Another Plucker

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While I can’t pinpoint the exact time that Spike started plucking (it was a gradual thing), I can tell you exactly when and why my eclectus started to pluck.

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There was a tree in the front yard that would lose large branches every time there was any amount of wind, so we called someone to remove it. The guy came out to give us an estimate and told us he couldn’t cut it down – something about the village owning the property so far back from the road – and we would have to call the village DPW about it.

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We did, and they agreed that the tree was damaged and needed to be cut down, but they couldn’t give me a date. I was working 2nd shift at the time, so it really wasn’t a problem; there was only about an hour in the afternoon between the time I left for work and Mark got home. This happened early in June and I really didn’t expect to wait all summer for the tree to be removed, but that’s exactly what happened.

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Late in July we had plans to spend a long weekend with friends in North Carolina. I was worried that the village would show up the minute we left – it would be just the kind of thing that happens to me. I knew that the large trucks and noise right outside the front window would frighten the birds, so I asked my sister to leave the blinds on the windows closed while we were gone. I figured that if the birds couldn’t see the trucks they wouldn’t be as scared.

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It turned out to be exactly the wrong thing to do. When we got home on Sunday Rani had plucked out the feathers around her neck, and of course the tree was still in the front yard. I’ve written about how much Rani liked to look out the window, but I had no idea that she would pluck because she couldn’t see outside! For a long time I thougt that was why she started plucking, but a couple of years ago I got another explanation. A pet psychic told us Rani thought that because the blinds were closed it meant we were never coming home!!!

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Rani has never stopped plucking. She doesn’t mutilate herself like Spike does, but she won’t let a feather grow where she plucks either. Slowly that area is extending down her chest. I just ordered some stuff to put in the water; it’s supposed to help stop plucking. I’m going to give it to Spike and Rani – who knows, it might work.

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Cathy

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P.S. Yes, I did say pet psychic. That was quite an experience. I’ll write about it eventually.

Showering Gideon

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This morning Gideon decided to come out of his cage for a shower (as opposed to remaining inside). When we got him Linda told us he really hated showers, but I right from the start I found that was not the case. Most times he likes it, other times he loves it! There have been times I’ve used the entire spray bottle on just him. He lifts his wings and really gets into it.

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After spraying so much water all over I have to wipe it up, of course. For some unknown reason today Gid decided that the hand towel I used to do it was really scary, but instead of keeping his distance or flying off the cage he raised his wings straight up and let out a scream that sounded like that eagle cry you can hear in one of the old John Denver songs. He even kind of weaved from side to side, like he was showing that towel he would be taking no BS today!
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Mark tried several times to get a picture of that, but (as usual) by the time he got the camera it was over. We had to be satisfied with these.

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Cathy

Feather Plucking

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Spike started plucking out her feathers about a year after we got her. I used to attribute it to the shift change at work. When we got her I was working 2nd shift and Mark was on days. I would take Spike out of her cage in the morning, then again in the afternoon and Mark had her out every night. We had heard the warnings about what happens when people spend every minute with a baby bird, then less as it grows up; the bird gets used to the attention and may resort to screaming or plucking in an attempt to regain that attention. In this case, I had no choice. My job on second shift was eliminated and I was forced to work days or quit. We still spent evenings with Spike, but I’m sure it was upsetting to her.
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We took her to the vet to see if there was a physical reason for the plucking. After numerous tests for known avian diseases it was determined that she was fine physically, it was just anxiety. I had noticed that around the time Spike started plucking she smelled different. She normally had a sweet and powdery odor, but now that was gone. I mentioned it to the vet and I also told her it seemed to me like something was making her itch, but she didn’t seem to think it was anything and Mark didn’t notice any difference in the way Spike smelled, so I let it go. Spike was put on anti-anxiety medication. We gave it to her for almost a year with mixed results – sometimes we thought it was working, other times she plucked no matter what.
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In desperation, I took her to a different vet. He took her off the meds and put her on something else, but it really didn’t help either. I was told that usually when a bird starts to pluck you can never get it to stop. Eventually I took Spike off all the medications. We had tried for several years with no results at all, in fact the plucking actually got worse. She eventually had to wear a collar to prevent her from mutilating her chest. After that she would reach up around her collar with her foot and pull feathers out of her cheeks or stretch her neck down and pull out her leg feathers! No matter what we did she was determined to pull feathers, but at least the collar kept her from making her chest into a huge scab.
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I know people who have gotten rid of their birds when they started plucking. I have to tell you I think that’s appalling. I know it’s not attractive, but I really never see how ugly it is until I see it in a photo. When I look at Spike I only see how cute she is. I do see the damage that she’s done to herself, but her sweet little face and spunky attitude far outshine that. To get rid of her because of the plucking would be like getting rid of a child with a problem – it’s absolutely unthinkable!
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Cathy

Beak Trim

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Every 4 months or so we have to take Classy to the vet for a beak trim. The right side of his lower beak grows up and over the upper beak so he can’t close it properly. It grows slowly at first, but when it gets to a certain point it grows like crazy. Apparently that’s actually how fast the beak grows, it just isn’t apparent because it’s kept at the proper size by the friction created during use.
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Linda, the bird shop owner that used to trim wings and nails, would also do beaks. Rani’s upper beak will grow to a wicked point, so she showed us how to grind it down. It’s not easy (you can’t trim too close to the blood supply) and always makes me nervous, so I have no intention of attempting to trim the lower beak. It’s such an ordeal to get Classy toweled that I’d rather let someone else do it. Besides, the vet does such a great job – Classy looks like a new bird after his trim. This time he was due for a nail and wing trim, so we had the vet do it rather that fighting with him ourselves. Dr. J is much better at getting him into a towel than we are and that’s most of the battle.
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Our avian vet is wonderful. We’ve gone to a few others but I prefer the one we see now – she’s very calm and laid back and the birds can feel it. The only drawback is that she’s about a half an hour from the house, which prevents us from taking Alex there for his nail trim because he won’t ride that far. Don’t get me wrong, Alex’s vet is good too, but I really like the way Dr. J handles the birds. I took Spike to one vet that was so nervous handling the bird that it scared the living crap out of her. Every time he went near her she acted like he was a predator and would go into panic mode. It was so bad she was actually shedding feathers and panting with fear. He may have been a good doctor, but creating that kind of terror because he didn’t know how to properly handle a bird was inexcusable. Needless to say, we decided that a long drive was a better option.

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The pics before and after shots of our little green guy. Poor thing - that must be so annoying for him!
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Cathy

Accidents Part 2

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We took our injured baby cockatoo home from the vet and poured attention on her. We took turns holding her and hand feeding her corn and other veggies. She had been showing a preference for Mark lately, but now she definitely wanted her mom, so I spent a lot of time with her. I felt so bad – if only I hadn’t gone to the store that day! But that really wouldn’t have helped. As I cleaned the blood off her cage I realized that it must have happened early in the day. None of her food was touched and there was no poop on her papers other than a little under where she had been sitting when I got home. Thank God there was a perch within reach of the toy. If she had been hanging upside down all day I don’t know if she would have survived.
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Thank God also that I don’t fall apart at the sight of blood; I know a lot of people that do. For some reason I am able to keep a clear head and do the right thing during an emergency situation. It’s after I’ve done all I can do and everything is taken care of that I lose it!
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The doctor couldn’t have been more wrong about Spike using that foot. After it healed you would never know that there was even an injury unless you noticed the missing toes. She uses it just as she would if it was whole. Spike isn’t the only bird we have that had foot injuries. Emelio is missing the tips of a couple toes – inexperienced bird parents will sometimes bite off the toes or wings of the babies (how awful!) Classy’s right foot looks like it was broken and never healed properly – he walks on the outside of it. They actually adapt to these handicaps very well.
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Peeper had an accident too, but this one involved her beak. To this day I can’t figure out what happened, she must have caught it on something, but darned if I know what. I was holding her one day and noticed that her beak didn’t look right. She was chewing on my finger and her beak was moving oddly. Upon closer inspection I saw that it was ripped from the lower left corner to almost the middle along the edge where it meets the face. I had seen pictures of birds with beak injuries in the magazine; usually inflicted by another bird – they’re awful!

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We rushed Peep to the vet, but there was nothing she could do. She said that it wouldn’t heal and we would just have to wait for it to grow out! I was really worried about it, but the vet assured me it would be ok. She was wrong – not about it being ok, but about it healing. I kept a good eye on it for about a month and the bird seemed to be doing fine, so I relaxed my vigilance. About a month later I noticed that the tear was completely healed! Not enough time had passed for the beak to grow out, so that was the only explanation that made sense. Mark thinks it was the whole cranberries we feed the birds in winter. He read somewhere that they promote oral health and decided that a beak was kinda like a tooth, so maybe that was it! I don’t care what it was, I’m just thankful she didn’t have any complications from the accident.

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Cathy

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The top picture is Mark hand feeding Spike after the accident - notice the blood on her feathers! The next one is Spikey right back at the upside down swinging not long after the accident. Notice how she improvised; she couldn't have the toy anymore, so she found a substitute.

Accidents Happen

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Spike was about 6 months old when something terrible happened. It was November; Mark was doing the annual male hunting ritual thing and staying out at camp with the guys. I was working during the day and home at night with the animals. I had to go to the store after I got out of work one night, so I was about an hour late getting home. It was unusually quiet when I walked in the door. Spike had a habit of climbing up on the side bars of her cage and yelling Hi when anyone came in. I could see her cage from the kitchen doorway – she was sitting on a perch in the top right corner with her back to me. I called her name and got no response.
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I went to the cage and saw that her foot was entangled in one of her toys. It actually took a few seconds for the entire scene to sink into my brain. There was blood everywhere – the cage bottom, bars and even the living room wall were all splattered with it. It was hard to believe there could be that much blood in such a small body. I grabbed the phone and called camp while gathering towels and a pair of scissors. One of the guys was already back at camp and promised to convey the message to Mark when he came in (this was before we all had cell phones).
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I opened the cage and unscrewed the quick link holding the toy to the cage top. Then somehow grabbed the toy and the bird and went to the kitchen counter to figure out what to do. Two of Spike’s toes were completely gone and there was a tendon hanging where one had been; the end of another toe was missing. First I had to get the toy off. It was Spike’s favorite – a piece of branch with holes drilled through and colored cotton rope laced through the holes and knotted at each end. Spike would hang upside down from the rope while flapping her wings and screaming with complete abandon. I cut the rope as close to her foot as I dared – no easy task, let me tell you. All Spike wanted was to be cuddled under my chin and I had to get that thing off of her. I finally managed to not only cut off the toy, but get all the rope off too.
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Just as I finished and was consoling my poor baby, Mark roared in. He must have been flying. He wasn’t even in camp when I called and it takes a good 20 to 25 minutes to get home from there. I don’t think fifteen minutes had passed since I made the call. He called around for an avian vet and finally found one about 20 minutes away. We jumped in the car and took off. The vet just snipped off the hanging tendon and dressed the foot. He told us that there had just been a warning published in the bird magazines about birds getting their toes caught in cotton rope! He said Spike would be fine but wouldn’t be able to use that foot to feed herself.
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Cathy
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(Continued tomorrow)

P.S. The picture is of Spike and ChiChi. She was a box face Chow Chow. She was a wonderful dog, loyal, sweet, trustworthy and really good with the birds. I miss her more than I can tell you.

It's Been One of Those Days

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This morning I needed to ask Mark something. He was upstairs feeding the birds, so I yelled for him. Alex promptly shouted back "WHAT do you want?" That's the first time I've heard him say that - talk about attitude, Jeesch!
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Then our Federal tax check came. Yippee . . . until I opened it. The check was for exactly $6,000 more than we expected. After the split second when my brain frantically spent every cent, I realized that I had to give it back. (CRAP) We had just finished reading the paper and noticed an article about the IRS office being open until 2pm today – just our luck. We got our stuff together, checked with our tax preparer just to be sure we should go there without him, and headed downtown. There's just something about the name Internal Revenue Service that gives me chills – and who in the world wants to spend part of their Saturday there anyway?
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They were actually very nice. Turns out that our tax preparer's writing isn't what it used to be (I know, but we've been going to him for quite a while and there's not even a pc in his entire office!) It's a good thing we went to check it out because if we had kept the money we would owe taxes and fines on it even though it was their mistake!!
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Later we stopped at the pet store to get dog food. Of course I have to visit the puppies and birds. I rarely look at the smaller birds, but as Mark was standing in line to check out a little cockatiel caught my eye. He was the only one paying any attention to the people, the others were busy doing cockatiel stuff. They were in an open pen, so naturally I reached in to give him a little scratch on the head. He promptly got on my finger, ran up my arm and tried to cuddle against my neck. What a sweet baby! He'll make someone a nice pet, but it couldn't be me. As we were leaving I noticed that the customer who helped me retrieve the little guy from the back of my neck was holding him. I think he impressed her. t
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Spikey was acting up tonight. Every so often she gets in this mood where she has to look down my shirt. If it was just that I wouldn’t mind, but she had to stick her whole head in there and it makes me nervous. If she sees anything that she thinks shouldn’t be there she’ll bite it off! I actually had a mole removed from just below my neckline because she used to pick at it and it made me queasy. I had to put her back on her t-stand and refuse to hold her because she wouldn’t stop. She does the same thing to Mark, but it doesn’t bother him much. She’ll also preen his goatee and pull out hair that she thinks doesn’t belong.
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Just before putting Mister to bed tonight I cuddled him and gave him a kiss on the back of his head. He pulled away, looked at me and said “Hey!” in a low voice, like I was bothering him! Another little feathered beast with attitude.
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Cathy

Hungry Bird

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I’ve told you that Alex was one half of a pair of macaws that were up for adoption, and that he and the female Military macaw Sadie shared a cage in their old home. What I didn’t realize until about 6 months later was that he wasn’t getting enough food. When we went to see Alex and Sadie at KC’s the female was much larger than Alex. I didn’t think much of it at the time because in some bird species the male is the smaller of the two (I don’t know if that holds true for macaws or not, but it made sense to me!)
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After we got Alex home I noticed that he never let any of his food fall to the bottom of his cage. This is not normal parrot behavior, they may take a bite or two then toss the food and move on to the next morsel. Parrots are messy for a reason; in the wild they throw their food around as natures 're-germination' mechanism. It was quite a few months before he was sure enough about the food source to trust that he could act normally with his food. I just assumed that he didn’t get many fruits and veggies at his last home. I was wrong. Sadie had not been letting him get a fair share of the food when they were sharing a cage.
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We went to my brother’s house the following December for the family Christmas get-together. Of course I had to visit with Sadie. When I held her I realized that although she had seemed huge to me the first time I met her, she no longer was larger than Alex. In fact, he is now much larger than Sadie! KC had told me that she bullied Alex a little, but I had not realized it was to that extent. At 8 years old Alex should have been at his full size. If nothing else, this proves to me that birds should have their own cages and food bowls.
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Cathy

Bird Talk

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Usually when birds talk they are just amusing themselves or trying to get your attention. But there are times when a bird will say something so appropriate to the situation that you can forget that you’re not talking to a person.

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Not long after we got Alex, I was trying to clean his cage and he kept striking at my face. I was getting nervous and just wanted to finish, so I asked Mark to take him out in the other room. Mark put him on the T-stand and tuned in to Animal Planet on the television. After a few minutes this is what I heard Alex say from the other room: “Look – what’s that? . . . Oh, it’s a bear!” I went out to see for myself and sure enough, Animal Planet was running a show on the Sun Bear! I asked Mark what Alex had just said (sometimes what I hear is so amazing to me that I need confirmation from someone else.) He repeated exactly what I had heard.

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I wrote about going to Eric’s for nail trims. On our second visit Alex was walking around Eric’s kitchen floor. Eric had just gotten a German shepherd pup and she was locked in a carrier while Eric was busy with the bird. Al walked over to the front of the carrier and peered in. He looked up at me and asked “What’s that?” I told him it was a puppy. He replied “Oh.”

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Both Alex and Emelio yell at the dog for barking; usually before I can even open my mouth. Alex screams “Chloe, stop it” at the top of his lungs, while Mister yells “Hey – knock it off.” He may also imitate her bark, and then yell at her to stop!

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One night while we were holding the birds I thought I heard the puppy next door whining. I wondered if maybe they had put him out and forgotten to let him back in, so I got up to check. I went out on the balcony, but there was no sign of Jake. I sat back down and after a few minutes I heard it again. Mark and I just looked quizzically at each other; four of the birds were in the TV room with us and we knew they weren’t doing it. Peeper, Gideon and Classy were in the bird room on top of their cages. I got up again to check and when I walked in the bird room the whining stopped. I went back to my chair and waited. We have windows between the bird room and the TV room so we can all see each other. I had a clear view of Peeper and Gideon and they weren’t doing it either. Classy really doesn’t talk much, so I didn’t think it was him. After a few minutes Mark told me to look at Class – he had his back to us and we could see that every time we heard the whining his shoulders would move just the slightest – it was him! I had been trying to teach him more words, but he chose to imitate the puppy. tt

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Cathy

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I just noticed how odd the picture of Classy and Rani looks. Classy seems to be right up against the window, but I can tell you for sure that is not the case. If the cages weren't far enough away, the wood window molding would show signs of a good chewing!

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Names Part 2

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The birds call us by different names. They know our given names, but have picked up on other names for us also. For example they call my husband Mark or Papa. I have a few more names than that – such as Cath, Ma, Baby girl, Big girl, and so on. Emelio will also call me Hon, Honey Cath, and he may even refer to me (to the other birds) as Your Mother. All of these names they heard at one time or another from us.
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Alex chooses to call me Pat. He does know my name, and will use it if all else fails, but I have learned to answer to a name that isn’t mine (or maybe I should say wasn’t mine.) I naturally assumed that Pat was the name of his first owner, but I was wrong. I asked KC – the woman who rehabilitated Alex – if that was the case. She said that her own mother’s name was Pat and Alex had taken a liking to her.
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Alex doesn’t just call for me by saying the name Pat, he also changes the way he says it. It can be loud and demanding, or inquiring, or sweet – as in Oh, Paaattt. Sometimes he repeats the name quickly in a monotone – Pat Pat Pat. He will say it every way he can think of until he gets a response. If I don’t answer him he calls “Cathy” as a last resort.
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My sister was parked in our driveway one day waiting for us to come home. The windows were open and she could hear Alex calling for Pat. After getting no response at all, he began almost to sound as if he had been crying and the calls became pathetic. Alex is the only bird that does this kind of thing.
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I already wrote about how emotional he sounded when he discovered the swing. He did it another time when we took him for a nail trim. Before Linda closed her shop she gave us lessons on how to trim the birds. We now do all the birds except Alex; he’s just too intimidating. Linda had recommended Eric and we took Alex there a couple of times. After getting his wings and nails trimmed, Alex went to the back of his carrier and sounded like he was sobbing and he kept saying “Oh, God. . . Oh, God” in this mournful voice. It was awful! We had to give up going to Eric’s because it was such a long ride and Alex started banging his head against the bars of his carrier while in the car. I couldn’t stand the sight of his little face bleeding like that, so we take him to the vet now, which is about 10 minutes away.
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Cathy

Nicknames

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Our birds all have names that were given to them either by us or the people they first knew. Some also have names that they either picked up from us or chose themselves. Spike mostly calls herself Spikey Bird or Spike Bird. Alex is either Al or Big Guy. Emelio has gone through several names, some still in use, others dropped in favor of new ones.
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When he first learned to say his own name it came out as Emil-yo-yo, which then turned into YoBirdie, YoYoBird, Mr. Yo or Young Mr. Yo. He would almost sing the last one, and I miss hearing it. Once day when he was about to get his nails trimmed Linda opened his carrier, he stepped onto the threshold and kind of held his wings up and back a little, stretched his neck out and announced himself by singing “Young Mr. Yoooo”, then just stood there looking proud of himself. Linda’s eyes widened and she said “What did he say?” Emelio obligingly did it again. We all cracked up. Emelio now calls himself Mister most of the time, and we’ve picked that up and use it often.
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Gideon was named by Linda at the bird shop and we’ve always called him that or just Gid. He has always called himself Baby B. We never knew why, we just accepted that he liked that name and started using it. I even made up a little song with that name and when I sing it to him he bobs his head, whistles and dances. (You quickly learn that the birds love to be sung to, they especially love having their own songs and they do not care if you can’t sing as long as you can put out some volume. I got over the embarrassment of acting like a fool long ago!)
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One day I noticed that Gideon’s foot was swollen. Somehow the band on his leg got stuck around one toe and it needed to come off right away. (This isn’t the first time this has happened to one of our birds. If you own a bird just make sure to check the band occasionally to be sure it moves freely on the leg.) We toweled Gideon and Mark cut it off (the band, not the leg!) All parrots bred in the US are required to be banded. These bands are slipped over the foot when the bird is 2 – 3 weeks old and are referred to as closed bands because they are seamless as opposed to open bands which were clamped around the legs of imported birds. All bands have a series of letters and numbers which help the breeders identify them. We had never looked at any of the bands closely and were quite surprised to find the letters BB on Gideon’s band. I have to surmise that the breeder must have called Gideon by the letters on his band and he didn’t forget; hence the name Baby B.
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Cathy

Playing

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I got a good nip on the hand from Alex last night. I wasn’t paying close enough attention when I stuck my hand out and asked him to step up. For the last week he’s been a little more excitable than usual – could be the hormones kicking in; it’s getting close to spring. I usually have a little more warning if he wants to play; he cocks his head, feathers standing and pupils pinpointing. He didn’t do that this time, but I should have noticed the look in his eyes; he was in play mode and that means he’s going to get me. He usually doesn’t break the skin, but it smarts like the devil. I told him no, and turned my back to him. That lets him know I’m upset with him. It’s what birds do and it sends the message loud and clear. He calmed down and let me take him to his tree stand without further incident.
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Alex loves to play. He will play catch with a woven ball, but his favorite game is when I try to get his foot. The game is played both on the cage and when I’m holding him. When he plays on top of the cage his aim is to bite me. He gets on the top of the cage and I reach inside and try to grab his foot through the top bars. He moves away, all the while emitting loud macaw Braaak noises. Then he changes tactics and sticks his foot down through the bars, using it as bait. When I try to grab his foot, he tries to bite me. If I’m not quick enough he gets me. I only made that mistake once. For some reason when he plays on his cage he will draw blood if he can. To try to touch him when he’s in this state is foolish, in fact getting too close at all is not advisable. He has struck out at my face many times. I don't even want to think about what would happen if he connected.
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The same game is played in the TV room when I’m holding him; he’s much more manageable there (thank God!). I tell him I’m gonna get his foot and slowly reach my hand toward it. Instead of the macaw braaak noise, he actually screams like a little girl while allowing me to get ahold his foot. If I stop he will put his foot out, inviting me to grab it, still screaming or exclaiming “Oh, oh.” If he does grab my hand, it is done so that he doesn’t hurt me. I will usually pull his face to mine when he has my hand in his mouth and give him a loud kiss on the beak. Sometimes he will pull away, still holding my hand, then move his head back for another kiss. This game is played at full vocal volume by both of us. The neighbors must be used to it by now, but I often wonder what people walking by the house must think.
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Cathy

Intuitive?

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Hmmm – I just read the last line of yesterday’s post and a thought struck me – I wonder if that’s why most of the birds prefer me over Mark. There are times when it’s obvious to me that Mark is doing something to intimidate the birds, but he doesn’t see it. I think women are much more intuitive than men (although Mark is getting better at it, probably in his own defense); maybe that’s why he gets bit more often than I do.

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I’m not saying Mark does anything bad to the birds. He isn’t one of those sadistic people that enjoy torturing pets. Sometimes it’s just his deep voice, or the bird may see his proximity as a threat. When a bird is nervous you can see it in their eyes and the way they hold their body – there’s a change in the vibe they give off. I’ve seen the same thing in dogs – it’s almost a stiffening of the body – subtle, but it’s there; definitely a warning that needs to be heeded. If you’re paying attention you can spot it.

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Mark has been slowly building a relationship with Emelio. He’s always been able to talk to the bird, just not touch him or get too close. In fact, Emelio speaks mostly in Mark’s voice and Mark teaches him to whistle songs all the time. After the birds moved upstairs Emelio decided he wanted out of his cage during the morning feeding. He let us know this by obstinately plinking the bars of his cage until the noise was about to drive us mad. In desperation we let him out, which was exactly what he wanted. At first I would have to put him back in the cage, but after a while Mark learned that if he put a piece of cracker in Emelio’s bowl the bird would happily enter the cage on his own. (Emelio says: “Where’s the cracker Mister? Cracker’s in the bowl.”)
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Mark reports that he gets a morning kiss from Emelio (now that I’m retired I certainly don’t get up early enough to see that!). At night after Mark changes the paper, he washes his hands. Emelio is always on the counter then, and rushes to the sink to watch – even if he and I are playing! He leans his body as far over the sink as possible, then kind of jumps up and down when Mark shakes the water off his hands. Before going to bed Emelio insists on Mark’s attention; Mark has to kiss him once before I carry him to his cage, then again before he actually goes inside. This isn’t to say that sometimes Mark doesn’t get bitten, he does. He may have moved too fast, or done some other small thing that intimidated Emelio – you never know until it happens. Mark insists that I hold the bird far enough away and down so that Emelio has to stretch his neck up and out as far as he can; that way if there’s a bite coming, Emelio can’t really strike out and get a good hold on him.
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Cathy

Planning Ahead

There was a short article in the paper this morning about a chimp at a zoo in Stockholm that collected rocks and stashed them away to hurl at visitors later in the day. Scientists were excited because it proves that apes can plan ahead just like humans. I wasn’t exactly surprised by the notion; I’ve seen it right here in my living room.

My niece and I were reclined in the Lazy Boy chairs and Spike was sitting with me. We were talking and Jorie asked me if she could have a soda; I told her to help herself. She was in no hurry to get up and we talked for a while longer. Spike got off my arm, walked down my leg and perched herself on my foot. Jorie had to go past my chair to get to the kitchen. As she walked by Spike, who was still sitting on my foot, Spike threw her wings up in the air and let out a screech, scaring the bejeezus out of my niece. While Jorie pulled herself together, Spike remained there for a few seconds with her chest puffed out and her wings held up as if she was proud of herself, then ran back up my leg chuckling wildly. If that wasn’t planned, I’ll eat my hat!

Jorie was about 2 when we got Spike. I don’t know what birds think of kids, but I do know we’ve never been able to trust Spike around Jorie. Spike would chase her around the living room trying to bite her toes – not in anger, but as if it was fun. Of course, Jorie ran and screamed; so maybe it was the drama, but she never did that to us. Maybe it was just because my niece was so much smaller, or maybe Spike just knew she was nervous – I’ve found that birds are very intuitive – and capitalized on the chance to lord it over someone. Who knows? I’m sure Spike does, but she’s not telling. The problem with birds that talk is that although they may sometimes engage in conversation with you, they never tell you what’s really going on in those little heads; to know that you have to know your bird and be somewhat intuitive yourself.

Cathy

Mr. Macho

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Last night Classy went after Mark again. Mark was replacing the papers in his cage and Class reached out and grabbed his finger. Naturally Mark jerked his hand away, but Classy didn’t let go, so he ended up on the floor. He came running to me as usual, but then wouldn’t step up onto my finger. He must have decided that Mark needed to be punished for knocking him to the floor, so he turned and stalked back to the middle of the room where Mark was. He would have chased Mark around the room, but Mark stood his ground – well, actually kneeled. Anyway, there they were; Classy chirping angrily and trying to land a bite on Mark’s hands, Mark trying to grab Classy’s tail each time he retreated under Gideon’s cage. Gideon, Peeper and Alex sounded as if they were spectators at a boxing match. Alex would alternately exclaim “Oh, God!” or laugh wickedly, while Gid and Peeper were chirping excitedly. After a couple of minutes it was over. Classy again had proven he was the man (bird?).

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Mark and Classy have a strange relationship. They have a Sunday morning ritual; after the birds are fed and showered they all go back to their cages to have breakfast. Classy gets to come downstairs to the kitchen counter for playtime with Mark. I don’t even remember how this started, but it’s been going on for quite a while. They toss a folded high school band program back and forth while Classy tries to bite Mark. (The band program came from my niece’s school concert; it was on the counter one morning and Classy grabbed it and flung it at Mark.) The only thing is, I must stand and observe, if I leave the room Classy immediately starts calling for me or jumps off the counter and runs after me. The whole point of the play and the macho posturing is to show me what a good mate he would be! Once he makes contact with Mark’s skin he puffs up and chirps proudly as if proclaiming himself the winner. Then Mark is dismissed and Classy is ready for me to scratch his head.

Classy has to go to the vet every three months or so to get his beak trimmed; the right side of his bottom beak gets too high and for some unknown reason it doesn’t get worn down. The last time it was trimmed I couldn’t take him, so Mark volunteered. I wasn’t worried about it, I put Classy in his carrier and the vet would take him out, and then return him to the carrier when she was finished. Mark told me that Classy had actually held on to Mark’s finger during the drive, and stepped up for him when they got into the exam room. I guess the situation changes when I’m not around. Classy may look at Mark as a rival, but he also knows Mark is a friend.

Unlike the other birds, Classy likes to ride in the car. Spike actually gets car sick. Classy sees it as an adventure. He is more interested in new things and likes to visit different rooms in the house just to see what’s there. He also likes to look out the window while in the car. He seems more self-assured than the other birds. His previous owner told me she used to take him for rides and he would sit on the steering wheel. I asked her what happened when she had to turn the wheel. She said he just side stepped so he always stayed at the top!

Cathy

Escape Artist

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We are lucky; none of our birds try to open their cages. This is not the case with many birds, they are talented escape artists. My niece Jorie owns one. Last year I got a call from a friend. Someone she knew was moving and said they didn’t have the space or the time for two birds. They also owned an African grey. I called the owners and got the details – it was a Severe macaw, also known as a mini macaw because the size is more that of a grey rather than a blue and gold. The bird was young, friendly and talking. The owner said she just didn’t have the time for it and wanted to find Jasper a good home.

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I called my sister and asked if they wanted another bird. She said Jorie wanted a bird of her own. Their bird was bonded to my sister and her daughter could not touch him. We went to visit Jasper and his owners. Jasper took to Jorie immediately, so she decided to adopt him. His family was very concerned that he transition easily, so they sent along all his toys and even his tree stand. They also casually mentioned that he sometimes let himself out of the cage.

Boy did he ever! The cage bowl doors had the round disc that’s attached at the top and you spin it clear of the door to open it. Our macaw has the same kind of cage. Jasper could open that door faster than I can, and he let himself out whenever he felt like it, which was all the time! His owners would tape the disc so he couldn’t move it. That only deterred him for a few minutes! On other types of cages you can usually put a quick link on the door to keep the bird in, but on this type of cage there was nothing to attach it to. Mark devised a bar with turn screws that slid across the doors so that even when he moved the disc he couldn’t push the door open. That stopped Jasper from escaping, but he still tries to open the doors.

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We’ve come home a couple of times and found a bird out of his cage, but it was usually because we didn’t secure the doors properly. Except for the time Peeper got out when she was still a baby. Her cage bar spacing was the proper size for a lovebird, but right under the door there was a larger space. She found it and squeezed through while we were out. The first indication that something was amiss was when we saw the throw rug in the kitchen; it was bunched up in front of the stove. We assumed the dog had been chasing the cat. Then we checked on the birds and couldn’t find Peeper. She’s always been hard to spot inside her cage (hence the original name of Waldo as in Where’s Waldo), but this time she just wasn’t there. Then I noticed the cat lying in the middle of the floor peering intently under a chair. I started calling Peeper and she ran out from under the chair. I picked her up. Her head was soaking wet – either the dog or cat had been licking it! We checked her over for bites and found nothing. She gave us quite a scare, though. Mark fashioned a piece out of clear plastic to insert into the space she got through and that was the end of her budding career as an escape artist.

Cathy

Counting the Days

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The first time we left for a weekend after Spike came to live with us, we just packed up and said goodbye. My sister Deb agreed to look after ChiChi, Puss and Spike, so even though it was hard to leave, we knew they were in good hands. That is really an understatement – when we uncovered the bird cage on Sunday morning the odor of garlic was unmistakable. I called Deb to find out why; she, the bird and dog had a pizza party Saturday night – garlic pizza, no less!

We were so glad to be home. We had missed our babies and were relieved to find everything was ok; you know – first time leaving Spike and all. The cat and dog were glad to see us, but Spike definitely was giving us the cold shoulder. WTF? We couldn’t imagine why she wouldn’t respond to us when we spoke to her. She actually turned her back on us! We tried everything we could think of, but to no avail. We finally realized she was mad at us for leaving. It took about two weeks for her to get back to her old self.

Needless to say, we were a little nervous a few months later when we planned to visit friends for the weekend. We kept telling Spike that we had to leave for a few days, that Debbie would be here to feed her and take care of her and we would be back soon. Right before we left I got the bright idea to take Spike out of her cage, directly tell her again all we had been saying and even count off the days for her. “We’re leaving today, Friday; tomorrow is Saturday – we’ll be gone all day, and the next day is Sunday – we’ll be home that evening. That’s 3 days.” I know it seems corny, but she seemed to understand and heck, I was desperate!

We returned home as planned on Sunday evening and it was if we had never left. Spike was just as happy to see us as the dog and cat. We were thrilled. Every time we leave for a trip we go through the same ritual with all the birds. They know it by now, and as soon as Emelio hears “Ok, today is Friday. . .” he says “All right, love you, bye. I’ll be back.”

I also tell them not to bite Debbie, just in case. They seem to understand that she’s there to take care of them. Even Classy, who goes after everyone except me, will not strike at Deb when we’re not home. Spike behaves herself also. She’ll bite me if I put a bowl in her cage – I usually make Mark do it because she doesn't bite him. But she’s on her best behavior when Aunt Deb babysits.


Cathy

The Watch Bird

Rani somehow picked up the habit of alerting us to the fact that someone was in front of our house by emitting a loud wolf whistle. Mark has always hated that whistle – he says it hurts his ears. He has other reasons to hate it though. We ordered a pizza and the delivery person was a young pretty female. She pulled her car into the driveway, got out and handed the pizza to Mark at the front door. He put the pizza on the table and gave her the money. As soon as she turned to go back to her car Rani let loose with the wolf whistle. That girl spun back around and shot Mark such a dirty look that he backed up two paces, threw his hands up like she had a gun and said “I swear, lady, it was the bird.” She mumbled something not quite understandable and stalked off.

Another time Mark was doing something out in the garage. The overhead door was up and he was in plain sight. Someone happened to be walking by and Rani did her usual whistle. This time it was a guy; he turned around, probably expecting to see a female, but instead there was just Mark. He had to explain again that it was a bird.

She also fooled a guy living in the neighborhood. He was walking past the house, Rani whistled and he perked up and looked around to see who did it. My next door neighbor had a good laugh before she told him it was the bird. Rani was so faithful about her role as watch bird that after ChiChi (our Chow) started to lose her hearing she would listen for that whistle to know when to bark.

Cathy

Full Time Job

I don’t want to give anyone the impression that owning birds is all play and no work. I don’t think that I’ve done that, but just in case – I want to make it perfectly clear that it’s a lot of work. We used to say to each other when we were thinking of adding another bird to our family: “Well, what’s one more? “ Let me tell you; it’s another cage to clean, another set of bowls to wash, another set of bowls to fill and another little feathered creature flinging food like there’s no tomorrow! Vacuming is a futile chore, ten minutes after it’s done there’s always something back on the floor. One of our birds delights in watching me vacume around his cage, and then he’ll throw something out to watch me do it again.

The amount of dried on food that I have to clean off the walls is amazing. When the birds were in the living room I literally washed the paint right off the walls – now the walls of the bird room are covered with washable paneling, but I still have to wash them. Same for the cage bars – the birds wipe the food from their beaks onto the bars. Then there’s the bottom grate (to keep the birds separated from the dirty newspaper); dried bird poop is like cement. The powder coated cages are easier to clean than the older style gold ones (which is why we switched), but it’s still a chore.

We have seven cages to clean. Luckily four out of the seven birds have little or no interest in chewing paper, which allows us to either put the papers on top of the grate or eliminate it completely, depending on the cage style. The other three birds are obsessed with the paper and can’t leave it alone. We wipe the grates every night before covering the birds. It takes a half an hour at the very least from the time we start until we shut off the lights. The routine includes removing the soiled papers, replacing them with fresh paper, cleaning up the poop from the cage aprons or the floor or where ever it happened to land while they were on the cage top play area, getting fresh water and cleaning only three out of seven cage grates. It took much longer before we tried removing the grates.

Then there’s the weekly cage cleaning. It takes an entire afternoon to completely wipe every inch of each cage. I take out the bottom tray along with the grate, give them a thorough cleaning and add a huge stack of fresh papers to the tray. If I’m changing the toys in the cages it takes another day to remove the dirty toys, replace them with clean ones, then clean the dirty ones and store them for the next change. If we had one bird these chores would be much easier, but multiplied by seven it becomes work. But it’s work that I enjoy, believe it or not. The birds come out of their cages while I’m cleaning and we dance and sing to the radio and just generally have a grand old time.

I wouldn’t give up any of my birds, but after reading The Parrot Who Owns Me by Joanna Burger, I realized how wonderful it could be to have just one bird. The relationship that she has with her male red lored Amazon is truly amazing – I couldn’t help but wish I had just one because it gives you the time to form that kind of relationship. Then I came back to reality and realized I could never choose. Even the author has another bird that lives at her office!

Cathy

To Trim or Not to Trim

As with every other aspect of bird care, there are 2 views on whether wings should be trimmed. If there is any way for your bird to escape the house the wings should be trimmed – period. While visiting in Wilmington, NC I came across a baby African grey playing on a stand near the checkout at the back of the store. It was a Harley shop that also carried clothing – you get the picture – basically one large room. They had both front doors wide open. I could not keep silent. I approached the owners and started a conversation about the bird. I mentioned that they should be very careful about keeping the bird’s wings trimmed due to people constantly entering and leaving the store. The owners assured me that their bird would never escape. Two weeks after I returned home my friends called to say that the little grey had flown out the open doors of the store, and the owners were heartbroken. All it takes is one second for that bird to be gone – any scare and they take flight. Once outside they get lost, found by someone who keeps them or taken as prey by a hawk.


Okay, so why do I let some of my birds’ wings grow? When the birds were in the living room the wings were trimmed regularly. The door to the outside was right there, and even with a screen door it was just too dangerous. Now they are in a large room upstairs that has no direct access to the outdoors. There is a balcony off the bird room, but it’s screened in so they can enjoy it without worry. There is also a set of French doors between their room and the TV room that can be closed if necessary.

With the likelihood of escape lessened drastically, the decision to trim hinges on other factors. It really comes down to the individual bird. Spike does not fly because she now wears an Elizabethan collar due to her plucking, so she does not get trimmed. Peeper has to have her wings clipped because she has a tendency to fly to the other cages and I’m terrified she will be hurt or killed by the other (much larger) birds. Rani doesn’t bother to fly either, but I trim her wings because they get so ragged when she plays with her toys. Classy had to have his wings clipped when he came to live with us because after a week he became bonded to me and began flying to the other birds’ cages to attack them! Gideon and Alex get to keep their flight feathers because they don’t bother the other birds and are skillful fliers. Emelio also has his wings trimmed.

Last year I decided that maybe Emelio should learn to fly. He is extremely skittish and I thought it would give him confidence (and I hated to trim his wings because he disliked it so much). He was doing well, learning to control his landings and acting proud when I praised him about it. The bird room is about 24 feet long; it goes from the front of the house to the back. Emelio’s cage is the 2nd from the back of the house, and he liked to fly to the counter at the front, so he had some room to practice. In November he was sitting on the perch on the top of his cage when something scared him. He flew to the counter, but instead of landing he made a u-turn and headed for the sliding glass doors at full speed. He hit the glass and dropped like a rock. He was unconscious for a few seconds. Mark called me (I was downstairs, Mark was feeding the birds – we never let them out if one of us isn’t upstairs).

When Emelio came to, his head looked like it was going in circles. That only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like forever. Oh my God, I was so scared he wasn’t going to be all right. I held him for quite a while to be sure he was ok, and then we wrapped him in a towel and trimmed his wings. Like it or not, he will get trimmed regularly. I never want that to happen again. Yes, it probably can happen with any of them, but it hasn’t and they aren’t as skittish. Looking back, I can see that Emelio was just fine without learning to fly. He is quite happy to be carried to where he wants to go, and actually seems a little more confident now than when he was flying. Live and learn . . .

Cathy

Alex and the Swing

I put a swing in Alex’s new cage when we brought him home. He didn’t use it for two or three weeks. I don’t think he knew what it was. I was at my computer one afternoon when I heard soft talking coming from the bird room. Alex was sitting on the swing, rocking not to and fro, but from side to side and exclaiming “Oh, my God” and giggling. He just kept doing it, like he couldn’t believe it. He uses his swing every day now.

I always kiss the birds on the top of the beak. They just know it’s coming and reach out for it. Alex wasn’t used to that either at first. After a few days I caught him kissing other things – his perch, the T-stand, his toys; almost like he was practicing. He would press his beak against things and make a soft kiss noise. Now he’s a champion kisser, with loud smacks that can be heard through the entire house. He even throws kisses; he puts one toe to his beak and as he throws the foot out he makes a loud smack. Mark did it once or twice and Alex picked it up just like that.

It’s nice to hear the things Alex says now. “Bad bird” has been replaced for the most part by “Good boy!” He yells out “I love you” and follows it with a kiss. A lot of the negative is gone, at least when he refers to himself. Now he tells the dog that she’s bad, especially when she barks. He still loves to argue, though, and draws on the things he learned before he got here. I don’t think that will ever change. If Mark sings he is loudly told to shut up. Alex asked him what he was doing one morning. Mark said “I’m making your breakfast.” Alex replied, “Don’t f*ck it up!”

Although I know that the birds are smart, it always amazes me when they participate in an actual conversation. As Mark was getting the covers out of the cupboard one night this is what I heard:
Alex asked “What are you doing?”
Mark said “I’m putting you to bed.”
Al: “I don’t wanna go to bed”
Mark: “Well, you’re going”
Alex: “I’m f*cked”

Another time I was in the kitchen cooking. The birds aren’t allowed out when the stove is on (the thought of a bird getting burned or even worse, set on fire makes me cringe.) Emelio could see me from his cage in the dining room. He called out: “Hey, hon.”
I answered:“Yeah?”
Emelio: “What are you doing out there?”
Me: “I’m making fudge”
Emelio: “Oh, ok.”

When I’m cleaning the cage and he’ll sometimes ask “What are you doing that for?” Or after I answer something he’s said he’ll come back with: “What did you say, hon?” And I end up repeating myself to a bird! Then there was the time he overheard Mark identify himself on the phone. Emelio picked up our last name and started pairing it with all the other birds’ names. He would recite each of their names with our last name. He even did it with the dogs’ names. We had never done that, so he didn’t hear it from us.

Rani used to torment our previous pair of dogs (a chow and another Peke) by asking if they wanted a cookie. Then she would ask again, but she added her own twist on it: “You want a GOOOOD cookie?” she queried in a voice eerily similar to mine. It drove the dogs nuts.

Cathy

The Self Appointed Protector

Last night when we were watching TV something startled Alex and he flew across the room. That startled Gideon, who jumped to the bird room floor from the perch inside his cage. He doesn’t always choose to come out, so we don’t insist. When I picked him up I realized he needed a toenail trim – his nails were sharp as needles and kept getting caught on my shirt after we sat down. We took him back to the bird room, wrapped him in a towel and I held him as Mark trimmed his nails. Gideon was a little angel about it, like he knew he needed it. That is not normally the case; the birds hate it and scream like they’re being murdered, all the while trying to take a chunk of flesh out of their tormentors. Many times they’re successful. You wouldn’t think it would be that hard to keep a bird wrapped in a towel, but it really is tricky.

Even though Gideon didn’t scream at all, just the sight of Mark cutting his nails sent Classy into a fury. Early on he appointed himself the official protector. But he only protects the other birds from Mark, he thinks nothing of going after them himself! With an indignant Amazon scream and lots of angry clucking chirping, Classy jumped off his cage and came running at us at full speed with his wings spread out. Oops – we knew better than to do this without locking him up first, but we forgot again! I managed to keep Classy from biting Mark’s feet, just by blocking him with my foot. He’s less likely to bite me, although if he feels I’ve crossed the line I will get a good pinch. We finished Gideon’s pedicure with no problem. Classy even stepped up on Mark’s hand afterwards, which he never does.

After Mark returned Classy to his cage, Class must have decided that Mark got off too easily. He jumped off the cage again, even angrier than the first time, and proceeded to chase Mark around the bird room and out into the TV room. He does not stop until I pick him up. The sight of a bird about the size of a crow (or smaller), all puffed up and angry as hell, chasing a full grown man is really hilarious. Classy didn’t actually bite Mark this time. The last time we trimmed the grey Mark wasn’t so lucky. Classy chased him around the bird room while jumping up and biting at Mark’s calves.

Thank God that Mark is such a good guy. It’s not everyone who would take the kind of abuse he does and keep coming back for more.

Cathy

The X-Rated Macaw

We got Alex when he was about 9 years old. You never know what they'll say, if anything. I had been told that he was an excellent talker, even alerted to the fact that he was known to drop an F-bomb now and again. That didn’t bother me; I was used to it from years of working with factory people. The fact is, I drop a few myself.

We were actually amazed at his vocabulary. I knew that macaws talked, but this one rivals, or may even exceed the grey in the vast amount of things he says. He had been with us just over a month – it was the first warm day in May and we had all the windows open. I was cleaning up after dinner and Mark was upstairs in the bird room washing veggies. One of Alex’s favorite things to do is argue. He gets very excited when he hears a raised voice, and Mark likes to get him going. They had exchanged a few words when I heard Alex say slowly, in a very loud and extremely clear woman’s voice: "I DO NOT GIVE A F*CK.” My eyes grew large as I looked towards the stairs. He continued: ”I AM NOT LEAVING THIS HOUSE, AND I DON’T WANT TO FIGHT ABOUT IT.” Oh good Lord, I thought – the neighbors are going to think that’s me! I yelled quietly up the stairs “Mark – shut the windows!!”

We found that a lot of the things Alex said when he first came to us were extremely negative. These included: ”Bad bird, That’s bad, Shut up, Can’t I get any quiet?, Do you want me to get the hose?, What is your problem? Elliot – NO, Stop it, Oh God, The problem is the aluminum”, and my personal favorite: “The problem is that f*cking neighbor, Albert!” Thank God we have no neighbors that I know of named Albert.

I also quickly discovered that Alex was terrified of mops. I have to cover his cage completely when I mop the bird room or he freaks out. When he’s on the T-stand in the TV room and there’s a mop commercial on he will fly out of the room. (No, I do not clip his wings. I will discuss why in a future post.) I think maybe someone used to strike his cage with a mop to try to shut him up. Most of his vocabulary had something to do with being quiet. A macaw’s screams are very loud. Alex will scream 4 or 5 times, then tell himself to be quiet. It can be annoying, but some screaming is expected and should be allowed. Heck, birds are noisy – not all the time, but they are. They can be sitting quietly in their cages when the phone rings. As soon as you answer it they start, exactly like kids will. I always have to shut the bird room door when I’m on the phone. Yelling at a bird to shut up doesn’t work. They love drama and a raised voice from you is just what they’re after.

Cathy

Sunday Showers

Sunday morning is shower time. The birds love it - well, some do, others just tolerate it. Alex, Gideon and Rani love it. Classy, Spike and Emelio toerate it; and Peeper prefers her bath.

She will either bathe in my cupped hands or a shallow dish with water running into it - the colder, the better. I run the water as cold as I can tolerate! She really hates to be sprayed wtih the mister bottle. I think this is absolutely adorable.

Sometimes the birds decide they can't wait and take a bath in their water bowls. They can't get their entire body in the bowl, but that doesn't seem to matter, as long as they get their head and neck wet that seems to satisfy.

Here's a picture of Classy bathing to the sound of the vacume cleaner. I don't know why that gets them going, but it does. Sometimes they just fluff up and scream instead of diving into their water bowls like Rani is doing.

Cathy