Merciless macaw attacks innocent intern

When I started my internship, I expected new challenges and learning opportunities. I didn't expect one of those challenges to be avoiding a bullying parrot.

When I was little, I wanted a parrot so badly. It was my dream pet, because I thought it would be awesome to have an animal that could talk. I thought about how cool I would look walking around with a colorful bird perched on my shoulder, a pet that would win for me scads of tough pirate friends.

Little did I know, those were merely innocent adolescent delusions fueled by too many trips to the pet store and stereotypical pirate movies.  I since have learned the true nature of the beast. The parrot I know (out of respect for his privacy I will refer to him as "el Diablo") is nothing like the friendly, laid-back pet of my dreams.

Technically, he is a Macaw. To be fair, he is quite a stud, as far as parrots go. He has shiny, bright blue and yellow feathers with hints a green and an impressive wingspan. He also has a bad attitude, a piercing, wretched, screeching squawk and a taste for human flesh. He's like the Stone Cold Steve Austin of parrots.

I like Stone Cold; I don't like Diablo. And he doesn't like me either. I would even go as far as to say that there is a common hatred between us.

Diablo does talk, but only when he thinks no one is around. I've never heard him, probably because, if he ever spoke to me, it would be to threaten me with something he knows is too inappropriate for an office setting. I don't know if this is a relief or a disappointment. I think it's probably more of a relief, since it might really bum me out if I was not only physically, but also verbally, abused by a parrot.

When he's let out of his cage in my office, where he lives, Diablo usually makes a bee-line for my desk in hopes of attack. I will give him credit: he is a stealthy little guy. He is the reason why I keep one eye peeled and my guard up at all times while I'm in the office. I have to be ready to swivel my chair away from his snarky little beak at a moment's notice.

Nine times out of 10, I'm able to keep out of a scrap with him, but last week, he got the best of me.

I was in a meeting with my boss, and I was under the assumption that I was safe. I thought this office was neutral ground for Diablo and me, the metaphoric Switzerland of the World-War era Europe that is my workplace. I don't know where my head was at, but I was a sitting duck.

Diablo, free from his cage, snuck ever so silently behind the receptionist and waddled his way into my boss' office. Then, with lightning speed, struck and attacked my arm. I had a peck mark by my elbow. No bruises, but enough to leave me whining about it like a little baby for a few days.

After the little scrap, he went back into his cage triumphantly, and I went back to my desk, where I fantasized about the bird meeting an untimely end and considered hiring some bigger, thug bird to send him a message.

It's been a few days since he got the best of me, but he's still flying high from his last attack. We exchange cold glances in passing, and every once in a while, he fluffs up his feathers to remind me just how tough he is.

I considered offering some sort of olive branch to Diablo. Perhaps a nice, yummy bird treat or words of praise would suffice, but no. If I bend to a parrot today, who knows what horrid, slippery, wimpy slope I could find myself spiraling down tomorrow.

All I know now is that a parrot is no longer my dream pet. After finding out what they're really like, I'd much prefer a goldfish. Or possibly a mini-horse.