QUONK - THE DIARY OF A BUDGIE WTH ATTITUDE

Susan Brewer

March 1st
I......
I am.....
I am a.....
What am I?
I'm cramped, lonely and cheesed-off. I'm bent and trapped, my neck is twisted, my head feels back to front and my feet are slung round my back. I feel like an all-in wrestler - I can't even scratch my tummy with my foot any more. Strange. Last week I could stretch my wing flaps, and I know my beak wasn't scrunched up against the wall like it is now. I'm roasting hot. My back aches. To top it all, my skin's itchy with funny little bumps all over. And I can hear chirps, taps and tweets which need investigation. Don't know what's going on, but surely there's more to life than this? I'm going to make a break for freedom before I suffocate. I want out…


March 2nd
I've been jabbing away at the wall for ages - something's got to give soon, but it'll probably be my beak. Why couldn't I have a pneumatic drill, for goodness sake? Or at the very least, a sledge hammer? I know there's a whole new experience waiting on the other side. I can't be the only Me in the universe. I'm battering on the wall. Help! Someone! Release me! Free me from my wretched prison. Will no-one come and liberate a poor defenceless creature who has never done anyone any harm? Oooh, save me from my doom. Have mercy on me!  (I'm thinking of taking up acting if I ever get free from this thing....)

 
March 3rd
The tweets are getting louder and louder. I've made a hole with my beak! I’ll put my eye to the hole. Can't see a thing. My eye is gummed up. What's the point of having an eye when the lids are clamped shut? I’ll stab the wall again with my beak. I jab. Hard. Very hard. And again. Take that, wall! Oops! Oh dear! I think I`ve hurt someone. There's shrieking and screeching. Someone - ooh - is saying rude words. But I`m free!!! Hey, perhaps I've found my Mum! Oh, crumbs. I have found my Mum. But I stabbed my beak into her bum. She's squawking and swearing at me. She says that my brother and sis managed to wriggle gently out of their eggs. But not me. Oh no! I had to make a pig’s ear of it. She’s going to keep an eye on me. She reckons my name is ‘Trouble.’ Trust her, she says, to end up with a juvenile delinquent. All she wanted was a pretty, fluffy gentle baby like her in the nestbox opposite.
Well, perhaps my name is Trouble. I don’t care. But what I do want to know is - what the hell I was doing, stuffed inside an egg?

Worse was to come. I open my beak to say 'Hello Mum', all kind of friendly like. I thought I might get a hug and a kiss, a kind of 'welcome to the world' greeting. Instead, a mass of yukky, sicked-up gunge gushes down my throat. Ugh! Aargh! What kind of mother spews putrid slime down her son's gullet? I choke, splutter and slump down in despair. I want to go back into my egg. I was safe there. Wimper.

Next thing I know, I'm being trampled on by two spiky feet. 'Ere. 'oo are you? Where d'you come from?' Looks like I'm not the only one with attitude - I've got a belligerent Bruv. And apparently he likes being forcefed slime, he can't get enough of it. Trust me to hatch into a weird family.

March 4th
My skin's dried out at last - it was all sticky-eggy. Spent most of the day snoozing, worn out after yesterday's hard work.
There's another one of us now - he broke out of his wall today and flopped down exhausted. Then he said, 'Where's Mum?'
'Just open your beak, Chum, she'll find you,' I told him.
He did.
She did.
Ha! You should have heard him gurgle.



March 7th
It's like a sauna here, now - four of us, all crammed together. Me, Bruv, Chum and Sis. Still, at least Mum's stopped sitting on us, so we do get a bit of a breeze sometimes. And, guess what? I've met Dad! Mum was ranting on about 'that bird-chasing, preening old fool. Wait till I get my wings on him,' when suddenly there was a loud squawk and the nest-box was filled with a fat lump of hot feathers. Sis got squashed, Chum nearly fell out of the box, and Bruv got a mass of stringy stuff Mum said was chickweed rammed down his throat. She had to yank it all out again.
'Your father is plain stupid,' she shrilled, before zooming off.
We could hear the fracas going on outside the nestbox.
Mum was giving Dad what-for. 'Don't you know the chicks need to have food you've already eaten? You're meant to spew it up again and ram it down their gullets. Not just grab the nearest bunch of chickweed and block up their beaks. All you're interested in is chasing that flighty piece with the big pecs. You men are all the same .......'
I managed to push squashed Sis to the door hole, and eventually the fresh air revived her.
 'What happened?' she gasped.
 'Dad came in!'



March 8th
Little prickles are bursting through my skin, making it itch like crazy. I'm obviously going to be a hedgehog. Why can't I be a soft, fluffy bird like Mum?

 
March 9th
Today a THING happened - a really creepy thing. MY LEG WAS INTERFERED WITH! I was snoozing, with my tummy full of Mum's chomped-up seed, when suddenly I was - you won't believe this - hoisted up into the air by something hot, smooth and clammy.
I squawked for Mum, but she just chirruped, saying 'Don't worry!'.
Don't worry?! What did she mean, ‘don’t worry’? I was petrified.

Next moment, my foot was grabbed by two sweaty sausages. I gurgled, 'cause I'm ticklish just there, but then my toes were bent forward and something cold, like a metal ring, was shoved over them and pushed up my leg. I was shackled, like a convict, and I lay in that hot, sticky thing, resigned and submissive, waiting for the iron ball to be attached. Goodbye, freedom! They're sending me to Alcatraz. I'm innocent, I tell you! It wasn't me. I'm not a criminal.

Next minute, I was plonked back down into the nest without ceremony, next to Bruv. Then I felt Sis going upwards.
When my heart had stopped pounding, I said to Mum, 'I know it sounds daft, but it feels like I'm wearing a cold metal ring on my leg.'

'You are wearing a cold, metal ring on your leg.'

'Help! I'm a prisoner! Release me from these chains, I implore you. Save me from my dreadful fate.' I tried to clasp my wings together submissively, but fell over.
'Don't be so dramatic. We all have to wear rings. They’re our jewellery.' Then she regurgitated her lunch down my throat to shut me up.

When Dad flew in later, he told me that I'd been ringed by 'Fred' who was a People. He said it happened to all budgies, and was a rite of passage. Dad came over all melancholic and said I'd be grown-up before he knew it, that youngsters had no freedom now, not like in his day. He sobbed a bit, and had to nip off for a quick drink to make him feel better. Mum said he'd gone into the bushes with a Lutino cross. I'm looking forward to being grown-up, like my Dad, and chasing flighty pieces too.

March 11th
Today the most amazing thing ever happened. I can see! My eyes have finally come ungummed. At first, I couldn't stand it. I made a bit of a fuss. Aaargh! Bright! Eye hurts! Ooh, dazzled. Vivid light. Can't see! Where are my Gucci shades? Ow!... Soon, though, I grew used to the brightness, and slowly the blurred images swam into focus.
Now I can see a big blue mass of feathers with a kind smiling beak, and I know it's Mum. I can see Bruv, Chum and Sis, and they're growing feathers too, teenie little ones. And I know that I'm definitely not going to be a hedgehog. I'm going to be a budgie - or Budgerigar if you want to be posh. I peered down at my tummy. It's covered with fluffy stuff, and I'm hoping it'll turn blue, just like Mum's. Mum said they did a survey, and blue budgies are the most clever, then white, then green. Yellow are thick and stupid. Guess what colour Dad is? Yup! He's yellow.

March 12th
When Dad stuck his head into the nest box today, Mum said, 'We have to name the babies.
''Okey-Dokey,' said Dad. He pointed to my Sis - 'She's Chirpy.' Then he stared at Bruv and Chum. 'Call him Beaky, and the tatty one, umm, Tatty.'
`And him?' said Mum, pointing at me with a bit of millet twig.
'Hmmm,' sighed Dad, hanging by his beak from a bit of frayed rope at the top of the roof. Thoughtfully, he twirled round and round. Faster and faster.
'Oy!' yelled Mum. 'What's this one's name?'
Dad opened his beak to reply, and fell through space like a rocket. We all peered out of the box as he landed in a heap in a pile of soggy peat. He gasped, coughed, and began to clear his throat. 'Quuuuuuuuuoooooonk'.
'That'll do,' said Mum. She looked at me. 'Your name's Quonk!'


March 20th
Me, Bruv, Chum and Sis are growing huge. We now fill the nestbox, and it's really a tight squash when Mum comes in. Dad doesn't bother now. He just squawks, and we go the hole and put our heads out. Then he feeds us - he does some big gulps and his head bobs up and down a few times, then a load of yummy mashed up-seed (I like it now) is pushed down our beaks. I AM going to be blue, just like Mum. Bruv's yellow, Chum's White with odd blotches, and Sis is a sickly green colour. She's dead jealous of my lovely turquoise blue. Good.



March 29th
Today I flew!!!!! I really did! Mum sat outside our box on a branch where we could see her. Then she called us, and kept quivering and chirping. Dad watched, but got so excited when Sis (trust her!) jumped out of the door, that he fell into the bath. I watched Sis flutter to Mum. Then she sat there looking all smug, so I thought I'd better have a go. It was easy - well almost. Mum called, and after thinking about it for a bit, I sort of made a stupendous leap from the box.
I could feel I was falling, and Mum screeched, 'Flap! Flap'!'
So I flapped, and suddenly I was flying. I flew over to Mum, and squeezed in between her and Sis, who waggled her tongue at me rudely. Then Chum kind of belly-flopped out, and somehow managed to flap just before he hit the ground. We sat on the perch and called names to my scaredy Bruv, who was still shivering in the doorway. By lunchtime, though, he was out too, and then Mum took us to a seed-dish and told us to try to feed ourselves. I did, a bit, but it was hard getting the husks off the seeds, and I swallowed some by mistake and got hiccups.
'You take after your Dad ' she said, a bit crossly. Then she relented, and gave me a beakful of stuff she'd already chewed up.



April 10th
Life has settled into a routine. Flypast practices with Bruv, Chum and Sister, feeding from one of the food stations, or huddling together on a perch to keep warm. We've learnt to keep out of the grown-up's way - some of them peck really hard if you cuddle up by mistake, thinking they're your Mum or Dad. Today Mum took us down to the bath. I put my toe in. It was cold, so I snatched it back and huddled it under my tummy feathers.
Mum glared at me. 'All budgies like bathing.'
'Not this one,' I muttered, but stuck my head under my wing so she couldn't hear what I said.'Course, Sister immediately jumped into the water, then sat there smirking.
'Don't just sit there, bird-brain,' scolded Mum. 'Ruffle your feathers, and splash the water, else you'll catch your death of cold.' That took the smirk off Sister's face. Me, Chum and Bruv waggled our tongues at her, till Mum guessed, and then she pushed us into the water. Talk about cold - it practically froze my feathers off.
Then Dad swooped down, plomped into the bath, and flapped around so much that we were absolutely soaked. He looked pleased with himself and said he was toughening us up, but Mum told him she'd toughen him up in a minute, and said she'd seen him inspecting nest sites that morning with the flighty piece. Dad said he was only getting her to help find a nice new nestbox for him and Mum, but Mum doesn't believe him. Nor does Sister. But I do. I like my Dad .

 
April 20th
The most terrible thing has happened. I was practising my barrel-rolls round the aviary, and racing Sister, when two Peoples came along with Fred
.'I want a blue one,' said Mrs People.
'How about him?' said Fred, pointing at me. Then I saw he had a net. I could feel goose-bumps, or as we budgies say, canary-bumps, all up my wings. My quills stood on end. I squawked in alarm and whizzed back to Mum. She nibbled my feathers.
'It had to come, son,' she said. 'You can't stay here for ever. You have to go into the world. It's called Being A Pet.'
Next thing I know, I'm being chased round the aviary by Fred. It wasn't fair. He had this stonking black net, and I couldn't dodge him. Bruv yelled at me to feint and duck, Mum muttered worriedly, and Sister cried. I didn't know she cared. And Dad - Dad was cuddling up to his flighty piece behind the privet bush.
'Dad! Help!' I squawked.
My last sight of Dad was him trying to hang onto the handle of the net with his beak. He practically dislocated his lower mandible.
Fred shooed him off. 'Get awa' you daft old bird,' he growled.
I was put into a small dark box. I was scared and alone. But I'll always remember how Dad tried to save me. My hero.

 
April 21st
I couldn't write any more yesterday, 'cause I was so petrified. It seemed like I was in the box for ages, and I was jolted and bumped around. At one point I was flat on my back. Fred had told Mrs People to keep the box the right way up, but she must have forgotten.Suddenly, the box was opened, and I could see bright light.
'Come on then, little Benny. Out you come. Out of the box.'
Well, I didn't have the foggiest idea what or who Benny was, so I stayed huddled in the corner.
'Come on, you stupid bird. Out you come.'
That was Mr People. I guessed he must mean me, so, very slowly, I stuck my head through the opening. Before I knew it, I was being whooshed into a prison. See? I knew I was right about the shackle on my leg. 'Don't tip him out like that. Let him find his own way.'
Well, at least Mrs People stuck up for me.I found myself sitting on a scratchy sheet of sandpaper. It didn't half rasp my nether regions, I can tell you. I stared out. Mrs People smiled, and started to coo, like one of those great fat pigeons that used to sit on the aviary, hoping to pinch our seed. I sniffed - thinking of home made me think of Mum.
'Oh, he said something!'
'Don't be daft. He just coughed. Looks a bit stupid to me. Hope he's going to be worth the money I paid. Could've bought a canary - at least we'd get a bit of singing.'

I glared at him. Budgies can sing when they want, only they never do 'cause they like to let other birds sing instead. That's what Dad told me, and he knows everything. I know, 'cause he told me that too. Mr People had beady eyes, a mound of hair round his mouth, and what looked like an enormous shiny egg for a head. I wondered when it would hatch.
'Come on then, Benny. Good Benny. Pretty Boy! Do you like your nice cage, then?' said Mrs People.
A cage! That's what I'm in! I remember Mum talking about cages. She called it 'Being in Solitary Confinement.' It still looks like a prison to me.
I gave Mrs People the once-over. Her hair's yellow. Yellow! Mum said yellow meant you were dim-witted, like Dad. But she has blue eyes. Blue for intelligence. Bit of a puzzle this. I'll have to think about it. Another thing, who's this Benny character? Can't she say 'budgie' I'll have to tell her my name's Quonk. Suddenly, I felt very proud of my name. My Dad gave it to me. And my dad's a hero.
I managed to clamber up on to a perch and closed my eyes. They took the hint and tiptoed away. When they'd gone, I found a seed pot, took a few beakfuls, then tucked my head under my wing. I want my Mum.

April 22nd
It was dark when I woke up. Then, in an instant, the sun had come out. I was amazed, but later realised that Mr People had covered my cage with a cloth while I was asleep and made it dark. Dead spooky. I ate some of the seed, mumbling it around in my beak for a bit before swallowing it, while I kept watch on what was happening outside.Mrs People was looking at some big sheets of paper, like Fred used when he cleaned out our aviary. Perhaps Peoples use paper on the floor of their homes too? When no one was watching, I carefully lowered myself to the floor of my cage. I was being an explorer and set out to - well, explore. Thirty seconds later, I was done.

My cage is eighteen hops long and twelve hops wide. On the floor, on top of the scratchy sandpaper, is a round red plastic thing with a pink face, like a People. I stayed well-clear of it. There are two low perches and two high ones. Next to one low perch is a seed-pot. Next to the other is a water-pot. Unfortunately, I slept on the high perch above it, and must have done a whoopsie in the waterpot in the night. So I'm not drinking from that. Then there is a silver thing hanging from the bars that clonks when you tap it. I did that this morning by mistake, and the shock nearly made me fall from my perch. There's also a big millet spray. I love millet, so I'm well pleased about that, but don't care for anything else.

The millet and the clonky-thing are by the high perches. There's a door in the cage, but I can't get out. I jiggled the catch with my beak. It's locked. I'm definitely a prisoner. Help! What have I done to deserve this? I tried to fly in my cage, but I couldn't get my wings stretched properly. I want to go home. I want Mum! I want Dad! I want Bruv! I want Chum. I want Sister! - No I don't. I'm not that desperate. My throat was all raspy-dry, so I sat by the waterpot and looked pathetic. (I can do pathetic ever-so well.)
'Poor little Benny. Ack! Look at your nasty, dirty old water pot. Pooh! We can't have that then, can we? Shall Mummy-wummy get 'oo a clean one, then?'
Yes, Mummy-wummy had better get 'oo a clean one, then, double-quick. And my name's not Benny. It's Quonk. It's a very special name. I 'spect I'm the only budgie in the whole wide world with a name like that. And you're NOT my Mummy-wummy. My Mum is blue with feathers and a big chest. And you're not like that. Well, except for the chest.



April 25th
I'm beginning to get used to my cage. I quite like it, now. It's all mine, no-one else comes in, and I know that everything in it is mine. The seed is mine. The water is mine. The millet spray is definitely all mine. The clonky-thing is mine. And the wobbly People is mine. Sometimes Mrs People says to me 'Ring the bell!' Well, I didn't know what she was on about at first, and then, by mistake, I tripped over the clonky-thing and it clonked. She was ever so excited, told me I was a clever boy, and gave me a delicious piece of lettuce. I'm going to remember that - when I want lettuce, I ring the bell. Easy.



April 28th
The service around here is terrible. I've been ringing the bell all morning. Finally, Mr People stormed over and said 'shut that row, bird,' which I thought was a bit much. I waggled my tongue at him, and he gave me a look. It wasn't as if he was doing anything important, just watching the thing they call a 'teevee'. It showed some men chasing a big round black and white egg, then kicking it. I thought it was cruel - goodness knows what it's doing to the poor bird inside.



April 30th
When I lived with Mum, she told me the 'Facts Of Life.' There are three. ‘Always Eat Grit Each Day.’ ‘Don't Stand On No Legs Or You'll Fall Over‘. ‘Beware Of Cats.’ The Cat one was the most important, she said. Fred had two Cats, and they used to sit on top of the aviary. We all used to fly right up to the wire and taunt them. Anyway, I've just found that my Peoples have a Cat. It's been ill - it ate a mouldy mouse, and that's why I haven't seen it before. Today it stalked into the room, saw me, and stood still with all its fur sticking up as though its tail had been plugged into the mains. Then Cat jumped up to my cage, pressed its face against the bars and hissed. I got a kind of quick shower.
 Mrs People saw, grabbed it and said, 'Naughty, naughty pussy-wussy'.
Pussy-wussy!! As she carried Cat off, I leered at him and stuck out my tongue. I'm going to call him Fuzzy-Face.



May 1st
Today Mrs People learnt my name! She's been calling me Benny, and I keep saying 'Quonk, Quonk' till I'm blue in the face (budgie joke, I am blue in the face). Usually she just asks me why I'm croaking. Then she said, 'I think I'll call you Quonk. You keep saying that. Aah, little Quonk. Do you like your name, then? Do you like being called a Quonk?'
When Mr People came, Mrs People said, 'Benny isn't Benny any more. His name is Quonk!
Mr People stared at her as if she was bonkers. 'What kind of blinkin' name is that then?' (Actually, he said something worse than blinkin', but my Mum had told me it was a bad word.) 'You're mental, gal. So's he. Not a straw to choose between the two of you,' and he slumped down on sofa. 'Where's me bacon butty?' Mrs People shuffled off. I feel sorry for her sometimes, I really do.



May 2nd
Mind you, she worried me today. She put her hand in MY cage. Cheek of it! She wanted me to SIT on her hand. She kept pressing it against my tummy, and I leant backwards till I was against the bars. But I didn't climb on. Then she said 'Pretty Boy!'Well, that was more like it! I preened a bit, and she said 'Pretty Boy' again. And again. And again. And again. In the end, I was a bit fed up, I can tell you. I know I'm pretty, but there's no need to go on about it. So I shut my eyes and pretended to have a nap. She crept away. I squinted from under my eyelids and watched her. She means well, poor thing. But she's not getting in my cage with me. No jolly fear!



May 5th
Fuzzy Face came into the room when Mrs People wasn't there. He hissed and spat at me., It was disgusting, like being in a tropical shower bath. He opened his mouth wide - aw! His breath stank. He'd been eating fish, I think. Or mouldy mouse again. I backed into the corner, as far away as possible, and put my head under my wing. Anything to escape the pong.
Suddenly Mrs People rushed into the room. 'Naughty pussy. Frightening little Quonky-Wonky like that.' She grabbed Cat and marched off.
Me? Scared? Never. And what's with this Quonky-Wonky business? Still, I'm glad she's taken Fuzzy-Face away.



May 10th
For the last few days, Mrs People has been saying 'Pretty Boy' over and over. Then, today she said, 'Come on. Now Quonk say it.'
 Aha! The penny's dropped. Why didn't she ask me before? So I copied her, cleared my throat and said, 'Pretty Boy!'The effect was amazing. Her face lit up like a sunbeam, and she squealed to Mr People to come and listen. Well, if that's all it takes to make Peoples happy, they're easily satisfied.
So obligingly I said 'Pretty Boy!' Then I said it again. Then I said, 'Pretty, PRETTY boy!'
'Don't push your luck, mate,' growled Mr People.
Some people are very hard to please.

  May 14th
Today I found another budgie in my cage! A blue one, just like me, and so handsome. Funny, he's only ever in one place, in a round piece of shiny metal that Mrs People hung in the cage. I've spent hours gazing at him. He's VERY pretty. I say 'Pretty, pretty, pretty, boy' and make kissy sounds. I wish he'd come from the metal and play with me. We could go and explore round the cage and I could show him the place where I've found a loose piece of sandpaper. I'm chewing it into strips. I might weave them into a mat or something. Or I could donk it all in the water pot and make papier mache. I’m very creative. Mum taught us handicrafts, she had us weaving hats from grass and sticking seeds on the end panel of the aviary with spit, to make a pattern.
‘Idle wings mean idle minds,’ she used to say.
Bruv used to mutter ‘And big feathers fit big behinds,’ under his breath.
Oh, I wish I was back there, in the aviary, with Mum and Dad. Sniff.

  May 18th
I keep trying to bath in my waterpot. Mum taught me to be clean. But Mrs People is fed up with refilling my waterpot each day. Now she's bought a water bottle instead. It's a clear plastic tube with a tray thing at the bottom. Trouble is, I couldn't puzzle how to drink the water at first - I could see it at the top of the tube, but when I tried to drink from there, it was dry and hard. Then I realised there was water in the little tray. So I hung by my toes from the top of the tube and put my beak into the water to drink. Mmm, delicious.
Just then Mr People came along and said, ‘That's not a bird you've got there, it’s a blinkin’ bat.’
Well, he’s not playin’ cricket with me, or ping pong, either.

TO BE CONTINUED.................