The Parrot That Talked

I had a parrot named, Jack.  There were two parrots and I was accidentally sold the parrot that talked, not the one that didn't.  The guy who sold it to me wanted him back, but I wouldn't give him back.  I'd already fallen in love with him.  Oh how we loved that parrot.   He was from Panama. Yellow, gold, and orange. We paid 100 dollars for him and that was back in the 60's.  I could write a book about that parrot.
He had a vocabulary same as mine so you'd think it was me.  They're copycats.  He would say, "Giddy-up, giddy-up. Woah, woah." He was watching the cowboy shows with Roy Rogers that I would leave on when my husband and I were at work.  He copied everything that he heard Roy Rogers say on Saturday afternoon.   He copied the Indian, Tonto, too.
Jack was a comedian.  Parry taught the parrot to whistle, so Jack would whistle at the girls as they walked down the road.  
My oldest sister, Helen, worked at the hospital and her best friend was a nurse there.  She was telling the nurse that Jack talked and whistled and Hellen didn't believe her, so Hellen came over and walked up to the cage and said, "Hello, Jack."  He said, "Hellooooo there! You wanna go to bed?!" I used to say that when he wouldn't shut up and I'd throw the cover over him.  She got hysterical and told every doctor at the hospital about Jack.
I wouldn't allow him out unless my husband was sitting right there.  My husband would take him out of the cage, but I didn't want to because if he bit you, he could take part of your finger off.  You had to be careful because with that beak, they won't turn loose of you. Jack would try to take my husband's pencil out of his hand. When I was home on Saturday, I did my own hair and I'd be sitting down on the floor doing something and Jack would pull all of my bobby pins out of my hair.  He was a riot.    Jack loved shrimp and I didn't know it.   The woman who took care of him while we were gone fed him shrimp and shelled peanuts. Everyone wanted to babysit Jack.
Jack died of pneumonia.  I sat up all night with him while he was dying.  He's burried under my rose bush at the other house.   We had him 18 years.
The only thing I regret is that I didn't keep a diary.