BIRDS ARE musical. At least, that's what I've always heard. Spring time mornings, you hear all the birds twittering and chirping and generally causing a ruckus in the neighborhood. Autumn evenings you hear them cooing to each other as they prepare to roost. Parrots are musical, too. Many of them can even sing and talk in human language. Their wonderful sounds are one of the reasons we love them so much.

Not mine, though. No, my parrots neither talk nor sing, though they do on occasion chirp softly or loudly, depending on what demands they're making of me at the time. They also screech when they're displeased, as when I don't comply with previous demands. But singing or talking? Not a chance.

Several months ago I decided to remedy this situation. I got out all my books and scoured the Internet for how-to tips and then I began. Every day I'd whistle at Flash, sing a little song to Sugar Franklin, sing and bounce with Charli and Nicholas. Same tunes, repeated over and over and over and over, in an upbeat cheerful manner. Though, in all honesty, it's quite difficult to sing the Andy Griffith song in an upbeat and cheerful manner 3,540,719 times.

The first few times I tried this all the birds considered me with horror, backing away slowly as if I'd suddenly turned into a hideous beast with sharp dripping fangs. I'm no Roberta Flack, you understand, but I can carry a tune and my voice in no way resembles sandpaper. I considered being offended but realized they were parrots and unused to great music.

So I persevered until the birds finally stopped backing away. They then went into their bored mode. They would realize I was doing "that thing" again and then proceed to preen or stare off into the distance. Sugar Franklin even took to yawning in my face. Sometimes one of them would puff up and out, as if seized by a chill over a particular note, but none of them would utter a sound.

But I can be patient, so I continued. There I was, singing around the cages, singing with parrots on my hands or shoulders, singing along with the TV or radio, even singing to my computer. (I live alone so I don't have the inconvenience of trying to explain my behavior to "normal" people.)

Meanwhile, friends would send me pictures and sound bites of their parrots singing and talking, and the Internet discussion groups overflowed with tales of parrots yakking up a storm with no effort whatsoever on the part of their humans. Even the car dealer where my mom bought a new car had an Amazon that chatted up everyone who came in. The entire parrot world was filling the universe with wonderful sound, but the only thing to be heard in my house was me singing the Andy Griffith song and You Are My Sunshine. 3,540,719 times. Alone.

I finally gave it up, of course. Even I can take a hint. These days I content myself to imagine that my birds chat among themselves when I'm at work, that they agree among themselves as to who will be the messiest that day and who will demand the most scritches and which food they will all decide to hate for their evening meal. When I get my outrageous phone bills I immediately scan them for strange phone numbers, lest my parrots get away with calling their relatives in Australia or Africa. I know perfectly well they can talk and sing if they want to; they just won't.

Feel free to send me advice or helpful suggestions as to how you got your parrots to sing and talk with you. Just don't be surprised to get a long-distance call from one of my birds, demanding to sing or talk with your parrot while I'm safely at work. Most likely it will be the Andy Griffith song.

Marguerite Floyd is a hospital documentation manager, but considers her real job to be servant to three cockatiels, Flash, Nicholas and Sugar Franklin, and a 3 1/2-year-old brown-headed parrot named Charli.

ParrotChronicles.com

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