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I’ve been walking up and down this dam branch for the past five days. My room gets rearranged once a week if the people remember. Last time was a good one. I could get from my water to my seed bin without having to hop to another ledge and the swing was right in the middle. Oh man, I love that swing.

I spend a lot of time alone. The other bird in the shiny glass sometimes shows up but he doesn’t have much to say. We’re friends but not the kind that talk to each other all the time. More the sorry for the late reply until one of us dies kind of friends.

When the lights come on I sing my songs. I’ve been practising but the people don’t care much. They tell me to quiet down. Other people come over and I try to sing for them but the same thing happens.

When people aren’t around I sing for myself. I like singing.

The people say “Imagine being stuck in there forever.”

It doesn’t bother me. Sometimes the people seem worried if they haven’t paid attention to me in a few days. I try to tell them I’m happy being me but it never gets through.

You ever tried to tell someone you’re happy being yourself? Now you know.

All the people walk around telling each other how they should be. They should sing more often. Singing is fun.

I’m used to it. A few laps around the younger one’s shoulder every so often and that’s enough for me. Isolation is a gift.

When I grew up I was surrounded by morons, devoting their life to searching for seeds and singing with not a gram of style. I was glad Petey got picked up before me. The seed searching I can understand. Even the people collect pointless things.

Singing without style? I can’t forgive that.

One of the dogs has style, the other claims to have it.

I wouldn’t mind if the older one stopped trying to get to me to sing what he wanted. He comes up, right up to my cage, thinks he’s pretty smart.

“Hello, Jimmy!”

“Hello, Jimmy!”

“Hello, Jimmy!”

Says it in his 3-year-old voice. At least try to get me to say something worthwhile. Is he trying to get me to say hello to myself so he doesn’t have to?

I love playing along with his games, see how far he tries to take it. He puts a finger my way trying to get me to walk up it. That’s when I bite him.


The lights go out and I get plenty of time to think. I think about flying around a nice open space. New Zealand maybe. Then they come back on and the people are back, please put some pants on.

I don’t need New Zealand.

I can sing, I can imagine, I can swing. Oh man, I love that swing.

I’m free as a bird.

Tweetle tweet.

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