The macaw had appeared on a Tuesday, looking damp from a morning shower and decidedly grouchy. Arthur had frozen, holding his breath so as not to startle the grand wild bird, which easily measured three feet from its head to the tip of its tail. He slowly placed a piece of banana on the railing and stepped back inside, watching through the glass door as the bird devoured the treat in seconds before taking flight.
By the second week, the bird was a daily fixture, arriving at precisely three in the afternoon with a loud, raspy squawk. Arthur began calling him "Red," assuming the bird was simply one of the many wild macaws that populated the valley. "You're a punctual little fellow, aren't you?" Arthur said aloud one afternoon, surprising himself with the sound of his own voice echoing across the empty balcony.
It was during the third week that Arthur noticed the bird wasn't acting like the other wild birds in the trees. Red showed zero fear of human movements and would watch Arthur with an unsettling, deliberate focus. When Arthur dropped a spoon one afternoon, expecting the bird to bolt into the sky, Red merely cocked his head and muttered a raspy sound that sounded remarkably like a chuckle.