Just Call Me The Gray Auto Hook Beaked Cheerio Crunching Crested Bouncer . . . Or Squeaky Pie For Short

“Squeaks, I learned something interesting about you,” said Momanita. “Do you want to hear?”

“I might be interested if there’s Cheerios in it for me.”

To other hootmans this sounded like squeals and whistles, but not to Momanita. She MOSTLY understood cockatiel speak. I MOSTLY understood hootman talk.

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“It’s about your name.”

“I KNOW my name! I’m a writer with my own blog page titled SQUEAKS SAYS. Squeaks is my name.”

“You have another name, Squeaks.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. Squeaky Pie is embarrassing. What if the other birds hear you? I need another name.”

I thought of the cardinal at the feeder. If HE heard Momanita call me Squeaky Pie, it would be all over the yard. The nuthatches and chickadees would laugh at me.

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“I read on the internet . . . “

Here we go again. Sure enough Momanita brought out my writing nest and we climbed the stairs to her writing loft. She expected me to inspire her.

“I read that all animals have a scientific name. It’s Latin and has two parts- genus and species. I’m Homo sapiens. You’re Nymphicus hollandicus. That’s how the world’s zoologist keep us animals straight.”

“Nymphicus hollandicus?”

“It means ‘beautiful maiden of New Holland.’ A long time ago, Australia was called New Holland.”

“I thought Squeaky Pie was bad. Can we tell the cardinal I’m called ‘handsome hunk of Crystal Lake’? It’s almost the same.” 

I REALLY needed a new name.”

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“The birds I spotted in Africa when I was on safari had interesting names.”

Momanita tapped the keyboard and up popped her photos. I knew the first bird. I saw it on the National Geographic channel. 

“The ostrich is also called a camel bird because it can survive in the desert like a camel.”

“Maybe your nickname could be Auto Bird. I found you in a parking lot.”

“Auto Bird is a terrible name!” I climbed on Momanita’s shoulder. “It sounds like a robot.”

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“Here’s the carmine bee-eater that perched on a shrub outside our tent. She’s called a carmine bee-eater because carmine is a shade of red.

“And she EATS bees!” 

Bees pollinated plants. I won’t eat bees because they’re too important. They also had stingers.

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“How does the Gray Cheerio Cruncher sound for a name?”

“It’s better than Squeaky Pie, but keep looking.” 

“I spotted a hornbill in an acacia tree, building a nest. Then there’s the shoebill bird I watched hunting frogs. They’re named after the shape of their beaks.”

I scooted closer to the screen. Those were some big honkers.

“How about Hook Beaked Millet Masher? Nahh, it’s too long.”

“From the Jeep I watched gray crowned cranes dancing. You have a crest and like to bop your head to music. What do you think of Crested Bouncer?”

“I DO have a natural rhythm and a stylish top feather, but dancing cranes are tough to beat.”

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“In Zambia, go-away birds gathered at the treetops. When they sighted us, they called out a warning that sounded like ‘go away.’ They’re named after that sound.”

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“I squeak so I’m named Squeaks.”

“Squeaky Pie is a name that shows I love you.”

“That’s why I call you Momanita instead of Anita. I don’t care if the chickadees laugh when you call me Squeaky Pie.”

“I’ll write about how it’s important to show your love in big ways like being kind and in little ways like goofy names.”

“This Gray Hook Beaked Cheerio Crunching Crested Bouncer is going to crunch some Cheerios.”

Being an inspiration was exhausting.

To other hootmans this sounded like squeals and whistles, but not to Momanita. She MOSTLY understood cockatiel speak. I MOSTLY understood hootman talk.

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