Raindrops....

My girls are bugging for a dog. It wouldn't be difficult to get one. Living in the hills and vales as I do there is a rescue centre close by. I grew up with various pets in the house and miss having a dog myself. The thing that puts me off is that they go die on you. My friend Julie can testify to this, having only yesterday performed a touching garden ceremony for Snowdrop the rabbit.

The best pet my parents have had was Fred. Fred was a cockatiel. When weird grancha died, we inherited him - and the name as weird nana couldn't cope with him. When I say weird I dont mean weird as in wears a colostomy bag outside of clothing weird but goddamn, off your head weird. Their favourite trick was to move - and not tell anyone. A couple of years would pass and then they'd reappear, no explanation, no apologies, just turn up at the house like you'd seen them only the day before. It sounds funny but they were evil too. They never, ever, acknowledged my brother's existence. Ever. For some unbeknown reason, even though I was the one born after my older brother was killed, they decided that as a boy, my parents had replaced Ian and weren't going to do that themselves. So they never spoke to him, took me and my sister on holidays and left him behind and sent presents "for the two of them". I didn't find this out till I was older but by then I'd already realised they were fucked up by myself. Now history repeats itself and my children have their own derranged grandparents. Not my side of course.

So back to Fred. Fred didn't talk despite our best efforts. But he whistled, boy did he whistle - that shriek was enough to wake the dead. Well me after a night of debauchery and clubbing when I'd usually only got to bed an hour before actually but thats another story. And then the ad appeared. Some cutsie ad with a Westie running about in the rain and then being fed some superior dog food. And with the tune of "Raindrops keep falling on your head" jangling in the background. And the clever fucking bird learnt it. Over and over again he'd twirp his little ditty proudly with his beak in the air and his fuzzy mohican held high.

Visitors who didn't have to endure it for hours would start to whistle it so he'd do his party trick. It was about that time that we stopped having visitors. It even ended up in the background of my Wedding Video when they filmed me at home - you know, the video I love to watch in rewind so I end up as a single female....

But, eventually it saved his life. Literally. Taking a bid for freedom one day he flew off into the sky, never to be seen again. We thought. Over a week later my dad was walking in the local woods with the dog when, stopping and chatting to a friend, they discussed Fred's demise and started whistling his signature tune.......and he answered. Forthwith a rescue bid of epic proportions, involving several grown men and a fishing net was launched and Fred was reunited into the bosom of his family again - still whistling that bloody tune.

Fred's actual demise was way funnier. Well, now it's funny. No, it was always funny but for my mother's sake I kept a straight face. As he got older, Fred thought he was a dog. He fell in love with my lab Ben and followed him everywhere. Would fly down and cuddle up to him when he was snoozing, and follow him everywhere he went - including outside onto the patio. His brush with freedom surely affected him as he'd run about outside and never fly off. But his love for Ben proved to be his demise. Following him out the back door one morning, a freak gust of wind blew the door shut......onto poor Fred's neck.

Quit laughing.....