| General Flash Fiction posted April 6, 2006 |
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A Flash Fiction, a sense and sensibility message
Pet Mac
by Alcreator Litt Dear
Please read Author Notes; enjoy , think why and how once a parrot behaved and acted so strange to pass a message and teach a family sense and sensibility and or human values
Mac is not just a name; a parrot belongs to it. My father’s pet parrot is Mac, a wonder talking bird; my father brought him from India. The bird speaks only thirteen incomplete sentences or phrases in Bengali, Hindi and English languages.
Thank God, Mac could speak those words and imitate the styles that my father cared to teach him. People say Mac is a genius and wonder bird for he speaks taught words in three languages stylistically.
His imitating voice, pronunciation in three languages and caricature are bizarre, and sometimes, better than a Hollywood film actor.
My father is a meticulous, routine-bugged and punctual person for and to pet birds by passion. Years ago, he bought and brought in North America a three-day-old parrot from India. He indulges the bird when he grew up fairly. He gave the bird a name Mac. Sure, I have noticed many times, my father’s inadvertent indulgence to Mac. Few people could only know why.
By God, at our Ray joint family, here in North America, we all know the reason of my father’s indulgence to a bird. But, many of our neighbors say that my father set an example of indulgence to pet a bird. I think, people consider my father a living example of a parrot lover.
Some people, often address nick names to my father, in appreciation. Soon, my father became popular with people-given new nick names, for example, 'Pet Mac Master Pat' and 'Pet Pat'. No wonder! A few of our neighbours here address my youngest brother Rickson as 'PP's son' instead of his name Rickson.
My father conducts marathon vocabulary spelling-pronunciation gesture-expression tests making the parrot a wonder-talking, actor bird, Mac. And he does all this just for a bird.
Yes, my father indulges Mac enough, more than enough, and interestingly, and Mac started calling to address new short names, as he liked and could pronounce at ease, though my father approved such short names. Mac called newly given short names to some of our family members and a next door neighbour.
Mac stylistically calls to address a few chosen, approved and finally given short names of our family members and a neighbour. He calls my father Patterson as Pat, my grandpa or grandfather Jackson as Jac, my mom Baby as Bab, my younger brother Bobson as Bon, my youngest brother Rickson as Ric.
It is no surprise. Mac dares to address our next-door neighbor uncle Mr. Williamson as Win, a half-crazy parrot lover. My father indulges Mac to call short names as both he and my father liked it.
To our surprise, one evening, Mac did not speak; he appeared a deaf and dumb bird.
That day, no one knew what had happened to Mac. My youngest brother stopped studying his school lessons since afternoon. We all tried to make Mac speak, but he was only seen moving, sometimes strolling, and at some other times he was seen artistically displaying some unknown postures of listening.
How could anyone guess? We mostly failed to catch Mac’s strange actions and behaviour.
We tried many tricks and applied our intelligence, but we failed. Apparently, we could appreciate to conclude that Mac was trying to hear someone or something else.
I thought, as if Mac were not belonged to this world or he were trying to listen to someone of a world beyond or far away from this; he was behaving strangely.
Noticeably, Mac raised his greenish, large silky round head and swirled it round frequently, sometimes straight up and sometimes straight down, and sometimes to our house huge main gate door eastward, or to the balcony westward, and even sometimes to my father's study northward, or to my grandpa's living room southward of our old house that my grandfather made in the last Century on this huge great country, North America.
"Speak up my dear, Mac, Mac speak out," my father repeated the words in different but familiar styles and pronunciation like a child.
I saw no failing in interest and vigor in my father, as he went on doing the same thing, for a few hours that very day, as he had been doing since Mac behaved so.
"Hey Mackie, say what's your problem, speak up my sweet Mackie, Mac, my dear, what's wrong, what's wrong with you, dear, what wrong happened to you, Mac?" my father asked Mac.
I discovered my father's patience that day. He played many tricks, acted, caricatured and even mimed before Mac. I remember, Mac was performing better than a star film actor; but, Mac spoke no words.
Mr. Williamson routinely used to visit Mac at least once every afternoon. He assisted my father by doing something or the other, in the course of my father’s teaching and mentoring Mac.
Of course, Mr. Williamson is never weary of helping my father in course of his mentoring Mac. He was proud of declaring himself Deputy Mentor to Mac, and interestingly enough, he sometimes called my father Mac Mentor.
Time went on. None of our family members could think of Williamson's absence or reason of absence from visiting our house that very afternoon.
Most of our family members came to know late that night that suddenly, Williamson died of a severe heart-attack silently.
We went for the last time to see Williamson as he lay dead, my uncle-like neighbour next door.
Our family members for the time being came back home at the night-end. We paid our last respects to Williamson, Mac’s Win.
We just stepped inside our house, and the miracle occurred, as if it were waiting to happen for at the moment of and with our coming back home, paying after our last visit to Williamson.
Mac resumed speaking. He appeared no more a deaf and dumb and / or wise, actor green bird. He spoke in a sweet familiar voice in three languages eloquently. He greeted us at our house in a familiar or formal style. He said, "Good night, good night to you all, and my dear Pat, Bab and goody, goody night to Bon and Ric."
I saw my father was proud of Mac. My grandpa stuck with Mac's familiar sweet words, 'Ho Jac, sweet dream."
I noticed, Mac also paid a silent homage to his Win. Maybe he spoke 'May Win RIP'. I realized years later the essence of his paying a tribute to Win and showing us a message.
"No Mackie, no, no, not this way, yeah, right, OK...."
The next morning, once again our house seemed alive with the sounds of teaching and learning. Mac continued qualifying in all the tests before my father. "Thank you Mackie dear, thanks for teaching us human sense and sensibility, it was a grand trick indeed," my father said and caressed Mac many times, just as he had done it so often before.
Mac is not just a name; a parrot belongs to it. My father’s pet parrot is Mac, a wonder talking bird; my father brought him from India. The bird speaks only thirteen incomplete sentences or phrases in Bengali, Hindi and English languages.
Thank God, Mac could speak those words and imitate the styles that my father cared to teach him. People say Mac is a genius and wonder bird for he speaks taught words in three languages stylistically.
His imitating voice, pronunciation in three languages and caricature are bizarre, and sometimes, better than a Hollywood film actor.
My father is a meticulous, routine-bugged and punctual person for and to pet birds by passion. Years ago, he bought and brought in North America a three-day-old parrot from India. He indulges the bird when he grew up fairly. He gave the bird a name Mac. Sure, I have noticed many times, my father’s inadvertent indulgence to Mac. Few people could only know why.
By God, at our Ray joint family, here in North America, we all know the reason of my father’s indulgence to a bird. But, many of our neighbors say that my father set an example of indulgence to pet a bird. I think, people consider my father a living example of a parrot lover.
Some people, often address nick names to my father, in appreciation. Soon, my father became popular with people-given new nick names, for example, 'Pet Mac Master Pat' and 'Pet Pat'. No wonder! A few of our neighbours here address my youngest brother Rickson as 'PP's son' instead of his name Rickson.
My father conducts marathon vocabulary spelling-pronunciation gesture-expression tests making the parrot a wonder-talking, actor bird, Mac. And he does all this just for a bird.
Yes, my father indulges Mac enough, more than enough, and interestingly, and Mac started calling to address new short names, as he liked and could pronounce at ease, though my father approved such short names. Mac called newly given short names to some of our family members and a next door neighbour.
Mac stylistically calls to address a few chosen, approved and finally given short names of our family members and a neighbour. He calls my father Patterson as Pat, my grandpa or grandfather Jackson as Jac, my mom Baby as Bab, my younger brother Bobson as Bon, my youngest brother Rickson as Ric.
It is no surprise. Mac dares to address our next-door neighbor uncle Mr. Williamson as Win, a half-crazy parrot lover. My father indulges Mac to call short names as both he and my father liked it.
To our surprise, one evening, Mac did not speak; he appeared a deaf and dumb bird.
That day, no one knew what had happened to Mac. My youngest brother stopped studying his school lessons since afternoon. We all tried to make Mac speak, but he was only seen moving, sometimes strolling, and at some other times he was seen artistically displaying some unknown postures of listening.
How could anyone guess? We mostly failed to catch Mac’s strange actions and behaviour.
We tried many tricks and applied our intelligence, but we failed. Apparently, we could appreciate to conclude that Mac was trying to hear someone or something else.
I thought, as if Mac were not belonged to this world or he were trying to listen to someone of a world beyond or far away from this; he was behaving strangely.
Noticeably, Mac raised his greenish, large silky round head and swirled it round frequently, sometimes straight up and sometimes straight down, and sometimes to our house huge main gate door eastward, or to the balcony westward, and even sometimes to my father's study northward, or to my grandpa's living room southward of our old house that my grandfather made in the last Century on this huge great country, North America.
"Speak up my dear, Mac, Mac speak out," my father repeated the words in different but familiar styles and pronunciation like a child.
I saw no failing in interest and vigor in my father, as he went on doing the same thing, for a few hours that very day, as he had been doing since Mac behaved so.
"Hey Mackie, say what's your problem, speak up my sweet Mackie, Mac, my dear, what's wrong, what's wrong with you, dear, what wrong happened to you, Mac?" my father asked Mac.
I discovered my father's patience that day. He played many tricks, acted, caricatured and even mimed before Mac. I remember, Mac was performing better than a star film actor; but, Mac spoke no words.
Mr. Williamson routinely used to visit Mac at least once every afternoon. He assisted my father by doing something or the other, in the course of my father’s teaching and mentoring Mac.
Of course, Mr. Williamson is never weary of helping my father in course of his mentoring Mac. He was proud of declaring himself Deputy Mentor to Mac, and interestingly enough, he sometimes called my father Mac Mentor.
Time went on. None of our family members could think of Williamson's absence or reason of absence from visiting our house that very afternoon.
Most of our family members came to know late that night that suddenly, Williamson died of a severe heart-attack silently.
We went for the last time to see Williamson as he lay dead, my uncle-like neighbour next door.
Our family members for the time being came back home at the night-end. We paid our last respects to Williamson, Mac’s Win.
We just stepped inside our house, and the miracle occurred, as if it were waiting to happen for at the moment of and with our coming back home, paying after our last visit to Williamson.
Mac resumed speaking. He appeared no more a deaf and dumb and / or wise, actor green bird. He spoke in a sweet familiar voice in three languages eloquently. He greeted us at our house in a familiar or formal style. He said, "Good night, good night to you all, and my dear Pat, Bab and goody, goody night to Bon and Ric."
I saw my father was proud of Mac. My grandpa stuck with Mac's familiar sweet words, 'Ho Jac, sweet dream."
I noticed, Mac also paid a silent homage to his Win. Maybe he spoke 'May Win RIP'. I realized years later the essence of his paying a tribute to Win and showing us a message.
"No Mackie, no, no, not this way, yeah, right, OK...."
The next morning, once again our house seemed alive with the sounds of teaching and learning. Mac continued qualifying in all the tests before my father. "Thank you Mackie dear, thanks for teaching us human sense and sensibility, it was a grand trick indeed," my father said and caressed Mac many times, just as he had done it so often before.
 Recognized |
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Please read this Author Notes in order to save our resources and precious time
Mac's given name to some of our joint family members lived in North America:
My father: Patterson Ray (Pat)
My grandpa/grandfather: Jackson Ray (Jac)
My Mom: Baby Ray (Bab)
My younger brother: Bobson (Bon)
My youngest brother: Rickson (Ric)
My neighbour uncle Williamson (Win)
Win RIP refers to May Williamson Rest In Peace
Mac was taught as he spoke thirteen words, phrases, incomplete or fragment of sentences in three languages - Bengali, Hindi and English
Some repetitions are necessary and purposive to help readers appreciate the theme; sometimes, in my own style of expression, deliberately, I had to use some words repeatedly, for appreciation of your read and gravity of the facts expressed in this work
Name of the people and places in India and North America where joint or nucleus Ray families, members of four settled Indian generations lived, birth places of each family member, places or market places in India where talking parrots are caught or hunted, brought in, shown and sold in India have not been mentioned intentionally
The picture free downloaded from internet
Thank you for the read and for writing a fair review
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Mac's given name to some of our joint family members lived in North America:
My father: Patterson Ray (Pat)
My grandpa/grandfather: Jackson Ray (Jac)
My Mom: Baby Ray (Bab)
My younger brother: Bobson (Bon)
My youngest brother: Rickson (Ric)
My neighbour uncle Williamson (Win)
Win RIP refers to May Williamson Rest In Peace
Mac was taught as he spoke thirteen words, phrases, incomplete or fragment of sentences in three languages - Bengali, Hindi and English
Some repetitions are necessary and purposive to help readers appreciate the theme; sometimes, in my own style of expression, deliberately, I had to use some words repeatedly, for appreciation of your read and gravity of the facts expressed in this work
Name of the people and places in India and North America where joint or nucleus Ray families, members of four settled Indian generations lived, birth places of each family member, places or market places in India where talking parrots are caught or hunted, brought in, shown and sold in India have not been mentioned intentionally
The picture free downloaded from internet
Thank you for the read and for writing a fair review
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