Fred the Cockatoo

• 2 • 298

It’s early Monday morning, and Fred the cockatoo is already up, perched on his favourite spot, far from the usual chatter of the cackle, and his wife Kamala. The warmth of the day is just starting to creep in, and Fred is in a cheeky mood, as usual. He sits upright, head cocked to one side, looking for something to entertain himself with. A quick screech echoes through the still air – his own little announcement that the day has begun.

Fred’s away from the usual chaos of family life today, just keeping out of trouble. He’s always been the sort to enjoy a bit of alone time, a chance to escape the squabbles and noise of the others. But today, there’s something different in his eyes – a restlessness, perhaps.

I wander over, hoping to strike up a bit of conversation with him, knowing full well that parrots are masters of mimicry. Fred’s no African Grey, though. While those birds are famous for imitating human speech with uncanny accuracy, cockatoos like Fred are a little less polished. They’re great at picking up sounds and maybe the odd word here and there, but their vocabulary isn’t vast, and their accuracy can be a bit… well, hit or miss.

Still, I give it a go, calling out to Fred, hoping he’ll throw a word back at me. He looks at me for a moment, curious, and lets out another screech, as if to say, “Nice try, mate.” It’s not quite the response I was hoping for, but I can’t help but smile.

Fred might not be the best mimic, but there’s something comforting in his presence. Alone, but not lonely, he’s content just being out here in the open, enjoying the quiet, even if his words don’t come easily.