Budgie's Lament

Waiting for the bus in Saint Patrick's Square on Nicholson Street, I spied a swarm of pigeons and hovering seagulls alighting upon the top-floor window of a flat across the street from where I sat. The pigeons pecked and poked at some foodstuff, taking it in their petite beaks and shaking violently, as the seagulls swooped in and retrieved large pieces of the mystery substance. A symphony of caws and coos rang out over the bustle of mid-afternoon Nicholson Street. Suddenly, a frantic movement from behind the top-floor window caught my eye. It was an avian out-of-place. On the other side of this busy window perched a parakeet, pacing madly from one end of the window-sill to the other, bobbing its head and occasionally taking to flight, flapping impotent wings against the unyielding glass.

I could find only one explanation to satisfy my curiosity. The owner of said frustrated budgie must have sprinkled foodstuff upon the window box before freeing her (I assume it is a her, an older woman in a flowered housecoat) charge from the confines of his (I assume it is a he, a young and pampered bird) cage. She will have sprinkled foodstuff in order to lure the wild city birds, so that they would alight on her window box and provide her young and pampered parakeet with an afternoon of entertainment. I say frustration, but I'm quite convinced she would say entertainment, or at least amusement. My conclusion is thus: Birds are funny, and so are people.