The Great Parrot Prohibition

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Act I – The Day The Parrots Spoke Up

In Sequatchie Crossing, trouble announces itself early – usually between 7:30 and 8:15 a.m., right after the older crowd settles into the Donut Corral and just before the construction crews finish their first caffeine rotation. Locals call it the “Overlap Hour,” which is considerably more accurate than the town’s self-designated tourism slogan: “ Sequatchie Crossing: A Place That Happens.”

On one particular Wednesday, the Overlap Hour was interrupted by the bright, piercing voice of Professor Beaksworth, a lime-green Amazon parrot with the posture of a judge and the vocabulary of a Facebook comment thread.

The bird swooped onto the patio rail outside the Donut Corral, puffed up his chest feathers, and hollered at a table of newcomers who had moved into town within the last two years:

“GO BACK TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM!”

The words hit the patio like a dropped casserole at a funeral.

• The newcomers froze.

• The locals snorted into their coffee.

• Mildred Coggins – owner of the parrot – screamed, flung her powdered donut into her purse, and began apologizing before she could take a breath.

“HE DOESN’T MEAN IT!” she wailed.

The newcomers stared, stunned. They were used to the pointedly polite brand of small-town hostility – what some call “Sequatchie Nicety.” But hearing it from a bird? That was a new escalation.

Inside the Donut Corral, Boot Barnes, who insisted on wearing a sash from last year’s Corn Festival even though it was intended for a very different kind of contest, weighed in loudly:

“Oh, that bird’s a menace. That bird’s got opinions. That bird needs prayer.”

Sheriff Peeler, who had been trying to enjoy a bear claw in anonymity, put down his pastry with the resigned look of a man whose day had just sprouted three additional problems.

He stepped outside, tipped his hat, and tried to coax the parrot down.

“Now, Beaksworth, nobody here is going anywhere,” Peeler said gently.

The bird responded by staring him dead in the eye and shouting:

“GO BACK TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM, PEELER!”

This was especially insulting because Peeler had lived in the same house on Maple Spur Road for 52 years and was, arguably, more native to the soil than some of the rocks.

Word spread through Sequatchie Crossing in under ten minutes, which is record time, considering the church ladies usually need at least fifteen to confirm a rumor before forwarding it to one another.

By noon, two more parrots had joined in the chorus.

• Taffy, a small yellow conure owned by Lulabelle Crimp at the beauty shop, screeched the phrase at anyone who took her preferred parking space.

• Captain Whistle, a blue-and-gold macaw, bellowed it at hikers, joggers, UPS drivers, teenagers, and once – memorably – a passing cloud.

Complaints to the sheriff totaled fourteen by midday, an all-time high for bird-related offenses.

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ACT II – The Great Parrot Escalation

As the parrots’ new hobby gained momentum, something strange began to happen: the birds became more accurate in their accusations.

On Thursday morning, Taffy shouted at a couple unloading a moving truck:

“YOU SHOULDA STAYED IN SPARTA!”

The couple had, in fact, moved from Sparta.

Captain Whistle told a passing jogger:

“YOU DON’T SHOP LOCAL, DO YOU?”

Which was also alarmingly true.

Professor Beaksworth chirped at a man getting his mail:

“THAT’S NOT WHAT THE FACEBOOK POST SAID!”

Even though the man had indeed argued incorrectly on Facebook the night before.

The birds weren’t just repeating – they were absorbing the town’s entire emotional climate.

Over at the beauty shop, Lulabelle tried to explain Taffy’s behavior to a crowd gathering outside.

“He’s sensitive,” she insisted. “He’s a reflective soul. He picks up on tension.”

Taffy interrupted her by yelling:

“QUIT PARKING LIKE YOU OWN THE PLACE!”

Lulabelle sighed.
“It’s an ongoing situation.”

Even the church ladies took notice.

Sister Marlene told her circle:

“You know it’s bad when the birds start preaching judgment before the pastor does.”

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Act III – The Town Hall Meeting That Went Feral

By Thursday night, the town called an emergency meeting, which collided with:

• The church casserole tasting

• The Tractor Club “Grease and Greet”

• The rehearsal for Twelve Angry Goats: A Courtroom Drama for the Dairy Enthusiast

Even so, the community center was packed.

Mayor Strickland – who had practiced his gavel tap in the mirror – slammed the meeting to order.

“We are here,” he declared solemnly, “to discuss the parrot problem.”

From the second row, a voice whispered:

“Birds aren’t the problem. People are the problem.”

Clovis Strickland (no confirmed relation to the mayor, but they shared a nose shape and a tendency toward ominous muttering) crossed his arms knowingly.

Boot Barnes replied, “Birds don’t cause trouble unless people teach them how.”

Captain Whistle, who had been brought inside in a covered carrier, chose that moment to shout:

“GO BACK TO WHERE YOU CAME FROM, TRIXIE!”

Trixie Jo Bartlett gasped so dramatically that her hair clip shot off like a startled bat, ricocheted off two folding chairs, and landed in Sister Marlene’s potato salad container.

Chaos broke loose.

People shouted.
The parrots shouted back.
Boot Barnes argued with the macaw.
Sheriff Peeler tried to separate a man from a bird.

Somewhere in the commotion, Captain Whistle learned new phrases:

• “PAY YOUR PROPERTY TAXES, LARRY!”

• “YOU AIN’T FROM HERE!”

• “IS THAT YOUR FINAL OFFER?”

• “BUY LOCAL OR GO HOME!”

And the strangely specific:

• “YOU SHOULD HAVE BOUGHT LAND IN ’84!”

When things finally settled, Mayor Strickland offered a series of official options:

Option 1 – Mandatory Parrot Sensitivity Training

(Parrots unresponsive to PowerPoint slides; ruled out.)

Option 2 – Relocation of Parrots to the County Line

(Vetoed by the county, preemptively.)

Option 3 – Tiny Parrot Muzzles

(Rejected unanimously after disturbing sketches were presented.)

Option 4 – A Ban on Talking Parrots

(Not removal – just a prohibition on public speaking.)

After passionate arguments, fraught muttering, and one dramatic fainting spell (self-inflicted, by Boot), Option 4 passed:
22 votes for, 9 abstaining, and 3 accidental votes caused by someone sitting on the ballot box.

Thus, Sequatchie Crossing outlawed talking parrots.

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Act IV – The Silent Bird Era

The ban did not remove parrots from the town, only forbade them from speaking in public. Owners were urged to keep them indoors, covered, or distracted with pecan clusters.

For the first week, quiet fell over Sequatchie Crossing like a soft blanket.

Then the parrots began whispering.

Pass Mildred’s house at dawn, and you’d hear:

“Go baaaaack… go baaaack…”

Stroll behind Lulabelle’s beauty shop at dusk, and from inside the building:

“Not from heeere… not from heeere…”

But when someone knocked, the birds would instantly fall silent.

If the town had been unsettled before, it was outright spooked now.

Clovis Strickland declared publicly:

“This is inching into paranormal poultry behavior.”

Reverend Gentry insisted it wasn’t theologically sound.

Sheriff Peeler asked everyone to please stop reporting “ghost parrots.”

As the whispering continued, the townspeople found themselves oddly… reflective.

Without the parrots to voice the town’s simmering opinions, people heard their own words more clearly – and less comfortably.

Boot Barnes summarized the collective unease at the Donut Corral:

“When the birds said it, it sounded mean. When we said it, we told ourselves it was just neighborly advice. Something’s off about that.”

The parrots had forced the town to hear what it had always been saying – without the cozy layer of human defensiveness.

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Act V – A Cultural Turning Point

Weeks went by.

Conversations shifted.

Instead of:

• “How long you planning to stay?”

• “That’s not how we do things around here.”

• “You’ll learn.”

People began using phrases that felt more… welcoming.

At the Donut Corral:

“Morning.”
“Coffee’s hot.”
“You try the apple fritter?”
“Glad you’re here.”

Newcomers felt the difference.

Long-timers did too.

The parrots noticed.

One morning, Mildred stepped onto her porch with a cup of chamomile and found Professor Beaksworth staring out the window, whispering softly:

“Glad you’re here… glad you’re here…”

Mildred nearly cried.

Across town, Captain Whistle learned to greet hikers with:

“Nice day!”
and
“Watch for poison oak!”
and once,
“Bring snacks next time!”

Taffy even stopped yelling at people who took Lulabelle’s parking space.
Mostly.

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Epilogue – The Birds Taught The Town, Not The Other Way Around

Today, the parrot ban still technically exists, though no one enforces it.

The birds have become something like unofficial emotional barometers – if they start repeating negativity, the town knows it needs to do a self-check.

There’s talk of forming a “Parrot Advisory Council,” though the logistics are unclear.

Boot Barnes has already volunteered to be their spokesperson, insisting he “understands birds in a spiritual way.”

The town now jokes that Sequatchie Crossing didn’t teach the parrots anything –
the parrots simply reflected Sequatchie Crossing back at itself.

And in a place where everyone knows everyone’s business, sometimes a few talking birds are exactly what you need to remind people to be kinder.

You can hear it now, drifting over fences and across front porches:

“Morning.”
“Welcome.”
“Glad you’re here.”

And from Mildred’s porch, Professor Beaksworth’s gentle voice:

“Glad you’re all here.”

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Disclaimer

This story is a work of satire and fiction set in the fictional community of Sequatchie Crossing. All characters, animals, birds – especially the opinionated parrots – and events are entirely invented for entertainment and storytelling purposes. Any resemblance to real individuals, living or deceased, locations, businesses, or situations is coincidental. These stories are crafted to playfully explore small-town dynamics through humor, exaggeration, and fictionalized scenarios, and should not be interpreted as factual accounts of actual people or events.

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