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Authors: Carolyn Brown
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house,” Finn said.
“You got the stuff in those boxes?” Martin asked.
“I found a stand out there in the barn and something else, but I don’t know what it is. Guess we’ll have a surprise when we open it up,” Finn answered.
Callie opened the door and took the boxes from Finn’s hands, and then the two guys dragged their tree into the house. Shotgun dashed inside, with the new dog right on his heels. And the bird flew into the house like he owned the place.
“Shut up, dog.” The bright-colored parrot lit on the curtain rod in the living room.
“Where did the dog and bird come from?” Callie asked as the bird lit on her shoulder and squawked, “Cat! Cat!”
“Guess it talks and it doesn’t like cats.” She moved slowly away from the door.
“They just appeared. They seem to be partners in crime though. The dog won’t be a problem, but we’ll have to get a birdcage for the parrot if he’s going to stick around. Or else we’ll be cleaning up after him all the time,” Finn said.
“Cat! Cat! Run, dog, run!” the bird said.
Angel peeked out from around the corner of the kitchen, all the hair on her back standing straight up. She let out a pitiful meow and ran over to Shotgun for protection.
“I’ve got an idea.” Finn hurried into the spare room in his wing of the house and drug out Shotgun’s old kennel. He set it on the dining room table and opened the door.
The Chihuahua barked twice, and the bird lit on the curtain rod above the window looking out into the front yard. “Shut up, dog. Joe needs crackers,” he said and then set about preening his pretty feathers.
“The dog talks to him,” Callie said. “I wonder how long they’ve been out in the cold. Poor little things.”
“It’s misting. You know what that means?” Finn asked.
“Ice,” she said. “The dog might have died if you hadn’t found him. And parrots are tropical birds. He wouldn’t have made it through the night. Wonder what their names are?”
“If no one claims them, we’ll have to think about that, but the bird just told you his name. He said Joe needs crackers.” Finn removed his coat and hung it on the rack inside the door. He held out his arm, and Joe lit on it and fluffed his feathers.
“Hot damn! Time to dance.” Joe wiggled his head and body from side to side.
“I bet he’d really dance to music.” Martin laughed.
“I’m going to ease him into the cage,” Finn said.
It was easily said, but when he got close to the cage, the bird went crazy. “Run, dog, run. Cops. Prison. Run.” He flapped his wings and flew around the room squawking about somebody killing him, dropping specks of crap on the table, on the floor, and even on Shotgun’s back. The Chihuahua got all excited and started howling, and Angel screeched like someone was wringing her tail as she headed for safety under the kitchen table. Martin tried to talk the bird into lighting on his arm, but Joe wasn’t having any part of it. He finally lit on his curtain rod perch and gave Finn the old stink eye.
“Guess he don’t like a cage.” Callie grabbed paper towels to clean up the mess.
Callie was so cute in that red plaid flannel shirt and jeans that Finn wanted to forget about the damn bird, cuddle up with her on the sofa again, and hold her close as the embers crackled in the fireplace.
Callie finished the cleanup and whispered, “Let him alone until he calms down. Maybe we could get a leg ring and attach it to a perch in the window. Just go about your business like he’s not there. Now, what’s in the boxes?”
“Don’t know, but they were marked Christmas , so I brought them inside. Hopefully, there really is a tree stand in that one.” Finn shivered.
“Hot chocolate is ready. I’ve got it poured up, so go warm your hands and then we’ll dig into them together,” she said.
Martin shucked out of his coat and hung it on the lowest hook of the rack. Finn kicked off his boots and set them beside the door. Martin
“You got the stuff in those boxes?” Martin asked.
“I found a stand out there in the barn and something else, but I don’t know what it is. Guess we’ll have a surprise when we open it up,” Finn answered.
Callie opened the door and took the boxes from Finn’s hands, and then the two guys dragged their tree into the house. Shotgun dashed inside, with the new dog right on his heels. And the bird flew into the house like he owned the place.
“Shut up, dog.” The bright-colored parrot lit on the curtain rod in the living room.
“Where did the dog and bird come from?” Callie asked as the bird lit on her shoulder and squawked, “Cat! Cat!”
“Guess it talks and it doesn’t like cats.” She moved slowly away from the door.
“They just appeared. They seem to be partners in crime though. The dog won’t be a problem, but we’ll have to get a birdcage for the parrot if he’s going to stick around. Or else we’ll be cleaning up after him all the time,” Finn said.
“Cat! Cat! Run, dog, run!” the bird said.
Angel peeked out from around the corner of the kitchen, all the hair on her back standing straight up. She let out a pitiful meow and ran over to Shotgun for protection.
“I’ve got an idea.” Finn hurried into the spare room in his wing of the house and drug out Shotgun’s old kennel. He set it on the dining room table and opened the door.
The Chihuahua barked twice, and the bird lit on the curtain rod above the window looking out into the front yard. “Shut up, dog. Joe needs crackers,” he said and then set about preening his pretty feathers.
“The dog talks to him,” Callie said. “I wonder how long they’ve been out in the cold. Poor little things.”
“It’s misting. You know what that means?” Finn asked.
“Ice,” she said. “The dog might have died if you hadn’t found him. And parrots are tropical birds. He wouldn’t have made it through the night. Wonder what their names are?”
“If no one claims them, we’ll have to think about that, but the bird just told you his name. He said Joe needs crackers.” Finn removed his coat and hung it on the rack inside the door. He held out his arm, and Joe lit on it and fluffed his feathers.
“Hot damn! Time to dance.” Joe wiggled his head and body from side to side.
“I bet he’d really dance to music.” Martin laughed.
“I’m going to ease him into the cage,” Finn said.
It was easily said, but when he got close to the cage, the bird went crazy. “Run, dog, run. Cops. Prison. Run.” He flapped his wings and flew around the room squawking about somebody killing him, dropping specks of crap on the table, on the floor, and even on Shotgun’s back. The Chihuahua got all excited and started howling, and Angel screeched like someone was wringing her tail as she headed for safety under the kitchen table. Martin tried to talk the bird into lighting on his arm, but Joe wasn’t having any part of it. He finally lit on his curtain rod perch and gave Finn the old stink eye.
“Guess he don’t like a cage.” Callie grabbed paper towels to clean up the mess.
Callie was so cute in that red plaid flannel shirt and jeans that Finn wanted to forget about the damn bird, cuddle up with her on the sofa again, and hold her close as the embers crackled in the fireplace.
Callie finished the cleanup and whispered, “Let him alone until he calms down. Maybe we could get a leg ring and attach it to a perch in the window. Just go about your business like he’s not there. Now, what’s in the boxes?”
“Don’t know, but they were marked Christmas , so I brought them inside. Hopefully, there really is a tree stand in that one.” Finn shivered.
“Hot chocolate is ready. I’ve got it poured up, so go warm your hands and then we’ll dig into them together,” she said.
Martin shucked out of his coat and hung it on the lowest hook of the rack. Finn kicked off his boots and set them beside the door. Martin
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