And then I got birds. And along with the birds came new friends who had birds, too. They lived in an entirely different world, one in which life revolved around parrot behavior and nutrition, with its own subtle differences in language.

When I became a part of this world, too, most of my old friends drifted away, picking feathers out of their hair as they walked out the door.

But a few have remained, fitting into my new bird-centric life just fine. One, whom I'll call "Diane," agreed to have dinner with me and a couple of my bird friends, "Connie" and "Wanda."

As we waited for the food I told Diane how good it was to see her again and asked about everyone in the old crowd.

"Well," Diane began, "Marty got married and moved to Florida. Sally quit the factory and went back to school . . . "

"Where in Florida?" asked Connie.

"Fort Lauderdale."

"Ah," said Connie. "I know a bird breeder in Fort Lauderdale."

Wanda chimed in. "And that guy who makes the stainless steel play gyms lives in Miami."

The three of us nodded our heads in agreement.

Diane smiled politely. Then she gave me an odd look, leaned closer and whispered, "There’s something on your shoulder."

I craned my neck to see. "Bird poop," I said, shrugging. I dipped the corner of my linen napkin in a glass of water and dabbed at the spot.

Wanda continued. "Didn't they get hit by one of those hurricanes last year? Ruth or something?"

"It was Rita," Connie corrected her. "It was awful. I heard from a friend of mine that they're still finding lost birds."

The three of us shook our heads solemnly.

Diane lifted her chin delicately. "Yes, those hurricanes were awful. My brother's in the National Guard and he was sent to Mississippi." She turned to me, "You remember Dave, don't you?"

"I hear they're just going to get worse," Connie continued.

"Maybe we should prepare for one this year. Just in case," I said.

"But we don't have hurricanes in Kentucky," Diane said.

Wanda leaned toward us and said conspiratorially, "I hear global warming is going to make this area of the country very tropical."

"Think of the parrots we could keep in outdoor aviaries!" said Connie.

Diane smiled wanly.

The waiter brought our salads. Wanda beamed when she saw the fresh broccoli on her plate. "Bo Bo just loves broccoli. He'd be jumping right in my plate right about now."

"You let your birds on the table?"

Wanda looked at Diane a little sheepishly. "Yes, I'm afraid so. But his feet are clean. Ever since we started using a grate in the bottom of the cage they don't get nearly as poopy." She chuckled. "Here's what Bo Bo does when he sees broccoli." Wanda leaned over her plate, stared intently at the broccoli and slowly bobbed her head. "Mmmm! Good! Mmmm!" she said, mimicking Bo Bo. She bobbed her head more rapidly. "Mmmmm!"

Wanda's impressions of Bo Bo always crack me and Connie up, so it was several minutes before we could stop gasping and snorting with laughter. Diane smiled and nodded at the diners looking our way. I was too busy just wiping my eyes.

Over entrées Diane mentioned that our mutual friend John had been robbed. "You know, he had that expensive security system put in, and then forgot to set the alarm."

Connie said, "Oh, no one could break into my house and live to tell about it. My two macaws can scream so loud the neighbors two miles away can hear them. Plus they bite. Hard."

"I know what you mean," Wanda said. "I’ve even trained my cockatoo to dial 911. You know, just in case."

Diane frowned. "You trained a bird to dial 911? Using what, its foot?"

"Beak," replied Wanda. "She says 'help' into the receiver."

Dessert was a selection of luscious fruit cobblers. I chose peach, Diane chose apple, Wanda got the cherry, and Connie the blueberry. They were big servings so we all needed to-go boxes.

"My babies just love blueberries," Connie said.

"Oh, you have children?" Diane asked.

"No, no kids," Connie said. I could see that her patience with Diane's inability to speak our language was wearing thin. Then she looked at her leftover cobbler and announced mischievously: "There’ll be blue poop in the morning!"

"Red poop here!" said Wanda.

"Light orange for me!" I said.

Diane stood up and placed her folded napkin on the table. "I really must go," she said. "I forgot I promised to visit my mother!"

She tossed a twenty on the table and made a beeline for the door.

"Wow, she left in a hurry," said Wanda.

"Yeah," I said. "She never seems to have time for the old crowd anymore. It's too bad. But she never forgets her mother. Isn't that nice?"

Humor writer Marguerite Floyd is a hospital documentation manager but her real job is slave to two cockatiels and a brown-headed parrot.