Murphy
“Come on!”
The voice said.
“Huh? Who said that?” My mother wondered as she struggled to hang curtains back in the late ‘70s.
Then it happened again.
“Come on!”
The little voice said. It seemed to come out of nowhere. It didn’t sound exactly like a person, but it clearly said, “Come on!”
A minute later, the voice said it again.
My mother looked around and confirmed no one was home. The radio was off. The TV was off. As she searched for the origin of the voice, she thought, “Could it be the parakeet? No, it couldn’t be? Well maybe?”
Just a few months before this bird was on death’s door.
My mother agreed to take the budgie in after he lived with some nutty kids who specialized in terrorizing the small pets they had.
When the bird first arrived, he barely had any feathers, and he didn’t want to eat; he just sat huddled on his perch trying to stay warm.
We named him Murphy. My mother knew what she was doing, she fed him good food, vitamins, put a blanket over his cage to keep out any drafts, and let him chill out.
In time he started to look a lot better, but he was still so terrified of people when you’d put your hand in his cage he’d try to bite.
So, we gave him more time, treated him with kindness, and slowly he started to come around. He stopped trying to bite, he seemed happier and would fly to the side of his cage to see us.
And on that frustrating curtain hanging day, as my mother searched for the voice saying, “come on,” she found it was coming right from his cage! Murphy turned the corner so much that he started to talk.
My mother was astonished. She wondered how Murphy learned the phrase. But there was no question how it happened.
She said it to me about a dozen times a day.
“Come on, Mary, you’ll be late.”
“Come on, Mary, do your homework.”
“Come on, Mary, turn off the video games.”
The “come ons” went on and on.
My mother didn’t limit “come on” to just me. She would also say it to the bird to get him out of his shell, “Come on Murphy, come get some food.”
She would try just plain ole happy sounding, “Come on!” To coax the bird to come to the side of his cage or onto her hand without biting.
During those months Murphy sat huddled in his cage healing, the poor beaten down parakeet absorbed what he heard most often and started to repeat it.
Murphy
Soon Murphy blossomed and amazingly developed a full vocabulary.
He’d say his name and, “Oh hi!”
Murphy was now so happy he made up a song about himself, it went something like, “The Merb, the Merb, the Merbie bird!”
He would ride on a small plastic toy train and make “choo choo choo” sounds like he was on a real engine.
We’d just leave his cage door open and he would come in and out as he wanted. He would fly around the kitchen and family room, sometimes landing on my dad’s knee as he read the paper. He would try to nibble on the paper and make noises to get his attention.
Sometimes he’d fly over, land on the kitchen table, look at what we were eating and say, “mmmmmm,” and we’d feed him.
In my opinion, his new talents were all sparked by love, care and continuously hearing, “come on.”
But the “come ons” Murphy heard were only the ones my mother said inside our home.
There were many he missed outside the house.
At my swim team meets she’d yell louder than anyone in the audience, “Come on, Mary, go!”
Every time I’d stick my head out of the water gasping for breath as I attempted to win a 100-yard breaststroke race, I’d hear her voice, “Come on … (gurgle, gurgle) M—y!”
Some days, if she picked me up and I was bummed about something she allowed no time spent on self-pity. “Oh, come on Mary, life isn’t always fair. Come on, let’s go shopping!”
On a cold winter day, after living a life span that far exceeded any budgie, Murphy passed away. I remember my mother waking me to tell me, and we both sobbed.
What an amazing spirit. If you didn’t see and hear everything he did, and all his performances with your own eyes, it was hard to believe a parakeet could pull it off.
He is still buried in the rose garden in my parent’s back yard.
And my mother’s “come ons” still continued. As I got older, they got more serious. If I was sad about some teenage crush she’d say, “Oh come on, get yourself up, put on some lipstick, and get back out there. Don’t ever let grass grow under your feet!”
One of her most monumental “come ons” was in college. I was a science major, and that math part of chemistry, yeah, it wasn’t working out so well.
As I tearfully dialed the phone to inform my mother I may be flunking out, her response was tough love, “Oh, come on. You better get your act together. Go over to the school of communications, see what classes they offer, you’ll be good at something there!”
Her “come on” that time changed my path in life and her “come ons” still continue today.
But it really wasn’t until recently that I began to really realize the significance of that phrase and that talented bird that came into my life when I was young.
My mother’s perseverance and determination inspired Murphy and me to be the best we could possibly be.
My mother and me
I was lucky enough to witness how love, care, and some motivational “come ons” can transform and breathe new life into the most broken down of animals, and the most confused teenager at a crossroads.
My mother taught me how to treasure, not only Murphy, but all animals. He was our first “rescue.” There have since been many that have come through our homes and hearts.
Gus and Lucy, two of many rescued dogs
She showed me that we’re all one big circle of life that works best when everyone respects one another. It’s from this I draw my passion for writing about animals and sticking up for consumers. And, oh yeah, that degree from the Marquette University College of Communications helped too.
Her “come ons” were precisely what Murphy and I needed. And oh, don’t get me wrong, when my mother would say, “come on,” you didn’t want to hear it. You wanted to stew in your insecurity, wallow in your sadness, or stick with what you were trying to get away with.
But her persistent words inspired a tiny featherless parakeet to bounce back from practically the grave.
And I’ve come to recognize her “come ons” have lasted and inspired me for a lifetime.
Mothers out there, keep pushing your kids to come on, get up, shake it off, get back in the game, and try harder. Not everyone has a bird reminding them, so they need their mom.
My mother and me
