“Away you three inch fool!” Mercutio squawked. “Thou cream faced loon!”

Heath rested his pounding head in his palms. Two weeks of shrieking and bird shit, Heath rubbed the coiled muscles on the back of his neck. His sleep schedule was in the toilet, bird seed was all over his townhome, and now having to drive across town to visit an exotic animal doctor, taking home Uncle Cliff’s Green-Winged Macaw was a big mistake, thought Heath.

Heath loved Uncle Cliff. Cliff was dapper and well travelled. He worn an ascot to family barbecues. Crushed velvet throw pillows and gold candelabras, antique maps and first editions, in Cliff’s estate Mercutio was simply a colorful part of the scenery. Heath’s heart squeezed thinking of Uncle Cliff teaching him dirty limericks while the other kids played baseball.

A tuft of shocking red feathers landed on Heath’s cheek. He winced. Mercutio pulled out another feather and returned to walking along the veterinarian’s metal exam table. Mercutio’s wings were tucked tight and he took measured, inpatient steps. Heath imagined the bird looked a rainbow suited banker awaiting an important client.

The enormous parrot had a cadmium red head, chartusese emerald azure wings, and a beak that could and did crush walnuts. After plucking himself mercilessly Mercutio was also completely bald chested. Heath winced looking at the once beautiful animal’s pale pink pimply breast.

“Thou are unfit for any place but hell!” Mercutio screamed at Heath.

“Hey watch the language you, you cankerblossum,” Heath hissed.

Mercutio hissed back. Dr. Lauren Walsh opened the door, “Is it arguing with birds that we’re doing today?”

Heath flushed crimson. Mercutio squawked and flew in frantic circles before landing on Heath’s shoulder. With a snort, Dr. Walsh washed her hands in the tiny exam room sink.

“I was just uh reciting a little of the Bard for Mercutio. He likes it,” Heath said.

Dr. Williams quirked an eyebrow at him and began to examine her patient. Mercutio hid his head in Heath’s hair as the vet took his temperature and checked his sample under the microscope.

“Really, Doctor, I treat Merc like a king. My uncle taught me when I was a kid. I bird sat whenever Uncle travelled. Trim his claws, bathe him every week, I make him Brazil nut mango kiwi salad. Zounds, I don’t know what else to do.”

Dr. Walsh gently extended Mercutio’s wings beneath the exam light. He was glorious in red, green, and blue. Dr. Walsh and Heath smiled up at the swath of jungle unveiled in the strip mall vet clinic.

“Relax, I’ve been know to tell my Sulphur-Crested to go to blazes and she screeches ‘you first!’ Your birdie is very well cared for.”

Heath leaned into the vet’s lilting brogue. Poking his head up, Mercutio gave a salacious whistle. Heat bloomed up Heath’s neck. Dr. Walsh laughed and reviewed Mercutio’s medical records.

“I have his vitals and there is no sign of parasites or disease. The old reprobate looks healthy as a mule and twice as tetchy. I will give you a script for a topical ointment. But these birds are terribly sensitive. I suspect this fella is plucking himself over grieving your late uncle. He’s stressed and lucky to have someone he trusts. Read to him and take him out as much as you can. Birds get lonely too. Any questions?”

Heath shook his head. Dr. Williams began typing on her tablet. Thoughtfully Heath looked at Uncle Cliff’s bird. Mercutio showed Heath his long red tail feathers and twerked his bird bottom. Heath rolled his eyes.

“Take care Mr. Adams and call if you notice any coughing or sign of fever. Don’t hesitate to call any time and to you Mr. Mercutio LoudPants, ‘let us meet as little as we can,’” Dr. Walsh said to the bird with a little wink as she left the exam room.

“You, minion, are too saucy,” the bird said in a provocative drawl.

“Dude, chill. I’m teaching you sonnets.”

Bobbing his bright head, Mercutio did a shuffling happy dance on Heath’s shoulder.