Buy me a coffee?
When you move to Costa Rica, there’s a certain rhythm you hope to fall into. The sounds of the jungle or the beaches, the scent of mango trees, maybe a hammock and a good book. I figured a parrot would be the perfect addition to that paradise picture. Something tropical, colourful, maybe one that would greet me with a cheerful “Pura vida!”
What I got was a feathered demon with the vocabulary of a trucker who’d just stubbed his toe.
This bird didn’t just talk, it roasted me. Day one, it called me a “bald-headed gringo” and asked if I dressed in the dark. It made fun of my shorts, my sandals, and even questioned my life choices. Every attempt I made to civilize it only made things worse. I played it soothing jungle sounds, some Barry Manilow, even tried letting it watch educational videos. All that did was teach it bigger words for its insults.
One day, after it mocked me for the last time while I was slicing up pineapple, I snapped. I yelled. It yelled louder. I waved a finger. It raised a wing. I shook the cage. It started shouting things that would’ve made a pirate blush.
And then, in a moment of weakness, I opened the freezer, stuffed the squawking little tyrant inside, and closed the door.
There was flapping. Screeching. Kicking.
Then silence.
Pure, terrifying silence.
I stood there frozen myself, wondering if I’d just committed a tropical crime.
I opened the door.
Out stepped the parrot, completely calm. It hopped gently onto my arm, blinked at me, and said in a refined tone, “Sir, I would like to sincerely apologize for my prior behaviour. I was disrespectful, and I assure you, it will not happen again.”
I stared at it, speechless.
Then it leaned in close and whispered, “May I ask what the chicken did?”
Moral of the story:
Sometimes, all it takes to reset a bad attitude is a cold moment of reflection.
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