The budgie is called Charlie. He has a large cage, complete with millet, pumice, water, toys. Most of the time, the cage door is open. Except at night, because then Charlie wouldn’t be able to see and would bash into things flying around.
Right now Charlie has his claws or talons wrapped around the wire, the wire that forms the top of the lampshade. The standard lampshade, a lamp of circular wooden base and pole. The shade is of a delicate lace like material, in pink. Charlie’s poo stands out quite clearly, it’s obvious where are his favourite places.
Sunbeams slant down onto the polished wooden parquet floor. Countless dust particles glow in the light. The horrible odour of boiling green tripe floats through the open door.
Dougal trots into the room. He looks around and spots the budgie on its perch.
Charlie obligingly flies down to the floor and walks back and forth, back and forth. He stops and cocks his head. Letting the dog know.
Dougal’s paws scrabble on the polished wood, then, acceleration, he rockets toward the bird and—
At the very last moment Charlie takes off and flies back to the lamp. Triumphant poo.
Dougal, unable to brake in time, OOF! into the wall.
From the standard lamp, the budgie calls “Not now! Not now!”