Well, this is different. This is true. And if you all believe it is true then it will become true I tell you.
It happened years ago when I worked in London. At the foyer, or reception, of this big office block there was a large cage with a variety of birds in it. Mostly various exotic birds with different plumage and colours and a couple of parrots, or cockatoos, too. There was a special guy who took care of the birds and the cage and it was a good talking point at the foyer where visitors waited near reception to be escorted to various business managers they had appointments with. I was a business manager and my office was on the third floor; not that this is important to the story. I just put it in to authenticate the veracity of what I am saying. Also to show-off my command of the English language.
Anyway, one morning as I got in the building I noticed one of the parrots was lying on the bottom of the cage with its feet pointing upwards. Sure sign of rigor mortis in birds, and all other creatures really.
I mentioned this to the receptionist and she told me the guy who looks after the birds did not come in this morning. I suggested she takes the bird out of the cage as it was not a good advert for the business and visiting clients might assume that he represents the brain capabilities of our business managers. I doubt she understood my sarcasm. But I did; which is all that matters.
She entered the cage and picked the bird up and then said, "Sir ... please wait. The bird is not dead. He has just opened and closed his eyes!"
I examined the parrot and sure enough he was not dead ... yet! There wasn't much we could do about it. I am normally partial to a KFC but have never tried a Kentucky Fried Parrot so it was pointless sending him to the kitchen for preparation. We could not put him in the fridge either until the guy who looks after the birds turns up for work.
"Perhaps we could take him to a vet!" she suggested.
I wish she hadn't. I could hardly send her and leave the reception un-manned, (or un-womaned). You have to be so politically correct these days!
As I did not have any clients' appointments that morning I decided to go to the vet myself. There was nothing wrong with me per se. It was the bird! Are you following this story or not?
I asked the receptionist to put the still stiff bird in a box which we tied with string and I proceeded to the vet which was some walking distance away. About half a mile or so, give or take a few inches or centimetres depending on how you measure distances where you are. It certainly was not knots because we were not at sea at the time.
The knot is a unit of speed equal to one nautical mile per hour. The knot is also a dumpy, short-legged, stocky wading bird. I put that information in to prove the veracity of my story.
Anyway, I took the cardboard box with the bird in it and proceeded towards the vet. On the way there, I had the desire as well as the need to go to the bathroom. Coffee is a diuretic. Another fact worth pointing out.
I entered a fast food restaurant and made my way to the gents room. There were about four or five people there. I decided to enter one of the cubicles and lock the door behind me. I put the box on the floor and as I ... ... ...
The damned bird seemed to have woken up and started squawking and saying, "Pretty Polly. Pretty Polly". I lightly kicked the box with my foot to shut him up. He continued, "Pretty Polly. Who's a pretty boy then?"
I stayed in the cubicle for a while trying to rock the box gently to shut him up. How do you shut a stupid bird in a box? I wish I had tried the KFC option earlier on!
He eventually stopped. The whole episode lasted three or four minutes. I waited until I was sure everyone had left and then I left too.
The vet said it was probably indigestion or something that he ate. The bird was all right and was soon re-united with his feathered companions.
Now it's up to you. Is this story true or not? Take a vote!