Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 02 - Christmas Bizarre (13 page)

“That must have drawn a crowd!”

Ida nodded “It did. But it’s making Walter a nervous wreck. He’s trying to be good about it, but he’s terrified of birds.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Wow.
I’ve known Walter for a long time, and never knew he had an avian aversion. I met him through Ida Rose, and he somewhat ran with our crowd when he could tear himself away from his virtual crowd. So I had no idea about this phobia.

He’d finally released a
novel under his own name, and I should have remembered the signing. He was very excited about it and described it as a take-off on a Wolfgang Puck-type cookbook for vampires. He explained that vampires are very ‘in.’ Walter works free-lance as a ghost writer for a whole bunch of publications. He also reviews cookbooks, which explained the gist of his fiction, as well as some of his tonnage. Walter is exceedingly heavy, well past the point of concern and smack dab in the middle of OMG.

“But he knows about my Marie, my cockatiel?”

“That’s why he doesn’t visit.”

“Oh.
I thought it was because he might not fit.”

“With
what?”

“The door.”

Ida waved me off. “That’s why we need your help. Can you take this bird with you?”

“I can try
, but I’m not making any promises.”

Inside the shop, Walter sat stoically at a table, with an African Grey sleeping on his shoulder, nuzzled next to his ear.
A crowd of on-lookers cooed, took pictures and tweeted. Walter smiled tightly, but brightened when he saw me. “Mina. Help.”

I nodded and indicated the
dog with a shrug.

“Trade you?”

“Sorry. Not mine. Returning him to his owner.”

“Please!”

The cash register rang, and I looked up to see Buddy coming toward us. “Hi, Mina. Hey, Walter, thanks again for the autograph!”

“No problem.
Thanks for picking up a copy,” Walter said through gritted teeth, careful not to awaken the conked creature.

Buddy left, and Walter regarded me.
“You know that guy?”

“Sort of.
In passing. He runs the Mail-It-2 stand.”

“That guy is weird.”

I considered it. “He is a bit eccentric.”

“Eccentric! The store manager threatened to throw him out if he continued to drink his beverage in the store,” Ida said.

“Well, that’s understandable.”

Walter shook his head
, carefully. “No, they serve lattes here, chai – you name it. He was just gross.”

“Was he slurping?”

“No. It was
what
he was drinking.”

I thought about it.
“Beer?”

Walter leaned in with a whisper.
“Blood.”

The parrot woke up, and lazily stretched its wing.
S/he took one look at Rover and hopped onto his back. Luckily, the dog didn’t share Walter’s phobia.

I waved bye-bye at my pals and left quickly
. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could play Dr. Doolittle. Or how to even begin playing Nancy Drew and the Case of the Disgusting Drink.

I made bye-bye waves and headed back,
Hound of the Baskervilles and pirate bird in tow. A second later the hound raced toward a fountain in the center court. The bird hopped onto my shoulder just as the scarf ripped from my hand. That was, until it saw the dog lapping from the fountain, and figured this was a great time to take a bath, too.

Aside from the obvious, I wasn’t so sure how great drinking or bathing in extreme chlorinated water would be for anyone, especially pets
. That, and the water was dyed bright green for Christmas.

After dragging the dog away from the fountain, the bird climbed back up my arm and decided to doze on my shoulder
on our trek back. I’m sure this is an “aww” moment for someone. But as the owner of a cockatiel, namely Marie, I knew this would eventually morph into an ewww moment.

I no sooner thought it than I felt the parrot let loose down my back, all over the new non-paid
-for vest.

“Crap.”

“Rawwk!” the bird concurred.

I led our pilgrimage on a slight detour down a cinder block hallway
and toward the restrooms.

Inside the ladies room, I tethered Rover next to the sink,
wiped it as best I could (who knows?) and turned on the faucet for him. Since the pooch was well over counter height, he lapped water from his impromptu water bowl sink easily - no worries.

After slipping the cockatiel to perch on the side of the stall, I removed my vest.
Completely schmutzed. Yeeshkabiddle. I dabbed off the gunk and made a mental note not to get too mental. S/he was only a bird, who was lost, with or without owner. If it had been me, I’d have crapped, too. As it was, I still wasn’t sure who my owner was and life was apparently doing its due diligence in the crappy department. Oh well. Boo flippin’ hoo.

I
hitched up my virtual big girl panties and headed out the lavatory door with the parrot back on my shoulder, and Kweo in tow. (I tried to encourage the bird to sit back on the dog, but it wasn’t having it.)

Just as we came to a bank of lockers near the Men’s Room, I heard Myron Stumpf’s unmistakabl
y snotty voice.

“You’re absolutely sure you have everything settled now?”

“No problem. Bernie won’t know what hit him. Thinks he’s going on vacation.”

“Yes, quite.”

“A permanent one!” The other guy sniggered.

“Precisely.
This little charade has become quite tedious.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind. You’ve memorized the directions, haven’t you? You know exactly where to go?”

“Got it.”

“And you know where to find the boat?”

“Absolutely.
You’re a real genius, you know? Who’d have thought of hiding a boat in…”

“Shhh, you fool!”

That was when Kweo decided to galumph for all he was worth straight into the Men’s room.

The parrot thought this was a blast, too.
“RAWWK!!”

“What the fuck?”

I scurried up from behind. “Sorry, they really do have minds of their own.”

“Mina!”

“Hiya Myron!” I tugged at the dog. He responded by slobbering all over Myron’s waist, and pawing at the knees of his trousers. I looked down and saw wet, brown stains on Myron’s knees. What the hell had been kneeling in, anyway? Manure?

“How long have you been eavesdropping, Kitchen?”

“Huh?” I pulled at the pooch. He pulled back.

“
What did you hear, bitch?”
It was the guy who ran into me with the hand cart. And the motorcycle. With the weird tattoo. Small world, no?

“Now, now, manners Dexter.”

“
Dexter?”
I nearly shrieked. He definitely did not look like a Dexter. Tatt Dude, maybe. Dexter, not so much.

“You gotta problem with that?” Dexter shouted, about a hair away from my face.
He could have used a breath mint. Or a tongue scraper.

“Oh, no, no! It’s a lovely name! I just wasn’t sure I’d heard Myron right.
Hey, how’s sales?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“Great! Hey, look – would love to kibbitz with you and all, but I got a dog and a parrot to return, you know? Hey, fabulous seeing you! Bye!” I desperately tugged the maverick canine toward the exit.

“Absolutely.
Bernie won’t know what hit him. Rawwk!”

I stopped in my tracks, and stared at the bird.

“Pick up the boat!”

I didn’t want to turn around.
But I had to. Myron and Dexter’s death ray stares were boring into my back and pulling me toward them. They glared malevolently at me. Actually, they glared malevolently at the African Grey.

The bird responded.
“What the fuck?”

Myron and
Dexter marched toward us.

I shook my finger at the
bird. “Now, you know what your mommy said about blue language! Ha, ha! Parrots these days!” I grabbed Rover by the collar and headed Exit, Stage Left like nobody’s business.

“I told you she was going to be a problem!
She’s going to give us away!” Dexter said.

Myron put a hand on his arm, stopping the chase.
“No worries. Just eliminate this problem along with our original one.”

“You wanna do her, too?”

Myron sniffed. “That’s a very colorful way of putting it.”

“C’mon, you know what I mean.”

“It should be fairly easy to accomplish.”

“It’ll cost you.”

“No worries.”

I panted a bit after I reached Santa’s Station.
I was relieved Myron and Dexter hadn’t followed me. But dressed up like an elf, with a parrot and a Bull Mastiff, I sure wasn’t hard to spot in a crowd.

Cleo’s mom found me, and we swapped her fifty
bucks for the canine in question.

“Thank you so much! You are a real life saver!”

“No problem.”

“Kwe-oo!”
Charles cried with delight, hugging the hound by the neck and hanging a foot in the air.

“He really is one of the family.
Would have broke our hearts to lose him.”

“Actually, I thought Cleo was a her.”

“It’s short for Cleophus. It’s Greek. It means ‘seeing fame’.”

“Huh?”

She sighed. “My husband’s a jazz pianist. We’re hoping.”

“Wow.
That’s a complicated name.”

She sighed.
“He’s a complicated dog.”

“Pet people, huh?”

“Definitely.”

“Want a parrot?”

“What did you hear, bitch? Rawk!”

Latisha raised her eyebrows.
“No thanks.”

I went to find Barry, to let him know I wasn’t quite finished with my pet
finders’ improv. I found him with about a half dozen happy families, each holding a wriggling puppy.

“There you are! Back just in time! Business shot up!”

“What else is new?”

“No, really! The animals that got out were all up for adoption!”

“So?”

“So they all got adopted!
And now everyone wants Santa pictures of their kids with their furry kids! We have to work fast!”

“Why?” I looked around.
The crowd was definitely not going anywhere.

Barry leaned toward me and whispered. “We don’t have a pooper scooper.”

I could relate.

“Now, put that parrot down and start rounding up… what are you doing with a parrot?”

“Practicing to be a pirate?”

“Very funny
. You can’t wear a parrot! It’s not Christmassy.”

“Maybe he’ll get adopted?”
Then the bird relieved itself – again – down my vest. I sighed.

Barry grimaced.
“Maybe not.”

“Wow! You got him! Thanks! Oh, this is
awesome!” A kid wearing an “Adopt! Don’t Shop!” t-shirt dashed up to me, and held out his arm to the parrot. The bird hopped on.

“Is he yours?” I asked.

The kid shook his head. “He’s up for adoption. I take care of him. I’m a volunteer.”

The parrot leaned over to me, and nibbled at my Sparkle buttons.

“Hey! He really likes you! Want to adopt him?”

I turned around and showed the kid my back.

He shrugged. “Goes with the territory. But they’re really smart birds. They can even talk sometimes, too.”

“Rawk!”

I considered the parrot’s new vocabulary and quickly decided to put a good distance between us.

“Hey, c’mon!
We gotta get the rest of these guys back in their crates!” A petite girl with a shaved head and nose ring came up to us, holding an impossibly plump Persian.

“Hamlet! You found Hamlet!” the boy screeched.

The girl snorted. “Wasn’t hard. I just went to the food court.”

The cat shot the girl an exceedingly
harsh look.

“Is he up for adoption, too?” I asked.

The girl smiled. “Yeah, but I have two families interested in him, since he got let out. It was pretty sad, the owner died and no one in the family would take him.”

“
It’s great that someone’s interested, though.”

“It is.
Actually, it was lucky that they got let loose. Hardly anyone was visiting the adopt-a-thon at the pet store. And after all those families stood in line for Santa with the puppies, that was the best!”