It Was Hard to Find Who Was to Blame: The Children Ran Off to the River and Forgot to Lock the Parrot in Its Cage, While Grandma Came Back from the Shops and Threw the Window Wide Open

Pinning down who was actually at fault turned out to be a real headache. The children, dashing off to the river, forgot to shut Charlie the parrot back in his cage. Then, when Grandma returned from Sainsbury’s, she flung open the window wide. The result? When evening rolled around and everyone noticed Charlies absence, it quickly became clear that our cherished Amazon parrot had vanished off to goodness knows where.

For three straight days and nights, we let all our usual business slide, galloping around the allotment estate in search of the runaway. Not a soul had seen a feather of Charlie. The children had tears streaming down their cheeks, Grandma kept sighing and muttering oh dear, oh dear, and my husband and I spent our time blaming first the youngsters, then the old.

Mind you, even our own dog, a loyal Airedale named Daisy, was in no state to be blamed for anything. Daisy was down in the dumps. She only sprang to life when the doorbell rang; shed charge into the hall, barking at the top of her lungs, then stop suddenly, realising her bark echoed lonely through the house. With a sad look, shed limp back to her mat. For four whole years, any visitors to our home were greeted with a glorious canine chorusCharlie could bark masterfully, sometimes even better than Daisy herself.

Barking, in fact, was Charlies first attempt at being a parrot in the fullest sense. Back when he was nothing more than a green (in every sense) fledgling, Charlie had made it his mission to torment the cat, Molly, with his barking. Hed sneak up behind her as she curled up into a ball and let out an ear-splitting bark. Molly would leap up with a startled meow, Daisy would come charging in, barking fit to burst, and chaos would reign for a few minutes.

Molly somehow tolerated Charlie, though sometimes I suspected her patience was paper-thin. Daisy, on the other hand, adored the parrotgenuinely and devotedly. That cheeky bird would perch right on her head (quite literally), often scolding Daisy in a passable imitation of Grandmas sternest voice:

Whos going to finish their porridge?
Pause for dramatic effect, then with a sigh, Were not raising pigs in this house!

Daisy reacted to Charlies lectures in much the same way the children did to Grandmas: with complete indifference. Sometimes, when Charlies nagging was beyond belief, Daisy would flick him off with her rough tongue, giving him a gentle shove.

So, Charlies disappearance felt like a family tragedyeveryone, that is, except Molly the cat. After a couple of weeks, wed just about accepted we might never see our chattering darling again, when rumours started flying about the estate. In the flock of crows that liked to raid the local gardens, there had appeared a brand-new addition: a loud, bright green crow sporting an unmistakable red face. Not only did this bold newcomer squawk with impressive volume, but it could also barkand even hurl a few distinctly human-sounding insults.

That last part nearly dashed our renewed hopes. It was mortifying to think our little prodigy was out there spouting language we tried very hard not to use at home. Yet, thinking about it, Charlie might have picked up all sorts of things during his adventures. So, off went the search for our prodigal bird once again.

It was about ten days later that luck finally returned. I was bent over my runner beans when I heard a familiar voice:

Well, what now?

High in the cherry tree, surrounded by a crowd of black, shiny crows plundering fruit, sat my clever boy.

Charlie, come on, darling! Come to Mum, Ive got your favourite sunflower seeds…

Charlie cocked his head, considering.

Charlie, we all miss you so muchDad, Lucy and Jamie, and even Daisy. Come here, little chap…

Cautiously, I reached out, inching towards the branch. I was almost close enough when

Ha! Little rascals! Charlie suddenly squawked, imitating the sharp tone of our allotment chairman, before flapping off with his new mates.

Charlies wild life lasted right up until the frosts. From time to time, hed turn up near the house, but couldnt be persuaded to come home. Every gentle entreaty to return to the family met with a philosophical squawk, and off hed go into the sky.

Late in autumn, folks spotted Charlie more and more on his own. Slowly, he began lingering near the house, sad and puffed up, perched on the fence or the apple trees, but never letting anyone come too close. Thats when we brought out our secret weapon: Daisy. I still dont know what Daisy said to her companion, but Charlie rode back into the house, perched proudly astride the big ginger dog, like a king reclaiming his throne.