Fowl Weather

FOWL WEATHER

Also by Bob Tarte
Enslaved by Ducks

by
BOB TARTE

Published by
ALGONQUIN BOOKS OF CHAPEL HILL
Post Office Box 2225
Chapel Hill, North Carolina 27515-2225

a division of
Workman Publishing
225 Varick Street
New York, New York 10014

© 2007 by Bob Tarte. All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America.
Published simultaneously in Canada by Thomas Allen & Son Limited.
Design by Anne Winslow.

While the people, places, and events described in the following pages are real, location and human names have been changed for the sake of privacy.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Tarte, Bob.
Fowl weather / by Bob Tarte.
p. cm.
ISBN-13: 978-1-56512-502-5 (hardcover)
ISBN-10: 1-56512-502-9 (hardcover)

1. Pets—Michigan—Lowell—Anecdotes. 2. Animals—Michigan—
Lowell—Anecdotes. 3. Human-animal relationships—Michigan—
Lowell—Anecdotes 4. Tarte, Bob. I. Title.
SF416.T38 2007
636.088'70977455—dc22                               2006027491

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
First Edition

To My Mom

Cast of Characters

Chapter 1: Alien Abduction

Chapter 2: Vanished

Chapter 3: Ask an Expert

Chapter 4: A Duck Out of Water

Chapter 5: Wild Things

Chapter 6: Fowl Weather

Chapter 7: Bobo's Back in Town

Chapter 8: Golden Orb Weaver

Chapter 9: Somebody Left Something Somewhere

Chapter 10: Underwater

Chapter 11: Travels with Stinky

Chapter 12: Elbow Room

Chapter 13: Aquarium

Chapter 14: Muskegon Wastewater

Chapter 15: Bella

Chapter 16: The Creature in the Woods

Acknowledgments and Culpability

Listed more or less in order of appearance and by type.

NONHUMAN

Indoor Birds

Ollie:
the Mussolini of
Brotogeris
pocket parrots

Stanley Sue:
endearing African grey Timneh parrot

Howard:
ring-necked dove who's anything but peaceful

Dusty:
knot-tying Congo African grey parrot

Louie:
proud “male” cockatiel who surprised us with an egg

Bella:
gentle but ear-biting African grey Timneh parrot

Indoor Mammals

Agnes:
take-charge outdoor cat

Bertie:
ultimately tailless Netherland Dwarf bunny

Walter:
lumbering Checkered Giant rabbit

Rudy:
cuddly escape-artist dwarf bunny

Moobie:
insists her cat water bowl be held for her

Penny:
upstairs hidey cat

Frieda:
tonnage masquerading as a New Zealand rabbit

Outdoor Birds

Liza
and
Hailey:
African goose sisters

Victor:
Muscovy duck who prefers chomping watermelon to Bob

Louie/Lulu:
spoiled white Pekin duck

Hamilton:
menacing alpha-male Muscovy duck

Ramone:
the world's shyest Muscovy duck

Richie:
ladies' man white Pekin duck

Buffy:
Buff Orpington hen, possibly a philosopher

Matthew:
considers topknot hairdos an affront to geese

Angel
and
Patty:
presumed goose brother and sister

HUMAN

Bob Tarte:
long-suffering author

Linda Tarte:
long-suffering author's put-upon wife

Bob's mom:
Bob's mom

Joan Smith:
Bob's sister who's enslaved by ferrets

Bette Ann Worley (Bett):
Bob's organizational-genius sister

Eileen Kucek:
grade school classmate turned grade A nuisance

Judy Teany:
well-meaning neighbor to Bob's mom

Mrs. Martoni:
or is it “Martini”?

Henry Murphy:
master gardener who tramples plants

Marge Chedrick:
tireless wildlife rehabber

Kate:
owner of spoiled house duck Louie/Lulu

Dr. Hedley:
zoo vet genius

Bo:
co-owner of the Weigh and Pay restaurant

Roswitha:
Bob and Linda's neighbor on the river

Dr. Fuller:
avian vet extraordinaire

INHUMARN

Noises in the night:
only Bob seems to hear them

Ed:
a sock monkey

Hose demon:
sinister force that snags and kinks garden hoses

Telephone:
brings one dollop of unpleasantness after another

Bill Holm:
two-dimensional buddy to Bob

Mom's purse:
frequently hides in the bread drawer

Bobo the Roller Clown:
precipitator of coincidences

FOWL WEATHER

Linda sprang up from her chair to reheat her food in the microwave yet again. “Ollie, if you don't let me eat, I'm going to brain you.” She was talking to a little green parrot slightly larger than a parakeet. “I'm not shaking the pill bottle. We don't fight with the pill bottle at dinner. We eat our peas.”

His squawking distracted me just long enough for my parrot Stanley Sue to twist the spoon from my hand, spilling mashed potatoes; the spoon clattered to the linoleum and sent her flying across the room in fright. The passage of Stanley Sue attracted the ire of Howard the dove, who considered the dining room airspace exclusively his own. From his perch on top of the refrigerator, he took off in pursuit of Stanley Sue, just as she chose the worst possible spot to make her landing, clinging like a thistle to the side of large Congo African grey parrot Dusty's cage.

“Dusty, no!”

I had no chance of reaching Stanley Sue before Dusty could bite her feet through the bars, so I snatched a place mat and hurled it toward the greys. Although the missile hit the parakeet cage
instead, it succeeded in launching Stanley Sue a second time. Dusty banged to the floor of his cage, Ollie sailed haplessly toward the window, and a panicky Howard shot into the living room, where black cat Agnes lay observing the melee from the back of the couch.

“Get Howard!” Linda hollered, but he wasn't in danger. Lighting on the coat rack out of reach of the bored cat, he flicked his wings and hooted his indignity at the inconvenience of it all. By the time I had extracted Howard's toes from Linda's scarf, Stanley Sue had waddled across the floor and climbed to the top of her cage, where she clucked in anticipation of the next spoonful of food as if nothing unusual had happened.

“Agnes!” Dusty called in a perfect yet somehow unflattering imitation of my voice. “Come here, Agnes.” But he didn't fool the cat.

As I stepped back into the dining room cupping Howard in my hands, my big toe failed to clear the two-foot-high plywood board that theoretically bunny-proofed the rest of the house, knocking it to the floor with a familiar
thwack.
Linda bent down to maneuver it back into position, but not before tiny, donkey-colored Bertie charged the breach and disappeared into the living room. I plopped Howard into his cage, then joined Linda in the rabbit hunt.

“Oh, no, you didn't go there?” she groaned. “My back can't take this.” But he had. Energized by his escape, Bertie had managed to scrabble over the TV tray that I had angled between a stereo speaker and the wall to prevent him from hiding behind the entertainment center—exactly where he had wedged himself.

Taking advantage of our absence, Agnes bounded over the board and into the dining room for a closer look at the birds. Scolding chirps advertised her presence. “I'm watching you,” I informed her.

Kneeling in front of the almighty television, I flung open a cabinet door of the entertainment center, surprising Bertie just long enough for me to snatch him up with one hand and extend him toward Linda, who reached the dining room just as the board tipped over again in protest. Catching Linda's admonishing glare, Agnes fled down the stairs to the basement. I slammed the door shut behind her.

“Can we eat in peace now?” Linda asked the room as she replaced the board for what she hoped would be the last time that evening.

“I doubt it,” I muttered darkly.

T
HE WEIRD SOUNDS
outside the window didn't penetrate the haze of my bad mood at first. Stanley Sue's bell was still clattering around inside my head. Three times she had rattled her bell since dinner, demanding a peanut. Three times, when I had lifted her cage cover, she had refused to take it. Finally, after I had cajoled her with baby talk, she had deigned to pluck the nut from my fingers, only to hurl it to the floor of her cage.

Immersed in gloom, I shut off the bathroom faucet, pouting because I hadn't wanted to watch a rerun of
The Beverly Hillbillies
featuring Jethro's sister, Jethrine. I had wanted to watch
Monster House,
a decorating show where people lose control of their homes without the involvement of a parrot. Grousing to myself about the shocked faces I'd missed seeing, I flung a wet washcloth toward the bathtub, then froze and cocked my head at the window and a noise like bubbling water.

I moved closer to the wall, careful to keep my skinny shadow from falling on the shade and frightening the visitor with the silhouette of a giant stick insect. As the warbling intensified, I decided that two animals were making the sounds. They were either
conspiring against me in hushed tones right outside the house or, having just watched
Monster House,
whooping it up beyond the backyard fence down in the hollow.

I've heard this before,
I thought.
But not in our yard.
I associated the sounds with the tropics, which didn't make a lot of sense, considering that I rarely got much nearer to the equator than northern Indiana.

“Linda,” I whispered, poking my head around the door frame. “Come listen to this. Tell me what it is.”

Lying flat on the living room floor in her usual spot, Linda closed an old issue of
Good Old Days
magazine, kicked off her afghan, and clambered to her feet. The unreliable disk between the fourth and fifth vertebrae in her lower back had gone out again as a result of the rabbit chase. I was reluctant to disturb her, but this struck me as a miraculous event.

I popped back into the bathroom, squeezed my eyes closed, and concentrated. I'd heard the vocalizations before on an episode of
The Crocodile Hunter
perhaps—or on the CD of rain-forest sounds I listened to during my pathetic attempts at meditation. But by the time Linda had clomped to my side at the window, the animals had clammed up. This was typical. I couldn't even count the number of times an incessant singer like a red-eyed vireo had shut its beak the instant she had stepped outdoors to hear it with me.