The Parrot Jungle was one of my favorite old timey attractions growing up in South Florida. To my sisters and I it felt like we had stepped into a vast jungle, with giant birds more glorious than we could have imagined. The bright flurry of feathers, the raucous cries, and the chance to have one sit right on your head kept us coming back for more. There was one bird in particular named Tina, a pretty white cockatiel, who rode a tiny bicycle across the highwire. As soon as I saw her I was hooked. I was convinced she should belong to me. I kept pictures of her in an album and imagined how well I would treat her if only I could bring her home. My little crush. My namesake. I never forgot her. Back now in the place we met, I find I want to sing her a little song.
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