A Google of Questions

There are wild parrots in the canyon where we live. Apparently someone loved them enough to set them free. They fly across the sky and they sing their songs of love, crackers and the assorted works of Jimmy Buffet. The locals claim that they have been here for years. They don’t call it a comeback (see, LL Cool J).

Turns out that parrots are really, really loud.

“What do they call a group of parrots?” my son asked.

“Parrots,” I said. I was on top of my game.

“Are they a flock, or a gaggle?”

“Well,” I said. “A group of parrots is called a company.”

“What about the peacocks?” asked the younger boy. His thirst for knowledge seemingly unquenched by the bottle of water he clutched in his hand (stainless steel water bottle, save the letters).

Right. The peacocks. There are peacocks in the canyon where we live. Apparently someone loved them enough to put them in a big cage and feed them table scraps. They don’t fly anywhere, and they aren’t quiet about it.

Turns out that peacocks are also really, really loud.

“A group of peacocks is called a muster,” I answered.

“How do you know that?” one of them asked. They were both, as one would imagine, very impressed.

“It’s like this,” I told them. “Dads know stuff. It’s part of the job. We fix problems. We have answers. It’s what we do.”

I may have looked deep into the distance. I may have looked wise as all get out. I could feel the awe around me.

“Did you Google it?” asked the oldest, which seemed totally uncalled for.

“What?” I asked. I was shocked. I put my phone back in my pocket. “Of course not. I was just checking my email. I told you, dads are born with this stuff.”

The distance. The get out. The awe. My denial was lost in the clouds floating above us.

We walked along the dry creek bed behind our house, throwing rocks and watching for snakes. The soundtrack echoed from flights of fancy. Ours was good company, and the day was all we cared to muster.


Photo: Enchanted Tiki Room at Walt Disney World

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