
                         Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: WEDNESDAY, June 2, 1993                   TAG: 9306020009
SECTION: VIRGINIA                    PAGE: B-1   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: ED SHAMY
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

THE HEARTWARMING STORY OF A MAN AND HIS BIRD

His is an old Chevy pickup with a ripped dashboard and a few jagged rust holes poking through the fender. Mark Verne, who wears his hair long and his beard scraggly, also carries the standard pile of composting umbrellas, drink cups, receipts and tools on the floor inside the cab; the obligatory flotsam of roof shingles, mulch and assorted ropes in the bed.

Neither truck nor driver would ordinarily draw a second glance in a region noted for old pickups and scraggly beards - save for the passenger.

Perched on Verne's shoulder as he drives is Gandalf, an Amazonia Finches Lilac-Crown parrot. Gaudy green with a pastel head, Gandalf sidles between Verne's neck and his arm, pecking once in a while at a wind-blown strand of hair, reaching frequently for a reassuring kiss.

They nuzzle a lot, these two lovebirds.

It is a heartwarming sight, a man and his bird rolling down the road in their Chevy pickup, the windows open, the balmy wind rustling together hair and feathers.

"I love taking him out," says Verne. "He mesmerizes kids. One lady asked me if he ran on batteries."

But Gandalf runs on french fries and steak. He eats whatever Verne does at home in Roanoke County, and dines out whenever Verne can find a restaurant with an outdoor patio. They shared a Rally's burger the other day.

They've been together for 12 years. While living in San Diego in 1980, Verne bought the parrot, named him after a wizard in J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Lord of the Rings," taught him to say "hi" and "hello" and put him up on his shoulder.

Birds became a passion for Verne. He dabbled in cockatiels and macaws, he bred birds and sold them, he studied them and attended conventions of birdkeepers.

He and Gandalf moved to Florida and back to California together, relocated to Gloucester County in eastern Virginia, opened a pet store there, amassed a collection of 265 exotic birds, together endured the dissolution of a marriage, shut down the pet store, moved to Roanoke and now rejoice in Verne's engagement to be married once again.

"We've been through it," says Verne. Gandalf struts across a shoulder and lays a nurturing beak on Verne's nose.

When Verne goes to work at a small garage he rents off Plantation Road, doing auto body work, Gandalf rides with him. There's a cage in the pickup, but most of the time Gandalf just hangs out, uncaged in the open air. His wings are clipped to keep him from flying away.

Verne's eyes widen at the memory of the harrowing Thanksgiving in Gloucester County, when Gandalf flew through an open door.

The next day he was spotted, 60 miles away. On the second day, he flew home.

They haven't parted since, except for the occasional drive when Gandalf gets the notion to hop from Verne's shoulder and dangle upside down from the truck's rear-view mirror.

"He keeps me well-amused," says Verne. "He's a real ham."

by CNB