The Unexpected Visitor

One chilly winter evening, we had an unexpected visitor drop by at our house. My grandfather had just gotten up from his nap and was pulling the curtains that covered the glass doors that led to his balcony. My brother and I were loitering around the house since it was too dark to go out and play and my mother had just set the kettle to boil for tea. Our dog Ben was waiting patiently for my grandfather to open the doors of the balcony so that he could sit outside and survey the scenery and occasionally growl at the children and street dogs that passed by below. All of a sudden, I saw Ben become tense. His hackles raised, a soft, predatory growl at the back of his throat; he began to paw furiously at the glass door. 

"What is it, Ben?" I asked curiously. Ben let out a thin, reedy whine and continued to paw, his long nails hitting the marbonite floor as he bumped his nose against the glass.

The unfamiliar cheep-cheep of a small bird greeted us from the other side. My brother and I crouched next to Ben and peered through the glass and there it was, a small, yellow lovebird staring indignantly back at us with its small, beady eyes.

"Cheep-cheep."

Ben went mad trying to use his forehead as a battering-ram to break the door down. The little bird, most disconcerted, continued cheeping, as if taunting Ben. Ben let out a frustrated huff.

"Why is sitting in my balcony?" my grandfather grumbled.

"Where's it's mate? Don't these birds come in pairs?" my brother asked.

"This is no ordinary bird," I said with sage-like wisdom, "It must be somebody's pet. We should call the neighbours and ask them if one of them has a lovebird that might have flown away.

My mother came from the kitchen, her phone pressed to her ear. She was updating my father on the sudden arrival of our new house-guest.

"Oh look, it's so cute. Maybe we should keep it? Ben would have a new friend." my mother cooed.

"No!" said my grandfather vehemently. I could hear my father mirror his sentiment over the phone.

"Are you sure?" my mother protested. "Perhaps you should pick up some bird food on your way back from work. Oh, and also, a bird cage."

My father mumbled something incoherent and hung up.

"Besides, I think Ben wants to eat it rather than be friends with it," I said, watching Ben howl at the indifferent bird on the other side of the glass door. "Maybe you should call the neighbours," I suggested again.

My mother called as many neighbours as she could. No, none of the them kept birds. One had two annoying spitz dogs that Ben couldn't stand. But no birds.

"What do we do?" my brother asked. "If we leave it out there, it might die of cold."

"If we bring it inside, Ben might kill it," I shrugged.

Ben was staring at the bird. It appeared that he was torn in between befriending this foreign creature and smiting it once and for all. Damn that glass door!

The bird cheep-cheeped once more and hopped closer to the window, as if daring Ben to come and get it.

"Call him off," my grandfather yelled over Ben's furious barks. "He'll break the glass."

"He has nowhere to go. He belongs to us now!" my brother said dramatically.

My mother came back, this time, with tea and said, "Call your father once again and check whether he's getting the birdcage."

"This is ridiculous," I said, turning around to look at the bird. "It's gone," I said.

"What?"

"It's gone, mum, look!"

The balcony was empty. Ben swished his tail, gave one last, disgusted bark and huffed off.

My brother flopped down on the bed.

We went to the hall to take our tea. Ben hovered next to us, hopeful for a biscuit or two, bird forgotten.

Moments later as I was removing the cups from the table and taking them to the kitchen...

"Cheep-cheep."

Ben roared and raced to the balcony door.

"And here we go again," my grandfather sighed.