“Lucy and the Yellow Bird at Bongo”

She was a funny dog.
She didn’t miss many meals and was as flatulent as the day is long.

One year, on Ruby’s 3rd birthday, and with a busload of her kindergarten pals on the way…
Well…
Let’s just say that I had to make a quick trip back to the bakery.


“Didn’t you just pick up a birthday cake, like half an hour ago?”
“Yeah, man, my dog ate it.”
“No kidding, that’s too funny! Here’s another one, free of charge!”

Another time, she ate an entire order of extra extra hot chicken wings.

The next day, on our morning walk, she paid for it dearly.
You’d think she was passing razorblades.
About every half block, she’d look up at me with this look on her face that said, ‘Don’t ever let me do that again’.

Poor dog.

One time, while driving back from a gig in Texas, Jenny and I stopped to stretch our legs somewhere along I-40.
We let Lucy out to stretch her legs too.
She took off into the tall grass and came back with a pair of, kicking wildly, foot long frog legs sticking out of her mouth.
I assumed that the front half of the frog was already halfway down her throat.

I dry heaved.

Anyway, we covered a lot of miles together.

She sniffed fire hydrants in Nashville. Edmonton. Wakefield. Kansas City. Toronto. Grand Forks. Sudbury. Sioux City. Sault Ste Marie. Scranton. Thunder Bay. Moncton. Raleigh. Winnipeg. Knoxville. Calgary. Asheville. New York City. Bonnyville. Pound Ridge. Atlanta. Wawa. Chattanooga. Fargo. Memphis. Dryden. Little Rock and Saskatoon.

She went to countless recording sessions.
Club gigs.
Radio gigs.
Festivals.
You name it.

Every time I’d play the harmonica, she’d howl like it was a full moon.

One night in Chicago, I was in the middle of a song, when she wandered out from the dressing room to the stage.
I had my eyes closed and was singing a murder/suicide ballad that I’d written called “Silhouette”, when I heard the entire crowd start laughing.

Well, that wasn’t quite the reaction that song usually gets, so I opened my eyes and there was Lucy sitting there beside me.

What a good dog.

So, we trotted out our harmonica routine for the paying customers.

She and the crowd howled with delight.

One time I had her beside me on stage during a ‘Songwriters Workshop’.
Lucy sat there like the RCA dog.

What a good dog.

When one of the songwriters started to describe his next song as a song that he wrote about a fetus in the womb and what it’s thoughts, fears and concerns were about coming into such a cruel world…

Well…

Lucy did what everyone on stage and everyone in the crowed wanted to do.

She groaned a long drawn out groan and fell over on to her side.

What a good dog.

In November of 2002, Lucy and I walked down to Bongo Java to have a coffee with my buddy, Jon.
It was a beautiful fall day in Nashville, so we sat on the patio.
I tied Lucy’s leash to the leg of my chair.
She couldn’t have cared less.
She fell asleep.

About ten minutes after we got there, a guy came walking up on the patio with a cat on a leash.
I’m not sure I’d ever seen a cat on a leash before, but whatever, to each their own.
Lucy also noticed the cat on its leash and probably thought the same thing I did.
Weirdo.

Oh well.
Not my problem.
Back to my coffee.

About ten minutes after that, another guy came walking up with a yellow bird in a cage.
His name was Huey, not the bird, the kid. 
Huey was a regular at Bongo.
I saw him there every day.
He was always doing arts and crafts on the patio.
Painting one day.
Paper Maché the next.
Nice kid.
Sweet kid.
Harmless.

“How bizarre is this, man?” I said. 
Jon laughed, “Yeah man, it sounds like the start of a joke. A dog, a cat and a bird all walk into a coffee shop…”

Ten minutes later, Jon looked over my shoulder and said, ‘What the hell is Huey doing now?’
I turned around and saw that Huey had taken the yellow bird out of its cage.

The bird was perched on Huey’s finger.
He was petting the bird.
“Oh yer a good bird, yes you are, yer a good good bird… and pretty bird too…”

Oh well.
Not my problem.
Back to the coffee.

Ten minutes later, Jon and I are talking about the music business and publishing deals when his eyes dart down to Lucy.

“LUCY NO!!!!”

Screams.
Gasps.

I looked down and Lucy had the yellow bird in her mouth.

“WHAT THE FUCK!!!”

I grabbed Lucy by the collar and smacked her in the back of the head in hopes of getting her to spit up the bird.

She spit up the bird.

The yellow bird was laying on his back.
Wings flapping.
Blood spurting.

I was holding Lucy’s leash tight and short.
But, apparently, not tight and short enough.

She went back in for the kill.
She was bound and determined to make short work of the bird.

Again, I smacked her in the back of the head.

Again, she coughed up the bird.
Wings still flapping.
Blood still spurting.

Yellow feathers everywhere.

The entire episode took about 10 seconds.

The bird was on the ground at my feet.
Wings still flapping.
Blood still spurting.

I finally managed to get Lucy under control.

I looked around.
The entire patio is in stunned silence.

A scene not unlike the Grassy Knoll after Kennedy’s car went by.

“What the fuck just happened?”

One girl was sobbing uncontrollably.
Tears streaming.
Another girl was dry heaving off the side of the patio.

Huey (who was probably 6 feet tall) was standing on his chair screaming with his hands over his mouth.

“Well, I gotta find a new coffee shop now…” I said to myself. 

Lucy and I walked over to Huey.

“Huey, I’m so sorry, man…”
“It’s ok, I never should’ve taken him out of his cage…”

He started sobbing again.
He got down on his knees and gave Lucy a huge hug and said, “It’s ok Lucy, I’m not mad at you at all, it’s my fault…”

Lucy wagged her tail, as if to say, “Sorry about yer bird, man, my bad…”

Everyone on the patio was stone silent.

“Is there anything I can do, Huey?”
“Well… I could really use a hug right now…”

If the entire patio hadn’t been experiencing PTSD at the time, this would’ve been the moment where everyone goes “Ahhhhhhhhhhh”.
Roll credits.
Fade to black.

Then Jon walked over with the yellow bird laying on a napkin.

“He’s alright, he just in shock…” and laid him in the bottom of the cage.

We went back to our table and sat down.

What do you talk about after yer dog just killed another guy’s yellow bird?
It’s kinda tough to shift gears.

“Speaking of birds, this reminds me, have you heard the “Sweetheart of the Rodeo” reissue by the Byrds?”

The lady at the table next to us leaned over and said, almost under her breathe, “It was amazing, the bird just jumped off the table and walked over to your dog and jumped in her mouth! I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Huey got up from his table, picked up the yellow bird from the bottom of his cage, and walked out to the back alley.

Five minutes later, he came back empty handed.
He sat down at his table and lit a cigarette.

“What do you think happened?” I said to Jon. 
“I think he ‘Ol’ Yeller’d’ him…”
“Jesus. What a day…”

I walked back over to Huey.
“Did yer bird….”
“Yeah, he did.”
“I’m so sorry, Huey.”
“It’s okay, it’s my fault.”
“Can we get you a new bird?”

Apparently that was a great idea.

“Actually, I just got him yesterday at the PetSmart. They’re having a “Two for One” deal, so, like, for ten bucks I can get two and they’ll be friends!”
“Yeah, that sounds good, Huey. Let me run Lucy home. I’ll get the car, come back here and then we’ll go to the PetSmart…”

Just then Jon said, “Actually, I’m heading that way, anyway. Hop in Huey, I’ll run you out to the PetSmart. Getcha bird.”
“Can you give me a lift home too?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem, Huey.”

Lucy and I watched them climb into Jon’s Jeep and drive away.
Jon, Huey and an empty bird cage.

I got about halfway home before I started laughing.
I don’t know why, but I couldn’t stop laughing.
Tears.

I stayed away from Bongo Java for about two weeks.

One day, I finally got the courage to go in.

I was standing in line, when someone behind the counter noticed me.
“Hey man!”
Then everyone started clapping.
The slow clap.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
Pretty soon everyone joined in.

Thunderous applause. 

Andy, the manager, walked up to me and said, ‘Where’ve you been, man! We’ve missed you! Is Lucy here?’
‘No, ahhh, she’s at home…’
‘Tell her not to worry about it. I mean, really, who brings a bird to a coffee shop anyway?’

They promo’d my coffee.

As I threw a couple bucks in the tip jar, I noticed that there were little yellow feathers taped all around the mouth of the jar.

Credits roll.
Fade to black.

Epilogue 1:
Six years later, on December 19, 2008, Lucy shuffled off to the land where the squirrels are fat and slow.
For a dog whose life I threatened daily, I sure hated to see her go.
I was a mess.

That’s about all I have to say about that.

Epilogue 2:
Ten years later Jenny and I were at a dinner party, and the guy who owns Bongo Java (Bob Bernstein) just so happened to be at the party as well.
We were all sitting around the table telling stories and laughing when Jenny said,
“Mike, tell Bob about Lucy…”
“Yeah, well, I don’t think so.”
“Who’s Lucy?”

So I told the story of Lucy and the Yellow bird.

After I finished telling the story, Bob looked at me and said, ‘Are you kidding me? You have got to be kidding me! That was you? That was your dog?
“Yeah, man.” I said.
“I can’t believe it! You know, I’d heard that story about the dog and the bird but, to me, it sounded like an urban myth! Like it was too good of a story to be true.”

“Yeah man, no way, you can’t make that shit up…”

We all laughed.

What a good dog.

Mike Plume
January 23, 2019