“Nimbu” is a bright green Alexandrine parrot who has demonstrated a certain amount of independence since coming to Arlington on Christmas morning 2013. Nimbu is a bigger, healthier version of the parrot we got in Crawford Market in Bombay in 1994, “Mitu,” who learned to imitate every squeaky thing in the house, particularly the microwave alarm. When Nimbu arrived, my daughter wrote: “Mom, whatever you do, turn off the microwave beeper before he learns it! It was already too late.
Last summer I got Nimbu’s wings clipped, so he couldn’t fly more than a few feet, and then started taking him out in the garden. He was content to ride along and nibble on branches when I put him down. This worked so well, I took him for a walk with the dog. I was confident neither could fly. About two blocks down the street, Nimbu took wing, not just tentatively, but as if he were a 747 headed for Europe. I looked in amazement. The dog looked in amazement. I thought he would easily tire or land on a wire. He kept going higher. He was green, all the leaves were green, and he was not answering my increasingly desperate attempts to cajole.
I went home, googled “How to find a missing parrot,” printed 20 posters, and then went looking. I looked all day. The internet says you have to find your parrot before it gets dark. Finally at about 5 p.m. I heard a microwave beeping in the tree about four blocks away. He had landed in a yard with a former parrot owner as resident, and that kind neighbor allowed me to sit and watch him come slowly down the tree, descending 100 feet branch to branch. But as he got close to us, he took wing again, flew around the house in a rather obnoxious display of freedom, and spent the night out. I don’t know how he slept, but I slept badly, thinking about what the internet had said about what bad things happen to parrots at night. The next morning, I got up early and heard the microwave at least six blocks away. He was going father away. I started mentally composing the words I would say to my son when he got off the plane the next day from camp. Then, happily, that afternoon a neighbor only two blocks away told me she had heard a microwave beeping in her yard and might have seen a bird looking at her … but he had flown off. I told her he liked orange juice and couldn't resist it if he saw it, and that wonderful lady stood outside for the rest of the afternoon holding up a glass of OJ. I gave up and went home at 5, thinking about making one last round at dusk. I got a text on my smartphone: “I have your bird.” A young man who was in the garden heard the microwave beep, and said, “hmmm .... not quite bird like.” He had seen the poster on the telephone pole, and ran inside to get food. Nimbu needed no more encouragement. He flew down, helped himself to bread and water, then climbed onto the young man’s shoulder, looked at him, and said “Hi” in his most flirtatious voice. He remained there, chatting away, recounting the story of life on the “outside,” the new neighbors he met, the birds he heard, and the wonderful feeling of being all by yourself at the top of an oak tree when the night gets very quiet in Arlington .....
— Eden Brown