HE CAN TALK.

Auckland Star, Volume LXX, Issue 196, 21 August 1939, Page 5

HE CAN TALK.

BUDDY THE BUDGIE. MOST ACCOMPLISHED BIRD. MAXES ARDENT LOVE. "What's your name?" asked the reporter. "Buddy Williams, 7, Tole Street, PonSonbv," came the whispered answer. The "speaker" was a budgerigar perched on the reporter's shoulder. Yes, Buddy is a budgerigar and he does live at that address. He is one of the most accomplished little birds in New Zealand. He actually seems to engage in a conversation. He gives answer for question. He can differentiate between voices, and he is particularly "intelligent" when the queries concern lis affections. "Do you love me?"-his mistress, Miss I. Z. Williams, asked him. Quoth the "budgie": I do. I love you. I'm desperately crazy about you. All thi« was said with the precise epiphasis of the love-sick swain. The little "voice" rose to a crescendo as it came to the word "crazy." Pleased With Own Cleverness. Then for a little while, pleased at his own cleverness, the bird chattered excitedly to himself, running from one of his mistress' shoulders to the other, and nibbling at her neck. After a time Buddy, apparently feeling that he was being neglected, went one better. He decided to sing. The song was "Pop-eye the Sailor Man." The bird sang the entire verse, interjecting at the right times with the whistle which is as well-known as the son<r it«elf. His "I fight to a finish 'cos I eat my spinach . . was astonishing. Buddy had the centre of the stage again. Loth to lose it, he turned to his mistress, and hopping to her finger, whispered affectionately, "Boy, oh boy, you're georgeous." Once she affected net to hear, so Buddy flew into a huff. "Ssh to you!" fie snapped petulantly. "I'm tired."

But this was not the mood for long. Buddy is nothing if not tem[>eraniental. Someone produced a handkerchief. As soon as the linen square appeared, two beady eyes concentrated on it. The little blue head suddenly jerked to one side, and before the owner could use the handkerchief. Buddy got in first. There came the unmistakeable sound of a sniff, and then of a sneeze. With the laughter that followed Buddy literally danced with delight. "Oh, So&ny, it's Funny." He sang again—"Oh sonny, don't you think it's funny that euch a tiny bird like you can talk?" More laughter, so Buddy, still dancing, continued the concert. "He's precious to his mother, 'cos she thinks he's lots of fun," he told his audience, "He's precious to his mother, 'cos he's just her tiny son." All these comments were made quite clearly. Then suddenly Buddy started his lovemaking all over again. His mistress lay on the floor, and the bird, squeaking with delight, pranced up to her. With the appropriate smacking sound he "kissed" her. "Mummy's little boy," he whispered, "Mummy's little boy." But in the end Buddy became bored. He finished prancing. With feathers ruffled, he tucked his legs under him and in a tired voice announced, "0 dear, dear, dear, dear, Buddy's so tired, so tired and ill." Apd that, as far as Buddy was concerned, was the end of the story. Buddy had given his entertainment. Miss Williams alone has taught the bird to talk. She has had him for five years, ever since he was five weeks old. He rides with lier in the car, sitting on his own special perch. He has been all over the North Island, being as well known in Rotorua as in Helensville. The last the reporter saw of Buddy was a ball of feathers and a protruding tail, cuddled up against a mirror. Buddy had gone to bed.