Max's Standoff

[Martin Hash]

It all started out innocently enough: Keith, a young computer nerd who hangs around the office and sometimes helps Heath work small tradeshows, brought a girl he was interested in to see the cool place where he worked.

Turns out, this girl was in Vet school, and she seemed more interested in Steve Sappington’s giant parrot than she did in either the office or Keith.

“This bird’s scissor-beak needs medical attention!” she exclaimed. “It will die if its beak is not trimmed.”

Keith ignored her; he continued talking about computer-related items, still thinking he had a chance.

The girl was fixated. “Who owns this bird?” she demanded.

“That’s Max,” replied Keith, finally catching the wayward drift of the conversation, “Steve hand-raised him from a chick. He’s about 10 years old.”

“Well, I’m appalled,” said the girl, self-righteously.

Steve happened to be at lunch. When he got back, the girl was gone and Keith sheepishly explained what had occurred.

“What?” Steve responded, indignantly. ”Someone is claiming that I abuse Max?” Steve was made livid by the insult but he didn’t have much time to think about it because he had to get ready to fly off for a tradeshow that evening.

The following day, a small, uniformed woman showed up at the office. Heath was downstairs. “Can I help you?” he asked.

“Is this the computer place?” she asked as she looked around the room at the many computers in the Shipping office. “Do you have a bird here?”

“No,” Heath responded honestly because Max only comes to work with Steve.

The uniformed woman nosed around the office. Seeing Max’s big perch through the doorway in the other room, she accosted Heath, “I though you said there were no birds here?”

“Listen, lady,” Heath responded. “What do you want?”

The woman stood to her full height, “I’m from Animal Control, and I want to speak with the owner of that bird.” She pointed to the empty perch.

“Steve’s at a show all week: He won’t be back until Monday.”

The uniformed woman stared sternly at Heath for a long moment before turning and stalking out of the room.

Heath called me and told me what happened. “Don’t Tell Steve,” I warned.

“I already called Steve and told him,” Heath said slowly.

“Oh… My… God…,” I thought.

As she’d promised, the small, uniformed woman showed up the next Monday. She wanted to see Steve. Heath told her Steve was now at another show, and that he wouldn’t be back for another week.

The woman looked at Heath suspiciously. “He better be here the next time I come,” she warned, caustically.

When Heath told me, I said, “I’m afraid of where this is going. Don’t tell Steve… I’ll tell him when he gets back.”

But I forgot…

However, I immediately remembered on Monday when I heard yelling downstairs. Though, by the time I’d got down there, Steve was standing alone, red-faced and breathing hard, along with Max.

“Hello,” Max said to me.

“What was all that?” I asked Steve.

“Some bitch just told me I was abusing my bird... I told her to get the ---- out of my building!”

“Uhhh…” I said, intelligently.

“Put a sign on the door denying entrance to anybody else,” Steve told me. “I can’t take another visit like that right now.”

After putting a hand-lettered sign on the door, I told Steve to let me know if there was anything else I could do, and went back upstairs.

About an hour later, I could hear Steve yelling from the Shipping office.
“Martin! Now!” Down the stairs I ran.

It was much worse than I imagined: Two sheriff’s deputies, a man and a woman, and two Animal Control officers, the original complaint responder and her superior, were standing in the Shipping office while Steve was barring their entrance to the door to Max’s room.
I rushed into the confrontation and inserted myself between the assault party and Steve. I straight-armed my hand onto Steve’s chest. “Whoa… Back, Steve,” I commanded.

Then I turned to the four intruders. “This is a private building,” I said with authority. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Do you own this building?” asked the female sheriff.

“Yes, I do… And I posted on the door that it was private, and to knock before entering… Which you apparently ignored.”

“We’re here to investigate a claim of animal cruelty,” insisted the sheriff deputy.

“You are trespassing on private property,” I replied.

It was a standoff. There was silence for a minute or so while we all considered our respective positions. The female officer finally spoke: “ Look,” she pleaded, trying to ease the tension. “I used to own a parrot.”

“Did I mention that Mr. Sappington is a past president of the Rose City Bird Club?”

“Listen,” continued the officer. “I know we all get emotional about our pets. I’m just here for the safety of the animal.”

“This bird was born handicapped,” I responded. “Mr. Sappington rescued it… The bird would not be alive today were it not for Mr. Sappington’s skilled care and affection.”

The Animal Control officers never said a word. The female officer’s male partner looked as if he was questioning why he ever joined the force. Steve was still breathing hard. I was wondering how this had gotten so insane. From the other room, Max said, “Hello.”

Finally, everybody left under a truce: Steve would get a vet’s note saying Max was okay, and that would be that. Life went back to some kind of normalcy.

Keith called that first girl he had brought over – the one he was trying to impress. “Did you sic the ASPCA on my friend, Steve?” he asked accusingly.

“No,” she flat-out denied it.

“You mean the police showing up at my friend’s office was a just coincidence?” asked Keith, incredulously. In response, his potential girlfriend hung up.

Keith never did get a date with that girl.