My husband and I had reached the point in our married life that many couples refer to as the "empty nest" syndrome.

We did not despair. Instead, we just clucked a collective sigh of relief as our last offspring flew the coop. Now we had the roost to ourselves, and time, God willing, to do some of the things we'd had on hold since tying the knot.

Then Twerp flew into our nest, and our lives haven't been the same since.

Being animal lovers, we had been discussing the possibility of inviting a feathered friend into our home. After Christmas of 1998, Roy visited the local pet store and discovered a handsome, hand fed, cinnamon cockatiel. By introducing me to this endearing cutie, he hoped I'd approve of this feather-brained purchase. How could I resist after losing myself in those liquidy black eyes and watching his animated antics?

Within a short time, Twerp had us wrapped around his flight feathers, and we had him pooing on paper -- most of the time. Soon we were not only being entertained with his melodious whistling songs that sounded "eggsactly" like Roy's, but elated when Twerp said his first "Helloooo!" We were as giddy as new parents hearing their baby's first word. "What's up?" was soon added to his birdie vocabulary along with "Jump," "Pretty bird," "Hey, Cheesehead," and "Here kitty, kitty, kitty -- grrr grrr grrr." No matter how many times he repeated these words or phrases, we were enchanted beyond belief.

During summer vacation from school, we again made our annual trip to Wisconsin to visit Roy's aging mom. She fell in love with Twerp and was thrilled when he'd perch on her finger to talk to her. Like most children, Twerp spent most of his vacation being spoiled by "grandma."

The following March, at age 91, Ma left us for a better world, and we needed to make a trip to Wisconsin.

Even though we are extremely fond of our "flighty" friend, we ourselves hadn't gathered enough frequent flyer miles in our twenty plus years of marriage to get out of town.

Driving to Wisconsin for the funeral, in our "Ford-a-lac" truck, was our preferred alternative. Twerp's cage fit perfectly on the console between the seats and gave us easy access to take him out periodically to cuddle. As we made our sorrowful sojourn, we were thankful for the company of our delightful traveling companion.

Near Chicago, the traffic takes on the attitude of the Daytona 500. The roads appear to have built in speed bumps. The scenario goes something like this: begrudgingly stop to pay 40 cent toll, "eggcelerate" to 75 miles an hour in 3 seconds, hit speed bump, continue to push speedometer to 95 miles an hour while every other car or truck on the highway passes to the left and right, fly over another speed bump, spy toll booth looming ahead, and slam on brakes to pay another 40 cent toll.

With Twerp perched on my knee, we hit the ultimate speed bump, while doing just under 100 mph to keep from being flattened by maniac motorists. Coins bounced off the dashboard, and Twerp was launched into the air. When he again touched down on my knee, he looked me straight in the eye and inquisitively inquired, "Jump?"

We were amazed. He had never used a question mark inflection with this word before. In the past it was more like "ja-ump" as he jumped from my hands to Roy.

"Yes," I assured him, "that was definitely a jump!"

As we continued across the Chicago Speedway, we laughed ourselves silly through the rest of the speed bumps and toll booths. This little bundle of feathers had lightened our sad hearts and made our trip fly by in record time -- literally.

Copyright © Kay Seefeldt
April 8, 2002