The doorbell ring was met from the apartment's interior with the most profane string of bad language the woman visitor at the door had ever heard. It just went on and on. Too bad for her, she'd ignored the very plainly lettered sign that said; "Please! Do not ring the doorbell"! Just knock! She'd been invited over by the lady occupant but for this? The apartment dweller, a very nice non-swearing lady, had rushed, horrified at what she knew was going to unfold, to try and stem the outburst of cussing she knew would come as soon as she heard the bell began to ring. Too late now. Now to the story flashback. The man was in the merchant marine, and like many sailors he upheld the honored tradition of "cussing like a sailor". I can personally attest to the truth of this saying since I had a friend that left school to join the navy. When he came home on leave his speech horrified even me, an unsaved pagan that could blue the air with the best of the west 12th street heathens. I still remember being shocked that I could be so shocked. The merchant mariner had a parrot in addition to his verbal gifts, and it was kept near his bunk. The call to duty onboard was a bell, and when the sailor's rest was interrupted he instantly broke forth with oaths and lamentations that would horrify most run of the mill, normal sinners. After several years of expert coaching the parrot learned to assist the sailor in his rage over duty time. It was all in the bell. Two voices swearing and griping about duty would fill the air. Thus the sailor had developed a fellow sufferer of sorts to help with his complaints. After leaving the sea the man came home to Arkansas and brought his parrot pal along as a gift for the wife. After mentoring the bird he could not easily abandon it. Someone else might teach it bad habits. Not as impressed with the bird's talents as her husband, she gave it away after awhile to a friend, the nice lady mentioned before. She was certain she could reform the wayward bird with time and love. The nice new owner put up the sign, but every so often a visitor would ring, and if she couldn't cover the cage in time.............it was "all hands on deck". This true tale was related to my son by one of the apartment dwellers that lived near the nice lady with the foul fowl. This was when he lived in Fayetteville a few years ago. Sometimes when our doorbell rings I am reminded of it.