor and I decided that if he comes back and is captured, we will keep him and name him John. But I last saw him winging his way between 6th and 7th Ave. after twittering at me softly in a firm tone.

Like most little girls I have long harbored a Cinderella fantasy, but mine has nothing to do with the prince or the slippers and revolves instead around my deep desire for birds to alight on my outstretched fingers and sing to me. My hand was there, John, my hand was there.

Be safe, friend.


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