As I lug the hundredth bundle of wood into the living room, stoke the coals and get a fire going-after at least ten minutes of muttering to myself and worrying over the pitiful flames-I sit upon the sofa with a cup of coffee and settle in to enjoy the solitude with only the crackling of the fire to keep me company.
Ha! Did I say solitude? While I may be fortunate enough to be free of the stomping of elephants tromping down the stairs begging for sustenance for a few, precious moments, I am far from alone. Nevermind the two dogs, both boys, who are dragging their toys to and from my perch on the sofa begging for me to throw them over and over and over and over.
Next to my comfy spot across from the fire is Floyd.
Floyd is my son’s cockatiel and he’s cute as a button, but in the morning he’s always got something to say and since I’m the only person up on these calm weekends, he says it all to me. As I sit with my coffee, Floyd performs his mega-hits at full volume, just to be sure I can hear his renditions, and I’m provided my own, private concert of such top-ten favorites as: the squawk, beat-boxing-beak-banging, toy rattling tango, original compositions of the whistle, and cage-climbing ruckus.
Yep, I’m surrounded by boys from furry to feathered. Even the guinea pigs are boys! You may ask yourself, are there any females at all in the family aside from me? Actually, yes, there are eight of them, in fact. Of course they are all stuck in the hen house so the balance of power clearly remains in the male realm.
And now, the fire is going, Floyd is singing, and my coffee is getting cold. I hear the muffled thump of feet above my head and know my time has run out.
Come on, Floyd! Let’s make breakfast.