SPIKE PLANNED TO SNEAK UP on his woman, but Mr. Smith gave him up by mimicking his voice, announcing in three successive repetitions, ‘Hi there, sweet Win.’
Male parakeets can learn to talk, but the females generally don’t, as in the case of Mrs. Smith. Instead, she danced a jig on her perch to her Romeo’s amusing refrain.
Spike reprimanded the bird for being a killjoy.
With all that ruckus, Winnie stepped out of the bedroom.
Spike’s right hand went to his chest upon seeing his girlfriend’s frizzy hair, and her lithe body in his old T-shirt. His affection for her bubbled up to the surface, ‘Come here, give me a kiss,’ he said, in an almost demanding tone.
Winnie came over slowly. One tip-toed foot in front of the other, her hands behind her.
‘What’s that behind you?’ he asked, immedi
