Even with a little SNOW in our area before we entered a new month, February has arrived! What’s your favorite month of the year? February is a favorite month for me. Maybe because my birthday is in February? It’s sandwiched in between the start of a New Year, in the middle of Winter not quite ready for Spring. February overall is a good month.
This month’s story is unique, and actually based on a true newspaper account from the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee, a few years ago. I’m sure you’ll like this tale, and come to love and appreciate Roscoe.
Sit back with a nice cup of coffee and enjoy Jack’s story, Wakeup Trudy Trundal.
“Wakeup Trudy Trundal. Wakeup Trudy Trundal,” squawked Roscoe the resident grey parrot as the first glimmer of light peeked through the Venetian blinds.
Trudy dragged her tired body out of bed. She slipped her feet into the slippers always carefully set next to the bed and grabbed the old chenille robe off the chair. Roscoe would keep up the screeching until he saw her.
Trudy yelled at Roscoe. “I don’t know why I don’t ring your neck you sorry old bird. I’d gotten rid of you long before now if I hadn’t promised my mother on her death-bed that I’d take care of you.”
“Wakeup Trudy Trundal,” he said one more time.
“OK, OK, I’m awake. It’s Sunday and I don’t have to go to church until 11:00. I had a rough day at the library yesterday and I sure could’ve used the extra sleep. But oh no, I have a stupid bird yelling at me to wake up. Every morning it’s the same thing. I haven’t been able to sleep in once since you moved in five years ago.”
Trudy walked to the kitchen and put the coffee pot on the gas burner. Roscoe ran from one side of his cage to the other excited that Trudy was up. She tried everything the pet stores had suggested from covering the cage to putting the cage in the closet, but nothing kept Roscoe from daily squawking his morning greeting.
Trudy fixed a couple pancakes, giving one to Roscoe. “Maybe I should just starve you. Maybe then you’d show me some respect. I bet that if I didn’t give you a pancake, you’d be nice and quiet until I got up. You’re just a selfish bird who just sits and sleeps all day and when I could sleep in, you have to wake the dead with that morning screeching.”
The more Trudy thought about it, the more upset she got. “I told my mother I would take care of you, but I didn’t say I’d take care of you here at the house. I’m going to contact the zoo, and I’ll bet they have a cage to put you in. Then you can yell all you want and not bother anyone except the other birds. Yes, that is what I’m going to do the first thing Monday morning. Then I can sleep in every morning and when I retire, I’ll have no bird to ruin my morning.”
Monday morning the following story appeared in the morning edition of the Sentinel:
The Sevierville Fire Department received a call at 1:15 am reporting a house fire at 145 Ferguson Lane. Flames engulfed the house when the firefighters arrived. They rescued the homeowner, Trudy Trundal, who was treated at the local hospital for smoke inhalation. Ms. Trundal reported it was her bird who saved her life when he continued squawking “Wakeup Trudy Trundal.” The home was a total loss. No one has seen the bird.
The doctor released Trudy later that afternoon, and she took a taxi to the house to survey the damage. When the taxi driver pulled into the driveway he asked Trudy, “What a mess. You want me to wait?”
“No,” was all she could say. She paid the driver and stepped out of the cab to see the burnt remains of what had been her home. She shook her head. “It’s a total loss.” All my things are gone. There is nothing left. Even the car in the garage is gone. I guess Roscoe’s gone also. Well, like the disaster survivor always says, at least I have my life, but right now that doesn’t seem like much consolation.
Trudy sat on the cement steps and put her hands over her eyes as tears slipped down her cheeks. What am I going to do now?
Everything was ghostly quiet and the entire area stunk like wet burnt wood.
A sudden movement in the bush next to the cement steps startled Trudy.
“Wakeup Trudy Trundal,” squawked a wet, disheveled parrot.
Trudy turned to see Roscoe walking out from under the unburned bush next to the cement steps.
She gently picked up Roscoe and stroked his head. “You saved my life you sorry old bird. From now on I think I’m going to love that morning greeting of yours.”