A tiny bird with a giant ego, Crispin was a remarkable singer – especially if you told him how talented, intelligent and gracious he was
I
was around four years old when my parents bought me Crispin, my first pet. A handsome yellow canary, Crispin was bad-tempered and behaved like an alpha male. He would spend hours preening. I thought he was enchanting.
A gentle female canary, Mariflor, arrived soon after. She became Crispin’s other half and the mother of their chicks, Maribel and Quintin. Having a canary family compensated for my lack of siblings and extended family. It gave me a sense of responsibility and filled my life with joy.
Every day, I would let the canaries out of their cage and they were free to roam around the flat. Crispin’s favourite place was the globe in my bedroom. Standing imposingly, he regularly gave his opinion on global affairs by pooping on countries whose governments he disapproved of. At least that’s how it seemed to me as a child. It was the 1980s, the time of the cold war, and my parents, who were political exiles of the Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet, had temporarily settled in Venezuela.
