The Fugitive

Tilly would be known as a Yellow Crowned Amazon. To my husband she was a willing pupil who learned English as a foreign language with enthusiasm and aptitude. To my three dogs she was a winged nuisance who delighted in calling them for non existent dinners or rebuking them in family voices. To me she was the youngest most vulnerable member of the family. A naughty but nice bundle of fun who charmed me each day as she got up to her range of Amazonian type tricks.

The 8th July 2000 was sweltering hot and the type of mid summers day that memories are made of. We had recently moved into the glorious countryside of North Yorkshire and I decided to make the most of the sunshine by sitting out in the back garden for a couple of hours as the village fete was scheduled for the afternoon.

Tilly had been clipped by her breeder about nine months before and although she could flutter about the house and Kamikaze the dogs, I saw no danger of her flying seriously as I took her perch out on to the back lawn so that she could enjoy the sunshine. My friend who was also a parrot society member had tried to warn me about the flying skills that semi clipped Amazons could display but alas I hadn't taken any notice.

All was well in the garden until I went inside the kitchen door to get a cool drink, and left a bright yellow airbed near to Tilly's perch. My large amiable Bull Terrier decided that he preferred the comforts of an airbed and sank into it happily. Now 70lbs of dog does not do an airbed a lot of good and with a noise like a giant whoopee cushion it shot under Tilly like a huge yellow slug and Tilly took off with a shriek of surprise crossed with delight.

I watched transfixed as she easily flew over the house and landed in a small tree in the front garden. I ran for the ladders and tried to persuade this previously attention seeking cuddlesome parrot back into my life but Tilly wasn't having any. Things took a serious turn as she made for a huge Sycamore which stands at the end of the garden and entertained some early arrivals at the village hall with shouts of "Shiver me timbers, pieces of eight". No prizes for guessing my husband's occupation.

As the afternoon turned into evening my mood of optimism turned into despair. I could not see her, I could not hear her, and all kinds of horror stories about things that could befall parrots filled my mind. I felt desolate and desperate and could only think of getting in touch with somebody who could share the horror with me. No not the samaritans even though I felt like it, but I would ring the experts at the parrot society. This was the most positive thing to do, and what a comfort it was to hear John Hayward's voice as he offered practical advice and told me about parrots that had returned home after months.

He dispelled some of my fears straight away. For example I was worried that my baby would starve, but John pointed out that it was hardly likely in the middle of an agricultural area in July. It was also good to be told that as our house stood by itself and was easily recognisable, Tilly just might be able to find her way home.

I was kept very busy the next couple of days ringing around, getting lost advertisements put on the local radio and warning all pet shops. I hate to say this but the local police were the least helpful, saying that they only dealt with lost cats and dogs, and finding my distress like a Monty Python sketch.

The villagers had been kindly and helpful when we had moved from the suburbs of Manchester just weeks before. Our strange city ways had been assessed as mild eccentricities, as we tried to blend in with country life. Now I was surely looked upon as someone on day release as I wandered up and down the tiny hamlet, stopping underneath every tree, calling up into the branches. "Tilly darling, Tilly darling come to mummy then, be a good girl". Gentile country folk shook their heads sadly and must have put it down to stress encountered in the rat race of city life. "Have you found your parrot?" Giggled a few children trying not to be rude by hiding their grins behind small hands.

Then, two days later as I was walking the dogs in the early evening I heard the unmistakable shrieks of "Hello sailor, what are you doing then?" There she was just getting ready to roost in the highest trees in the village. Some kindly people who were renovating a nearby cottage told me that she had been calling all day and it seemed that she had been attracted to a Dove Cote and occupants that was in a particular garden.

I could not persuade her to follow me home, but I walked away at least safe in the knowledge that it was one of the warmest nights of the year.

The next couple of days stick in my mind as being so frustrating . She was hopping from tree to tree and to my horror also crossing the busy main coastal road which was packed with holiday traffic as this was the height of the season.

She was delighting the local children by shouting all her nautical vocabulary. "Hello" was yelled to all, followed by "Shiver me timbers, pieces of eight", and sometimes "Shiver me pieces", when she was entertaining a group of villagers and forgot her lines through excitement. A dear old couple stopped me on the main street of the village to say that they needed to find a policeman as there was a little girl trapped up a tree!

More therapy when I rang up the parrot society, and heard kind words and practical suggestions from David Coombes. I was told that our Tilly was enjoying herself and why bother coming home when life was such fun. Our secretary was convinced that she would not get lost when I described the position of our house to him, but in the back of my mind I thought about all the dangers lurking in the countryside.

The people around here were kindness itself and thoughts of parrot rustling never entered my head. I was more concerned about feral dangers, such as foxes and large birds of prey. Only the week before I had actually seen a buzzard swoop and carry off a pigeon without interrupting its arc of flight.

She seemed to call at night before roosting and while looking up everything I could about Amazons, I had read that Yellow Crowns actually go for the highest trees in the forest. Was it my imagination or was she getting nearer to our house. she had crossed the main road again, hopefully for the last time.

On the evening of the fourth day I was delighted to hear her calling from the woods that actually lay across from the eight acre arable field that our house stands in front of. It was too dark to search, but I was not sleeping well at all because of the worry. Early the following morning saw me in the back garden calling sweet nothings across the bean field. The villagers now knew that I was a fully fledged lunatic so anyone who was unlucky enough to hear these early morning ramblings would probably just go on humouring me.

Grabbing a T-shirt and the nearest pair of jeans to hand, I set off across the rather wet and soggy bean field. We had had a thunder storm the night before so there was a chance that she had got a bit fed up.

To my delight I could hear the familiar shouts of "Hello Tilly, hello sailor", not much typical Amazon laughter, but perhaps she was tiring. The shouting became nearer and then behind me and to my delight, all of a sudden I saw my parrot clinging to a bean stalk still shouting, but looking bedraggled and wet through. Tilly was about ten yards away from our back fence, and had obviously found her way home.

Throwing caution to the wind I ripped my T-shirt off and wrapped her in it and smothering her with kisses (how ridiculous some are saying), I marched back up the country lane. Now I did once go topless in Benidorm but it was about thirty years ago when I was no more than a lass. I realised that it perhaps did look a little bizarre.

A half naked middle aged woman carrying a parrot clutched to her chest while muttering words of endearment to it. As long as we didn't meet anyone! As luck would have it around the corner came my neighbour, a sensible Yorkshire woman who loved animals as much as me and although not a parrot person, Leslie had followed the story with genuine compassion and had daily bulletins on the progress of Tilly's flight into the unknown.

There we stood talking, and not a word of surprise passing my neighbour's lips. Six months after the event, all has been forgotten in the village, and although Leslie said that she did notice that I was missing some clothes she was more concerned with the safe return of the parrot!

Written by : Erica Norman
Published in the parrot society UK magazine volume 35. February 2001
©2001