A Bird in the Hand Is Worth Two in the Bush

by Dave and Jaja

	Chris gets a replacement "pet".

We walked past a pet store one day in the Australian town of Bundaberg. We had just sailed across the Coral Sea from New Caledonia and were enjoying a few lay-days before heading up the Great Barrier reef toward Gove. Three-year-old Chris and two-year-old Holly, were admiring the vast array of small colorful birds when Jaja gave me The Look. Thirty minutes later, our micro cabin on DIRECTION was home to one large wire cage, and one small, screechy, peach-faced Budgee.

We named it Cocky Feather-Seed, the First.

The bird became our four-inch-high mascot and his most admirable trick was biting and then not letting go. His favorite perch, when we let him loose with the companionway closed, was on top of the depth sounder where he would nibble on the transducer cable.

Sailing with a large cage in our small cabin took some coordination. When the boat heeled and rolled, the obvious place for it was on top of our gimbaled, two-burner, kerosene stove. But that location posed a serious threat: the bird would come unglued at the sight of flames. We began wedging his cage near the toilet, but that gave him a clear shot at exposed flesh. Chris got nipped on the thigh one day and sent the cage flying with a reflexive kick. (I spent the next two weeks picking the bird seed out of the bilge pump strainer).

As soon as we settled in Gove for the summer, Cocky's cage found a new location in the cockpit under the awning.

Even after we'd had the bird for a few months, the kids still enjoyed playing with it. They would save their sticky Popsicle sticks and shove them quickly into the cage for Cocky to destroy. One day, cocky escaped from his habitat and flew off across the anchorage. Chris cried hysterically, so the four of us piled into the dinghy to go searching. Chris spotted Cocky high in the rigging on a forty-footer and talked to it sweetly while I free-climbed to the second spreaders with a beach towel for a net.

A week later I found Cocky dead in his cage. I lifted his cold feathered form, brought him below, and broke the sad news to the kids. Holly was excited because she could finally hold Cocky in her hand without him nipping. Chris took out his collection box that contained dead grasshoppers and dead dragonflies and said he'd keep Cocky safe for us. We had to explain the ritual of burying dead pets, then suggested we row to shore to find a quiet place in the Australian Bush behind the yacht club.

We stood respectfully as Chris and Holly stuck Popsicle sticks in the ground to mark the grave. Chris stood silent.

"Are you sad?" Jaja asked

"Naw," he replied firmly. "I was just thinking we can dig him up and play with him next time we come to shore."