"HEY, PINK STUFF, if you're not using that toy, move outta the way and let me have a whack at it!"

Dragon, an old Moluccan cockatoo, opened one round eye and turned it toward the voice. Leaning against a large knotted rope toy, he slapped a wing against his back, balled one foot into a fist, pulled it up into his belly feathers, and closed his eye.

The naked sulphur crested cockatoo moved closer. He rubbed the edge of his upper beak with his tongue and eyeballed the toy then looked at the other bird. "Well, I'll admit I'm new here, but I see you're simply too old ta move!" He ruffled his head feathers, then flattened them, and turned to go.

The grand salmon-crested patriarch, oldest bird in the sanctuary, opened his eyes, put his foot back on the perch and slowly shook out the long feathers of his crest, ear and facial fans.

"Come on back, junior, it's almost dinnertime anyway." The bell at the bottom of the knotted rope tinkled softly as the pink bird moved to the other side of the toy.

"Thanks, gramps, m'name's Bob." The little naked cockatoo grasped the bell with his beak, transferred it to one foot and began ringing it loudly. "How old are you any way?"

"A hundred and thirty three years old." Dragon shook his head back and forth again, "What're you tryin' to do, wake the dead?"

"Just looking for a little entertainment." The naked bird banged the bell repeatedly against the perch. "You must think I'm dumber than I look. It's clear you're ancient, but even macaws don't get that old!"

Annoyed, Dragon slapped his wing again, then turning his back to the rowdy youngster, lifted a foot and resumed his sleeping posture. "Well, maybe I'm more than a cockatoo."

"Right," said the younger bird, dropping the bell and biting the knotted rope, "and I'm a flippin' Chippendale."

Dragon raised his salmon crest and rotated his head owl-like until his beak was situated over his left shoulder, and he could see the bird behind him with both eyes. "It's easy to figure why you're missing that toe, smart beak. You wouldn't speak to me like that if you knew who you were talking to."

"Right, Mr. Pink Powder Puff, I be reeeeeeeeely scared. You some kind of serial mate killer?"

"Ah, the folly of youth!" The big cockatoo lowered his crest and clucked a cockatoo chuckle. "Then I'd be no threat to you, sissy bird!"

The plucked cockatoo eyeballed the fastener at the top of the rope toy and started climbing. "My sexual orientation is no business of yours, gramps!"

"True," Dragon replied in his wisest voice. "I suppose a vampire can't afford to judge anybody's behavior."

By that time, the sulphur-crested cockatoo hung upside down from one toe. He did a double take so quickly that he fell, had to grab for the rope toy with his beak, swung wildly, and caught his weight in time to grasp the perch beneath him on the second try.

"What!" he shook out in a manner that would have involved feathers if he'd had any and wagged his full tail. "That's impossible, Gramps, how could a cockatoo be a vampire?"

"They call me Dragon," the pink bird replied, "and it's not that unusual. There are probably a lot more vampire cockatoos than you realize."

Bob rolled his eyes, speechless for once.

"It all started with a woman, as anyone except you might imagine." The old bird eyeballed the lengthening shadows. "But I'm not sure I have time to tell the whole story."

"OK, I'm game, Dragon," the young bird looked around the large toy. "How could such a thing have happened?"

"A couple of centuries ago, in the 'Gay' Nineties - it meant something different then - I was twentyish, living with an actress in London and still feeling my oats. I was really quite jealous, possessive of my beautiful mistress.

"Sonya was the toast of the town, an actress famous for her 'red, white, and blue' - hair, skin, and eyes. She kept me on an open perch with a gold chain attached to my leg during frequent parties following her performances. Late one night after everyone had gone someone - or something - knocked at her bedroom window and shortly thereafter I heard her moaning, moaning, louder and louder. The sound of her pain drove me absolutely wild! Frantic to help her, I broke the fragile chain and rushed to her room.

"Twin gaslight sconces burned low over the bed where she was almost completely covered by a dark shape. Manly hands pinned her wrists to the pillow on each side of her head. Her eyes rolled back and forth frantically beneath closed lids as she moaned ever louder. I seethed with rage at one who could cause my mistress such distress. Focusing on the large ears protruding from the sides of the head pressed into the curve of her neck, I jumped atop the dark figure, clamping fiercely onto stiff ear cartilage. I felt all three tips of my upper and lower beak penetrate flesh and ground down hard expecting the fight of my life, willing to die for my mistress.

"With a loud hiss and a cloud of swirling mist, the figure rose, releasing Sonya's wrists. Her eyes sprung open wide, as she clasped her hands to her throat. But instead of standing like an ordinary man, the shape-shifter floated up into midair. My beak ripped through the fragile ear of a giant bat. As I fell to the bed, the grotesque, shrieking creature flapped wildly out of control leaving bloody smears on the wallpaper, flew sideways out into the darkness.

"My mistress staggered from the bed, closed the window, and leaving the gaslights on, allowed me to perch on her headboard for the rest of the night.

"We both slept through the next day. As the sun set, I found myself preening clotted blood from my feathers and from Sonya's flaming red hair. Days passed, and we both became increasingly anxious. Within months, we discovered our needs, the blood lust necessary for our very survival.

"Sonya's allure never faded, easily providing what we required year after year, night after night. I always drew first blood, of course, to my mistress' great amusement. Like many cockatoos, I could attract almost anyone with fluffy solicitations, then turn in a blink and open a warm vein.

"We crossed the great water to this country during the 1920s and lived happily together until Sonya was felled by a teenaged slayer named . . . ."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute!" Bob leaned around the toy as the other cockatoos began their sunset serenade. "I thought vampires died if they came out into sunlight."

"Actually, that's a myth." Dragon spoke gently to the smaller bird. "They just lose their special powers during the day, and besides, I'm not a vampire any more."

"What? I didn't think that was possible!"

Cage doors and dishes clanged and banged as the afternoon snack was being served, and the other birds began screaming toward the sanctuary feeding stations.

"Love! That's what does it. Just like witches, vampires lose their powers - and everything that goes with them - if they fall in love with a mortal.

"A few months after Sonja was killed, I wound up in an adoption facility and fell head-over-lower-beak-fangs in love with the lady who owns this sanctuary. Unfortunately, by then I'd experienced another ill-fated transmogrifying experience."

"Transmogrifying experience?" Bob looked genuinely puzzled. "What the heck does that . . .."

"Ok everybody, come to dinner!" A beautiful redhead woman entered the enclosure bearing a key in one hand and a perch in the other. "Come on, Dragon, time to go nite-nite."

"Hot dog, here she is!" Dragon climbed down the side of the huge enclosure to a lower branch then stepped up on to the long-wooden perch presented to his feet. He winked at Bob as he was shuttled to a small cage with quarter inch thick stainless steel bars a dozen feet from the flock enclosure.

"Nite-nite, my darling Dragon," the young woman tapped his beak with her fingertips then scratched the bald spot beneath the raised crest of his bowed head. "Don't get into trouble tonight." She closed the sturdy door, locking it with a massive steel padlock, pocketed the key, and walked into the growing darkness.

Bob flew to the side of the flock enclosure closest to the old cockatoo's cage. "You sleep over there?"

"You'd better be glad I do." Dragon winked again, raising his voice to join the cockatoo flock of sixty plus and hundreds of other birds in their traditional salute to sunset. As the parrot chorus faded with the last rays of lavender light, loud calls from the steel cage turned to growls and snarls. By the time the full moon illuminated the sanctuary, only the plaintive howl of a lone wolf remained.

Mattie Sue Athan is a companion parrot behavior consultant and best-selling author of bird-care books such as Guide to a Well-Behaved Parrot. She lives with six parrots, three wiener dogs, Larry the cat and, at any one time, two or three birds in rehabilitation and on their way to a new home.