| Posted: 25 July 2020 at 6:56am | IP Logged | 3
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When I was about six years old, in England, my mother found a budgie loose on the street. She captured it and brought it home and, being a policeman's daughter, reported her find at the local station. She then proceeded to fall in love with the bird, so it was lucky no one turned up to claim it. She named it "Rickie".Up thru my teens, there were three Rickies. The first, which was left with my grandparents when we moved to Canada, and two more, sequentially, when Mother Nature had her way. Finally, my father convinced my mother not to have any more birds. She was too totally wrecked when they died. So strange now, to think of those little guys as being pet dinosaurs.
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