Zorro is mostly bright green, with breast feathers of a subtle aquamarine hue. Around each leg, on the last half inch of feathers, there is a circle of vivid orange-red. He's a Nanday Conure, a kind of parrot. We named him Zorro for his black mask, more like a hood really, which causes strangers mistakenly to believe him fierce.

In good weather, Zorro takes me for walks on our quiet street. I do the walking; he rides shotgun, handling the shoulder-perching and ear-grooming duties. And we talk, but not in Human.

If you allow pet birds out of their cages, you must keep their wing feathers clipped lest they fly away. We had clipped Zorro's wings about two months before and thought they were still "under warranty." One afternoon we'd returned from a walk and were just within the yard when something startled him. He took off, soared over the house and settled in a tall hemlock tree between our house and the Clayton's, next door.

Betty and I tried our best to coax him down, including carrying his cage out into the yard, to use as a lure. Just before dark, Zorro flew to a lower limb, but he was still out of reach. He definitely wanted down, for he kept trying to step onto other limbs to get to me. Finally, I resorted to that old, time-tested implement for catching birds: the garden hose. Surely, we thought, if we spray him and scare him a little, he'll fly down to the ground.

He flew alright, to the top of the highest tree in the grove below the Claytons, about a football field away. The trees were so high, and the light so dim, we couldn't see him, although when we called he would answer us with sad little clucks. Thank goodness the vacationing Claytons had taken their rottweiler with them, so we could move around in their yard. Darkness fell, along with our hopes of ever seeing him again. We were just sick.

Early next morning, we went out back and immediately heard him calling! We ran to the woods. He was in sight! During the night he had moved to a lower limb, but he was still very far from the ground. We carried his cage to a little clearing nearby, and spent the next two hours calling, whistling, clucking, trying to entice him down, to no avail.

Betty called the city animal shelter to ask if they had any bird-catching resources. No, they said, they don't go up in trees. She called "Critter Control," a private company that has a $125 minimum charge, results not guaranteed. Come ahead, we said, with all the optimism we could muster. More calling, whistling and clucking until Mr. Critter arrived with a 30-foot ladder and a long-handled net.

He eased the ladder against the tree, slowly telescoped it to full length, then began climbing as furtively as he could. Finally, he was at the top, within reach. He moved the net up to shoulder level, then, as we held our breath, carefully positioned it to swoop down and capture the bird. Zorro bolted! His destination was a high limb in the back yard of Mrs. St. John who lives below the Claytons. We finally caught sight of him, a tiny, clucking silhouette against the hot noon sky.

Without much enthusiasm, we walked back to the house for the check-writing ceremony.

I tried to get some work done, but every hour or so we would walk back down to the St. Johns', just to let Zorro know we hadn't given up on him. We were worried that he might perish from lack of water, or become the prey of a big red hawk that occasionally circled the area. Around 5:00 o'clock, on our fourth or fifth visit, Zorro flew down to another, smaller tree near us. But no further, despite our pleading. By now an ugly thunder storm was rolling in from the east. Betty and I said goodbye to him, and began walking up the street. to shelter. As we hurried along we could hear Zorro calling from different locations. He was following us! When we reached home we could see him in a tree in the Clayton's front yard. But we had to go inside, out of the storm.

After the thunder and rain died down, we talked to him a couple of times before dark. He was scared, drenched and bothered by the mites off the tree limbs. He didn't know what to do. I felt the same way, and that night dreamed he was cold and miserable.

The next morning (day three) he was still sitting on the same limb. I spoke to him briefly before I had to leave town on a day trip. During the day, Betty would go out and check on him. After awhile she realized that Zorro was flying back and forth over our house, although she could never see him in flight. When I returned about 4:00, we waited in the back yard with his cage. He flew to the lowest limb of a poplar near our back porch, then moved down to the smallest, lowest twigs, hanging upside down trying to get even lower. But he wouldn't turn loose.

Another thunder storm was approaching; we had to leave him again. Coming into the house, I noticed the limb's proximity to the back of the house. It was only about ten feet from---and level with---the double windows in an upstairs bedroom. We flew up the stairs (so to speak), raised one of the windows, removed the screen and began calling him. Come on, Zorro! You could tell he was getting ready to fly. And he did! His aim was bad; he didn't make it through the open window. But he did land and hang onto the screen on the other window. I reached out to him, holding my palm up. He stepped onto it.

After 48 hours on the run, he was glad to be inside. He ate and drank, ate and drank all over again, then slept for about a day and a half. Now he's back to normal, had had a couple of baths and is reacquainted with all his toys. He seems to realize how good it is to be home again.


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Copyright © 1996 Reno Bailey