Our Cocker Spaniel Sandy and Toy Manchester KoKo had already created a few litters of small, floppy eared, big eyed, stub tailed performers by the time they made Brown Dog. Him we kept.
   My middle brother Dude and Brownie were instant pals, sleeping in spoon positions to the disgust of our Mom. Always patient and agreeable, Brown Dog would obligingly leave the bed with Academy-Award winning regret. He'd sneak back later at the first opportunity to resnuggle.
   We soon discovered that B.D. thought he was a brother, not a dog. He had dinner at the same time as we did, often the same food (surreptitiously delivered beneath the table). He joined in at bath time, sneaking into folded towels like a spy and creating that all time favorite: Steal the Sponge. When frolicking with toweling-dry boys, he always knew just were to poke his cold nose.
   He shared our family's prankster sense of humor, hiding crucial objects at exactly the right time: car keys before church, one shoe before school, the cat's dish before dinner. When nailed for some misdeed, he followed brother Jim Dandy's behavior, looking everywhere but Mom's face, never meeting her eye. From the next room, you'd hear Mom hissing "You look at me, young man!" in exactly the same dark tones she used with "You look at me , Brown Dog!"
   His punishment was the same too. A swat on the bottom and grimly pointed arm with a fierce "Go on now." The guilty dog would trot to the corner of the room and sit with his nose to the wall. Periodically (just like his brother Bill) he'd turn his head slowly back to see if his time was up, always staying in position until allowed "out."
   Therefore, Brown Dog naturally assumed that when it was time for Dude to start kindergarten, it was time for him too. After all, Brownie could run faster than Jim, leap higher than Dude, find rabbits better than Bill, and finish his dinner before they were halfway through theirs. So when the driver of the kindergarten mini-bus refused to let Brownie get on with Dude, B.D. was crushed. Mom tried to explain the situation to his furry-faced hurt: Two-legged not four, school was only a half day, let's go check out ground squirrels, etc. No go.
   Another family characteristic solved the impasse: persistent determination. Next day, Brownie tracked the slow-moving bus as it picked up only a few more kids before arriving several blocks away at school. Hey! All right! He could beat the bus to school! However, the kindergarten officials were as closed minded as the bus driver.
   Hanging around, B.D. discovered that the kids came outside to play in the school yard every day. Perfect! Being an expert at play, Brownie became a daily regular. He excelled at "Catch" and "Fetch", though the finer points of "Red Rover" always eluded him.
   So the schedule was set. After escorting Jim to the bus stop, Brownie utilized a better internal clock than any other Marrs and appeared at school for play period on the dot. Later he'd arrive at the bus stop to see his brother home. Sun, rain, or snow didn't matter.
   Dude did almost as well as Brown Dog in kindergarten and eventually faced spring graduation. The boy had brought a note home from his teacher requesting that B.D. come along too. How sweet, we thought.
   At the end of the ceremony in the schoolyard, the principal asked that Brown Dog be brought forward. To the cheers of his class mates, Brown Dog Marrs was awarded a special diploma of merit - for perfect attendance. The principal said she wished all of the students had his energy, patience, and loyalty. As is true of all the Marrs family, Brownie accepted these accolades with calm grace. Certainly not a dog with pedigree, but a dog with degree.

THE KILLER BIRD
You've no doubt seen those movies where the unsuspecting family welcomes a hitchhiker, distant cousin or long lost college roommate into their cheery lives. Soon the audience sees the eye twitch that signals "Hi. I'm a homicidal maniac. Just give me a half hour and you'll all be in freezer bags labeled 'lunch'."
   Well, my family had seen the tell tale signals of Polly, the 75 year old parrot handed down from my great aunt Willie Belle Story Raines Roden to my grandparents and finally to us. Although we didn't visit Auntie often, we had heard Polly would grab ya if she could. And there was her evil chuckle . . .
   Once my grandparents had inherited the bird, it was obvious that a cunning devil spirit had arrived. B movies recycled on TV featured such creatures: fascinating, charming beauties who turned into Panther Ladies or Reptile Women intent on disemboweling you as you slept. Bright green Polly was lovely. She cocked her yellow head, cooed sweetly, and strutted with real grace. Her cage acrobatics were excellent too - a feathered Flying Wallenda!
   Living in her cage in my grandparents' kitchen, Polly soon found a source of major amusement: taunting Bampaw. Bampaw & Polly waged a roller coaster duel for years. He'd imitated a growling gorilla with bared fangs while poking her cage with a cane. She'd shriek and stretch out dagger talons to snag him. With false teeth protruding (his) and open beak bouncing (hers), you could almost see a family resemblance . . . They'd whip each other into frenzies. Hard to say if this was parrot abuse or grandad abuse - they seemed evenly matched.
   Finally, Bampaw moved too slow while cleaning her cage bottom and Polly struck! She locked her jaws around the palm of his hand and wouldn't let go. It took two people to get her off, with stitches, shots and a permanent scar for my grandpaw. Thereafter, he was more cautious. There was respect in his contempt. While spinning recipes for parrot stew, he'd declare that she was a tough ole bird - just like him.
   When we inherited Polly, Mom laid down strict ground rules and located the bird in a safety zone in our kitchen corner. Present day friends have questioned the wisdom of bringing this convicted maimer into a house with small children. At the time, there was no question. Polly was a relative, she'd been in our family since before Mom was born. Everyone had weird kin - this was ALABAMA. Besides, Polly was much more entertaining than any of our other relatives and didn't eat one tenth the amount of Aunt Ida Mae.

THE MIMIC
Full grown parrots can sound exactly like their humans. Unlike parakeets with reedy-thin voices, parrots' rounded tones can be identical to the voice they most often hear. Of course, hearing the late great Auntie calling her dogs or cooing that "Polly is such a PRETTY girl!" did smack of the Twilight Zone. But hey, that program was my family's favorite!
   Turned out that ancient Polly would learn NEW phrases too. Since Mom called our dogs to dinner out the kitchen back door, Polly learned HER whistle and "Come along in." in Mom's voice. Polly would cackle with derision at the confused canines, keeping up her own personal "family traditions". When the pissed off dogs tried to retaliate, they met Polly's quick talons:more entertaining battles for the insatiable monster!
   Brother Bill tried to secretly teach her "Dammit to hell." but his having to sneak in practice sessions with my parents' bedroom right off the kitchen prevented sufficient repetition to take hold.
   Polly could recombine her phrases to fit new situations. We caught her enticing small neighborhood kids to approach her cage. Strutting back and forth on the cages' floor, ducking her head in rhythm, she'd murmur "Such a PRETTY girl. Come along. Come along" in a sweet, low tone. Fortunately, her eagerness for blood would usually cause her to make a talon lunge before her intended victims were in range. Then, the kids would run away screaming. Polly would laugh and laugh and . . .

THE SHADY LADY
Long before Auntie had gotten her (in a card game with some steam boater off the Guntersville lakes? as partial payment for rental from one of her half-dozen store fronts? unclear) Polly had belonged to someone Spanish. Periodically, she would mutter in garbled Spanish and then cry out a desperate but uncomprehensible question. My first year Spanish couldn't crack the mystery. Mom was convinced that her comments were probably curses, not to be found in ¡Ola, Espanol! Without repeated reinforcement, birds' diction degenerates, especially after 80 + years. So she was losing her early vocabulary. We never cracked the international code.

THE ULTIMATE PRIMA DONNA DIVA
Polly thrived on attention and didn't care whether it was amused, irate, admiring or hostile. She craved an audience ALL the time and her ultimate punishment was to see that cloth cover coming down over her cage. Left alone? Oh no! From her covered perch, she'd moan "Boo hoo hoo. Poor Polly, poor poor Polly. Ooo Hoo hoo!" Cheez. It could break your heart. Totally convincing.
   Polly was a Party Animal. She would run through her whole bag of tricks, hanging upside down with wings spread and laughing like Vincent Price, singing away. Sometimes she'd add a rhythmic head ducking movement to her trilling. Why she seemed to follow a Bossa Nova beat was never clear, but we did play the radio a lot . . . Guests - warned to stay clear of possible munching - were delighted and would hang out in the kitchen, laughing at her antics. My own friends would come to check in with her first when visiting.
   Polly's soprano was truly seductive and enchanting. She performed a full volume operatic rendition - complete with spread wings - of the Doxology: "PUHHRaise Goddd frommmm whomm all blessingssss flowww! Tra lah lah lah lah!." Her dead ringer imitation of Auntie calling her dogs to supper had resulted in the miscalled dogs bewilderedly woofing around the screen porch while Polly cackled with glee. A real prankster.
   Watching Polly perform, eye glittering madly, I felt real admiration for the bird. Deep in the midst of preteen angst, I was hot on the trail of Deep Meanings. Here was a creature stuck for decades in a cage, but determined to live the gay life - be at the center of whatever she could. A real inspiration. Until my next turn to clean her cage . . .

THE SOFT SPOT
The bird did have an Achilles heel . . . uh . . . neck. She loved having her head & neck scratched - so much so that she'd forego her blood lust to get a rub. Mom was the only one who'd do this, based on their longstanding mutual truce. Using her Baby Ninja Voice (a special tone which disarmed everyone from irate German Shepherds to grumpy Highway Patrol men), Mom would wriggle her fingers and murmur "Scratch your head, Polly?" until the bird bowed her head and pressed the back of her neck against the cage bars.
   If any of us kids heard Mom, we'd come running, never wanting to miss the possible bloody action. But Mom was always faster than pouncing Polly. The most popular Polly story in my family, though, involves no blood. Before succumbing to pneumonia at age 90something, this was Polly's most spectacular triumph.

DAD, THE CHURCH LADY AND THE CHOCOLATE CAKE.
Our back door opened onto the kitchen where Polly's cage sat. One summer day, a neighborhood lady came by to pick up a chocolate cake my Mom had made for some church event. Mom was out getting groceries, and my dear dad was lounging across the house clad only in his underwear - briefs not boxers. This habit was the source of many marital discussions involving "decency", "a man's home is his castle', "example for the children", and "a man's home is his castle."
   Neighbor lady knocked on the back door and yoo-hooed. She paused and knocked again. In my mother's voice, Polly clearly called out "Come along in, Come in." Lady entered, looked around puzzled and picked up the cake. Just then, briefed Dad appeared with Schlitz beer can in hand. Lady sighted Dad, let out a yell and the cake started a somersault. My dad had already launched into an explanation, but made the mistake of stepping forward to catch the cake. Lady fled out the back door as Polly's maniacal whoops of laughter filled the kitchen.
   When Mom got home, she was most upset about the ruined cake, but the incident had other results: that's how my parents got their neighborhood reputation as perverted suburban sex fiends. Another Polly legacy. Or as Polly would have said: "Ah ha HAAhhhhh!"