I REMEMBER STARING out the window of my Rockefeller Center office at Warner Brothers in New York, daydreaming about doing feature-film publicity on location instead of being tied to a desk.

Rainbow lory Mango and his owner, Mira Tweti, encountered unexpected turbulence the first time they flew together.

I looked forward to being out of an office – permanently – and to the traveling. Working at great locations, hanging out on movie sets, what could be a better job? What could be more fun?

That was before I got a parrot. Once I got my sweet Mango, a rainbow lory, the guilt of leaving him with a pet sitter for eight to 10 weeks at a time was terrible. I missed him more than I could bear.

For several years, there was a parade of lories in and out of my apartment - all possible companions for Mango. Getting him a friend seemed the obvious way for him to be happy when I was away. They came from pet shops, breeders, you name it. All the birds he liked, I didn’t, and vice versa.

There was Big Boy, who was so big he was like a lory Baby Huey. Big Boy wasn't in the house five minutes before he found everything to get into that Mango hadn't in more than a year of living there. And of course Mango was fascinated with all the new discoveries, so he followed Big Boy wherever he led.

There was Mini (short for mini-Mango because she was smaller and followed him everywhere). There was Kiwi, who sang entire operettas before she lunged to bite you, hard.

Preparing for takeoff
I couldn't take it anymore. I decided that the next time I had to leave home, I would simply take Mango with me. When the call came, it was short notice - I would be leaving in a week to work on a film shooting back east through Christmas and starring Patrick Swayze.

I began to plan. I already had a good carrier for Mango - a leather-trimmed canvas bag with nylon-mesh sides, shoulder strap and handles that I'd bought for $30. It was made for a cat or small dog, but it's perfect for birds. It zippers open at the top and on the sides via drop-down panels.

The bottom has a removable hard board, waterproofed in black vinyl covering for easy cleaning, but I usually line it with a towel. I'd had it customized for Mango at the local hardware store with perches made from dowels for only $1.50 apiece.

I figured Mango could walk back and forth inside the bag and play with his toys. His food dish hung fine on the nylon mesh and I got a screw-on hamster water bottle, so water wouldn't spill if I had to run for a plane, an important consideration because as organized as I am, I'm always late. Especially for flights.

An adult human and one bird, please
I bought Mango his own plane ticket ($60 one way, paid by Universal at my insistence because of the short notice) so he could fly in the cabin with me - I would never let a small bird go in cargo. Plus, a ticket insured that there wouldn’t be any problems bringing Mango on board. Or so I thought.

Mango the rainbow lory travels comfortably in a pet carrier customized with a hamster water bottle and two dowels for perches.

Getting your bird a ticket doesn't buy him a seat. It allows you to keep him under the seat in front of you - or, if you're lucky, on the empty seat next to you.

I had specifically asked for a reservation on the emptiest flight out, which also turned out to be the latest, which was fine with me. I was pleased when I was told the plane was only one-third full.

I requested a seat at the back of the plane, which I was told would be no problem, and the reservation person said she was sure I'd end up with two seats so Mango could sit on the seat next to me. Perfect!

On travel day, I was proud for getting to the airport in plenty of time. As it turned out, it didn’t help, because I could never have predicted the series of events about to unfold.

All went well at the ticket counter. In addition to my luggage, I checked a large box containing Mango's 2-foot by 1½-foot travel cage, which I had filled with his toys, bowls, food, and "bed blanket" (so he could and play and poop on the hotel bed).

I didn't want to take any chances, even though we were headed for Atlanta, a major city. I had no idea how far the nearest well-stocked pet store would be or when I'd get a chance to get to it. And finding lory things is not always easy.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!
I shuffled along toward the gate with laptop and handbag on one shoulder, Mango's case on the other.

I didn't rush, since I had so much time. I talked to Mango all the way down the long terminal to reassure him.

Mango was being good but he wasn't thrilled with the events unfolding before him. In his sweet high-pitched cartoon-character voice he kept repeating the phrase he uses when he thinks he's done something wrong: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"No sweetie, it’s fine, you didn't do anything wrong," I replied, to lots of strange looks from fellow travelers.

When I got to the gate I was relieved to see there wasn't a soul in sight but the smiling flight attendant waiting to take my ticket. As I handed it to her, she said, "Gee, you're just making it. We were about to take off."

I was stunned. The plane wasn't supposed to leave for another 15 minutes. She said I was getting the last seat on what was now a packed flight. All the other flights to Atlanta had been canceled due to bad weather and all the passengers had been put on my plane, the last one out.

Some people already had been waiting for seven hours. They were hungry and angry about the turn of events. And here I came, with a bird and an armful of stuff.

I bumped every elbow and stepped on every foot as I winded my way down the narrow aisle. But I didn't have far to go. My seat was up front – in the fourth row and on the aisle! I stopped dead, staring in horror.

The flight attendant, desperate to get me seated and the plane out of the airport, came over. I explained that I was supposed to be in the back - way in the back - and at a window.

But when we looked at my ticket, that's not what it said. It said fourth row, aisle. I hadn't even checked it. All eyes were on me now. I gave up and sat down, trying to get settled as quickly as possible.

I put Mango under the seat in front of me and he began whistling in a louder voice at the new developments. I stood up and opened a couple of the overhead storage compartments, looking for a place to stash my stuff. Immediately half a dozen people shouted, "There’s no room in those!"

I sat back down. With my laptop and bag piled on my lap and Mango at my feet, I buckled my seatbelt and prepared to settle in for what would surely be the most uncomfortable flight of my life.

Flying the angry skies
Mango had now gone back to apologizing in a soft voice beneath the seat and I was whispering down to him.

When I heard the captain begin the take-off announcements, I breathed a sigh of relief. But just then the woman sitting in front of me motioned for the flight attendant.

As if I couldn't hear her, she began to complain about Mango. "That thing under my seat is making noise!" she said. "It isn't going to stay there for the whole flight, is it?"

The flight attendant, one of several I got to know well in just a matter of a few minutes, asked me to make Mango quiet or get off the plane. I showed her his ticket and explained that he was supposed to be on the flight.

"We can’t take off if he's making noise," she said.

"I can make noise - but he can't?" I responded, trying to point out the nonsense of it all.

"The plane has to be quiet for takeoff," she said again, losing what little composure she had possessed.

Everyone on the plane was watching and listening, and getting more furious as the minutes ticked by. Voices from the rows behind me muttered, "What is going on? We're not leaving!? What's the hold up?!" Others closer to the action unhappily filled them in on the details.

Another flight attendant joined the first one. I explained to both of them that Mango was a bird, he was barely mumbling, and there was no reason the plane could not take off.

I decided to try to dazzle them with the Hollywood connection: I told them that both Mango and I were expected on the set of a Universal Pictures film the next morning and we had to be on that flight.

They were not impressed. They repeated in unison: if Mango couldn't be quiet, I had to get off the plane. I refused. Two more fight attendants were called over. A mob of flight attendants now stood over us.

Desperate now, I played my last hand. I pointed to the infant just a few rows behind me and said, "You think that baby’s going to stay quiet for five hours? Are you going to ask its mother to take it off the plane?"

From their icy stare, I realized too late that picking on a baby might not have been my best course of action.

You may get up and move about the cabin
A supervisor was summoned from the terminal and we all waited, impatiently, for him to arrive. He weighed 400 pounds and was none too happy to have to make his way down the narrow aisle and confront a mob. I figured it was all over for me and Mango.

I explained how I was promised an empty flight and a seat in back. He asked the flight attendant why she didn't move me to the rear. There were no seats, she told him.

"Ask someone in the last row if they want to move up front to an aisle seat," he replied. She refused, saying it would further delay the plane unnecessarily. He insisted. I was beginning to like this guy.

To support her case, the flight attendant pointed out that Mango was making noise. The big man looked at me. "He's just nervous, he'll be quiet in a moment," I said, and prayed.

Reluctantly, the frustrated flight attendant headed toward the back of the plane to find someone to trade seats with me. A moment later there was an uproar: passengers in the rear, desperate to be the first off the plane, almost started a riot to have my seat.

As I got to my new row, my arms full of bird and bags, I saw that my new seatmate was an elderly, sweet-looking Chinese man. I knew instantly he wouldn't mind Mango. As I climbed over him to get to the window, he and Mango locked eyes. "Beautiful bird," he said. "Does he talk?"

"Yes," I said. "His name is Mango." The man said "Hello" to Mango. Mango replied, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

Baby's revenge
The rear flight attendant took pity on me and all my stuff, and moved her belongings out of the aisle seat. The Chinese man moved there and promptly fell asleep, and I moved to the window and middle seats.

In the dark under the seat in front of me, Mango stayed quiet for the duration, ringing his bell toy every once in a while.

As for the baby I had so shamelessly tried to divert attention to, as soon as we began our ascent into the night sky, he burst out crying at a decibel level high enough to shatter the eardrums of all on board.

Even with his mother walking him up and down the aisle (which ensured everyone got a fair share of the crying), the baby didn't quiet until we touched down in Atlanta, five long hours later.

Coming in for a landing
For the next three months, mid-October to the end of January, Mango and I lived in a condo-style apartment the film producers rented for us, first in Atlanta and later in Wilmington, N.C.

When the production moved to Wilmington just before Christmas, I refused to fly again. Instead, I drove a rental car the seven-plus hours from Atlanta. There weren't a lot of bathroom breaks for me because as soon as I left Mango alone in the backseat in his travel cage, he would start squawking, loud.

I was so hungry by the time I got to Wilmington that as soon as I saw a decent restaurant, I pulled into the parking lot, called them on my cell phone, and ordered takeout. I had them bring it to me in the parking lot, where I gave them my credit card.

Traveling with my bird, so far, had hardly been a seamless experience for me. On the other hand, having Mango there when I came home at night after a long day on the set, not to mention having him with me during the holidays (the shooting schedule was so tight no one got to go home) now seemed well worth all the initial hassle.

Final destination
Then, filming was over. It was time to go back to Los Angeles again. And I had a full-blown case of aerophobia - traveling with a bird, anyway. I toyed with the idea of driving cross country to get us home, but that didn't seem like a much better alternative.

Finally, I bit the bullet and made reservations. This time, I made sure I had the seat I wanted, the window in the last row, and I checked my ticket twice before I left for the airport.

This time, the plane was half full as promised, and Mango was the hit of the flight. Everyone came back to see him and coo at him and tell me how beautiful he was. After I assured the flight attendant that Mango was clipped, she even let me take him out so everyone could pet him.

Our return flight restored my faith in humanity (for a short time anyway) and cured my brief but intense bout of aversion to flying with Mango.

I've since moved on to another job that doesn't require travel, so I haven't taken Mango many places lately. But I wouldn't hesitate to do it again. Minus the angry mob, of course.

Mira Tweti is a screenwriter, author, producer, and journalist whose articles have appeared in the Los Angeles Times, the New York Times, Village Voice, LA Weekly, Redbook, Bird Talk and the American Lory Society Journal. She is nearing completion on her first feature documentary, Birds of a Feather, about pet birds and the people who love them.