Zek is the Russian word for Prisoner, which is the obvious name for your pet Rosella, when you have an English stepfather, who has convinced everybody, including himself, that he is Russian.

I’m unsure how exactly Zek came to live at our house. He was a wonderfully tame fellow, who might have had an identity crisis, and thought he was a cockatiel. He would happily sit on your shoulder on the couch, nibbling at your ears, or telling you about his day, in his own words. Encouraged even more if you seemed to understand, and talked back to him.

I think pets are a really important part of childhood, and particularly so, if you are an only child. If your family loves their pets, they really are part of your extended family. Long before Zek, we had a Galah named Johnny, which Mum rescued from the roadside, with a broken wing. He lived in a cage outside, but if it rained, he would unlatch the door and walk up under the verandah, and wait until we got home. Anyway, I digress.

Part of my chores around the house, involved feeding Zek and changing his drinking water. His cage was hung from the rear balcony, which had magnificent views of the Dandenong Ranges, rising up above the spud farm behind us, and constant waves from passers by on the Puffing Billy steam train. I thought it must be a bit of a conundrum really, as essentially he was a tamed wild bird, he must love his family, and yet yearn to fly free, in the beautiful surrounds which could be viewed from his cage. I guess he really was Zek, the prisoner.

Before school one Monday, I fed him as usual, and went to school, which was on the same street we lived, just a five minute walk. I was none the wiser, that I had left one of the access doors open, above his water dish. During the day, he had sprung from the prison and flown free. As if I wasn’t gutted enough about it, I copped the roasting of all roastings over it. I got absolutely hammered, and I felt absolutely awful. And there was nothing I could do about it. Nothing. I searched outside the house, in all the trees, hoping for a miracle. Nothing.

The next few days were rough, and come the weekend, I didn’t really want to hang around inside, so I went up to the school playground by myself. I couldn’t get Zek out of my mind, and every bird I heard, I thought it was him. I didn’t know how I was going to recover from this.

I climbed up the Adventure Playground and found a place to sit. I could hear Zek, in my mind, amongst the sounds of the other birds. Wait…. that’s not in my mind…. it’s him. My eyes darted towards the sound, and there he was, sitting just a few feet away from me, on a tree branch! My heart stopped, my eyes widened, and I knew the next few seconds were the most important in my life. I got to my feet slowly, began talking to him as calmly as I could, reached out my hand slowly.

He climbed on my finger, I brought him close to my chest, wrapped my other hand around him, as tears of joy welled up in my eyes. I broke a land speed record getting home, yelling “Mum, Mum, I’ve got him! I’ve got Zek!” as I hit the verandah. I popped him back in his cage, freshened up his water and seed, triple checked all the doors were closed.

He stayed with me in my bedroom that night, so he could tell me all about his adventures, and I could tell him how worried I was about him.

Whenever I hear the saying, “If you love someone set them free, if they return, it was meant to be” I think of Zek.

Whenever I feel like giving up, on life, love, success…. I think of Zek. Never lose hope, never give up, because Zek might be just up the road, just waiting to climb on your finger.