And then he let rip. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.” I gave him my sternest look and held up my finger. “No. Stop that. You will not speak to me that way.” He squawked some more, then proceeded to screech at the top of his huge bird lungs. “Stop that now!” I yelled at him. “Or I will put you in the fridge.” He stopped. Oh my god. That actually worked. I would never actually put him in the fridge, and I had no idea where those words even came from. But it worked. “Good boy,” I said quietly. “Quiet boys don’t go in the fridge.” I sounded like Hannibal freaking Lecter.
