I work with a friend named AR. AR has a pet parrot named Icarus. I have occasionally heard this bird referred to - affectionately - as "Icky." Perhaps it is because of this that Icarus has tried to kill AR on several occasions.

This Monday was the first Monday back to work for us. I saw my friend in the cafeteria. Or perhaps it was in the elevator. Regardless, what sticks in my memory was the fact that one side of his nose was scratched and red. A rather shocking wound. I didn't say anything or ask at the time. I thought it might embarrass him. Normally, when one is walking around with a striking wound on their face, they are feebly hoping nobody will notice, and the polite thing to do is allow them to maintain that illusion by not staring or asking about it.

I was polite for two days. On Wednesday, I saw my friend in the cafeteria. We ate lunch with our other pals ES and JC. We discussed various vacations, funny cubicle situations, and the like, until I finally asked "What happened to your nose?" AR Replied "ahh, we don't have to talk about that." "Is it something embarrasing? Did you do something to yourself?" I asked. Immediately, ES asks "Did Icarus bite you?" It turns out that this was the case.

This vicious winged creature, clearly harboring life-long issues likely related to being caged since its hatching, had, without provocation, maimed my friend. He said that he was petting his bird, letting Icarus perch on his hand, stroking the feathers lovingly, saying sweet things to the bird, when, suddenly Icarus darted forward and bit AR's left nostril, clamping down with a vengeance. According to AR, due to “A combination of superior reasoning skills, the imposition of my homo sapien brain power, and "gentle" persuasion.” He managed to free himself from his attacker, but was left with a nasty beak-shaped scrape.

This is a rather pampered bird, from the sounds of it. AR spends a good deal of time at home. He spends a little extra money on special tasty parrot food. The cage sits on a high surface, near a window, where Icarus can see out, squawk at passers by, whatever birds like to do near windows. AR spends quality time with this bird. It talks and does other typical charming happy-bird things.

Now, Icarus’s cage is on the floor of the apartment, in the corner. Instead of the fancy protein berries, he’s being fed plain old birdseed. Every time Adam walks in the door, it’s “Hello! I love you! I’m a pretty bird!” But to no avail. That bird is, frankly, in the cage.

Today he told me I should buy him lunch, since he’s the walking wounded and all. I agreed. The man was nearly maimed by a parrot.

Sheesh.