Liz

She could be maddening.

Stubborn.

A real pain in the ass.

But we loved her anyway.

(Saturday, April 13, 2013)

Nicholas

My sweet little Nicholas, who died on November 11, 2012.

He was always loud and opinionated, a firm believer that humans were put on earth to scritch his little head.

He had the softest feathers of any parrot I've been fortunate enough to touch.

We're still not quite sure what happened. I noticed his nares were red and he fell off his perch. I hospitalized him over night and his breathing got better. I brought him home, but could get enough nutrition down his stubborn little beak. Back to the hospital, where he was doing better and then died that night.  The necropsy suggested he died of aspiration.

All I know is that he's gone and I miss him terribly.

Flash seems to have blossomed though, now that Nicholas is gone.  He didn't spend much time being sad or looking for his cage mate, but he immediately began singing Nicholas songs -- as loud and pure and uncannily accurate as if it were Nicholas himself.

James Baker Hall

We all knew this was coming, but when Charlie casually mentioned he'd heard hospice had been called it was still too much for me to hear.

I called his wife and left a short message but they both already know how much I love them. There's nothing left to say.

What I will remember is his laugh and the clear way he always pronounced my name, each syllable crisp, his long discourses on poetry and literature and ego and ego-lessness. If you're not risking anything, he would tell us in those late afternoons, don't bother to write. He wanted us to come to the page naked and honest, perhaps for the first time in our lives. If you're not risking anything . . .

Too easy, I guess, to say that he made it safe for me to finally risk in my work. During our first conference he said he took me seriously as a writer -- the first person who ever had.

Over the years I took everything he had to give me, greedy for more without much idea of ever being able to pay back. My first and probably only book of poems is dedicated to him, but it probably won't be published in time for him to see it.

That night so long ago at Tolly Ho's, Carole and Tina and Jim and I sitting around, on our fourth or fifth pitcher, talking about rock 'n roll, and Jim turning to me to ask, "You've been awfully quiet. What do you think?"

And I said, "I was just thinking that I love you." I saw the tears in his eyes and flustered I went on, "I don't mean, you know, . . . " I got up to go to the jukebox to play some Fleetwood Mac song to cover up our embarrassment.

Safe journey, my friend. Safe journey.

April 1935 - June 25, 2009

Autumn

Rain today and cold tonight. Cold forecast for tomorrow as well.

The rain is very welcome; we're in a moderate drought here, but other counties in the state are in a severe drought.

But the first of the autumn rains means summer is over. And I'm not ready.

I've started back with my piano lessons, which means learning chords and trying to get my fingers to stretch and move independently of each other. But during today's practice I actually played two songs in mostly correct time and with chords. Yea!

A friend had to put down her German Shepherd yesterday. Looking over this blog I realize how many deaths that have touched me in some way there have been this year. I'm in my mid-50s now, and I guess I should get used to it. But I don't think you ever get used to it.

My mom had her 79th birthday Tuesday. For several months now she's been saying, "In a year I'll be eighty years old!" in an alarmed voice. I told her she'd better be enjoying her 79th year rather than worrying about something a year away. An old boyfriend called her, but said he didn't realize it was her birthday. Their breakup was bad; they're both stubborn and contrary and they both need to lighten up a little. But it's her business, not mine. She and I are kinda taking bets to see if he calls again and asks her out.

As for the neighbors . . . this past weekend a white Cadillac was in the driveway. Last Friday I finally got an Obama/Biden yard sign and I stuck in the yard. A few days later I saw the neighbors (who live on the corner) had put one in their yard, right at the corner.

Then maybe Monday when I parked and opened the car door, two of the puppies (now a lot bigger) came running over. I knocked on their door and said their dogs were out; the young black woman who I never see outside anymore said they had let the dogs out, they hadn't "escaped" from the fenced-in yard. She apologized, and I said it was fine -- I just didn't know if they were supposed to be out or not. While we were talking the puppies were all over my feet, playing.

Charli is still picking at her leg feathers. I think/guess what's happened is that I give all my babies Nutriberries as a nighttime treat, plus Charli eats her veggies and so on plus my dinner, which means she isn't eating as much of her Harrison's high-potency. When she doesn't eat Harrison's high-potency, she plucks. So I'm cutting back on the Nutriberries and putting more Harrison's high-potency pellets in her Special Treat Dish. She ate them last night, so I've got my fingers crossed that's why she's plucking her little leg feathers.

Well, I need to go. Sugar Franklin is on my shoulder, demanding scritches.

Paul Newman

If there was ever an actor with class, it was Paul Newman. A magnificent actor, a man married to the same woman for 50 years, a creator of a successful charity, a fast race car driver . . . .

And he never had to appear on Entertainment Tonight to show himself off. Very few actors have the kind of natural presence he had.

As handsome at 83 as he was at 25, I've loved every movie of his I've seen -- I'm sure I haven't seen them all and I guess there'll be a run on his movies at the video stores for awhile.

Ken Globus

Ken Globus' methods were decried by numerous parrot behavior consultants because those methods depended on the technique of flooding, but there are several parrot owners out there who found his techniques effective through all the years he practiced.
_____

Ken Globus: March 7, 1946 - Sept. 10, 2008
The Bird Whisperer

Dear Friends:
This will come as a surprise to many people who didn't know he was ill, but Ken Globus passed away on September 10th. Ken, who hadn't been a smoker for about 25 years, was diagnosed with lung cancer that had spread to his esophagus. What's truly shocking is that, between his original diagnosis and his death, only 10 weeks had elapsed.

Most of you are receiving this email because you're on his mailing list. So most of you know him as The Bird Whisperer.

Here are some things you may not know about how Ken got started working with aggressive and phobic birds. Our parents used to own a tropical fish store in Inglewood, California. One day, our mother cleared out some space in the store and asked Ken what he thought would be a good idea to put there. Ken thought about it, then suggested that they might start carrying a few birds. Since our parents knew nothing about birds, they put Ken in charge, and he got to work reading books and researching bird behavior before he bought his first bird for the store. Keep in mind that, in those days, almost all birds sold in stores were wild caught, not bred in captivity - so they were usually pretty terrified and unruly. What Ken discovered - to his great surprise - was that very little of the advice in the bird books was appropriate for dealing with aggressive birds. So, through trial and error, he learned how to work with them.

One of the many qualities that made Ken so successful with birds was his patience - he could simply persist until a bird decided that being aggressive wasn't working to drive Ken away. Another quality that served him so well was his flexibility - if one thing didn't work to calm a bird, he'd try something else until he made progress. (Parenthetically, it's a quality that also made him a great father.)

When my parents reached an age when they were no longer able to run a demanding business, Ken went out on his own, doing private training sessions for bird owners. It was at one of those sessions where an immensely grateful client said, "Ken, you really are a bird whisperer."

Ken called me and mentioned the incident, and I suggested he use the name The Bird Whisperer because I thought it would quickly convey what he was capable of doing. But he was reluctant to use the name because he thought some people might think it was a bit pretentious. As a marketer, I reasoned that, at the very least, it was very easy for people to remember, where Ken Globus was not. He finally agreed.

Over the years, a lot has been written and said about Ken's techniques. You are certainly free to dismiss what I'm about to say as the biased rantings of a grieving brother, but I was simply blown away by what Ken was able to do with birds. I traveled with him both to private sessions and public workshops, and I watched him calm birds that couldn't even be touched by their owners. I saw people sobbing at the the sight of Ken stroking a bird's neck, a bird who wouldn't allow even its owner to come near it for over a decade. And I saw this happen many times.

His bird-training sessions really picked up when he set up his web site. For the first time, people outside of the Los Angeles area where he lived could get a sense of what his techniques were all about. He began to be interviewed by news organizations, magazines and newspapers, all of them interested in how he was able to tame birds so quickly. He was hired by zoos, bird stores, and rescue organizations to deal with birds they'd given up on. And somewhere along the line, Ken got a phone call from a woman who identified herself as Kate Capshaw. Thinking it was a joke perpetrated by one of his friends, Ken hung up on her. She called back and informed him that she and her husband, Steven Spielberg, would like Ken to come to their house for a private session. He gulped, and agreed. And as Ken showed Kate how to handle the bird, Steven walked all around him with a video camera, recording the entire hour-long session. Talk about pressure!

Through his many interviews and public appearances, Ken got to be pretty adept at dealing with one kind of pressure or another. The type that gave him the biggest problem came from his detractors who often wrote vicious and totally untrue things about him, and he would sometimes forward to me the more outrageous items. Usually we would giggle like schoolgirls, but I found some of these things to be appallingly mean-spirited, and I would want him to post an angry rebuttal. But, for the most part, he wouldn't. He simply felt that these people were uninformed. I always thought that was a most charitable way of looking at it, especially considering that many of the most shamelessly idiotic things were perpetrated by some of the more authoritative people in the bird world, people who felt more comfortable sniping at him from a distance rather than bothering to actually attend one of his events. But I digress.

What Ken was able to do with birds wasn't magic. Ken was just an incredibly sensitive and intuitive person who, in a very short span of time, could figure out the best way to get a bird over its fears. At this I'm fairly certain there were few like him.

I can also tell you that as a brother, there were none like him. He was kind, funny, incredibly bright, supportive, generous, and courageous - qualities he displayed up to his dying breath.

Last week there was an occasion I'll never forget. It was only a few days after his passing, and my wife wanted to put together a "remembrance", where a few friends could gather to talk about what Ken meant to them. Even though this was thrown together at the last minute, over 60 of his friends showed up, and I'm certain that, given enough time, a few hundred might have been there. Ken was loved and appreciated by so many people. There were folks there from various stages of his life, all relating stories about Ken that helped to paint a complete picture of him. And what a picture it was!

He was a great guy. A talented man who could do so many things well. And he was my best friend for 57 years.

- Dennis Globus

Tweety

Only people who live with parrots can understand why this is such an endearing picture. There's nothing much cuter than a really wet parrot.

This is Tweety, who owned Jenn, for 13 years. Tweety died after a long illness on Monday, September 8.

People who have never lived with parrots cannot understand. Yes, it's devastating to lose a loved pet, but parrots are different. Parrots are not like dogs or cats or reptiles or rabbits or guinea pigs. Parrots are mostly smarter than we are. They're the descendants of dinosaurs. They teach us to play complex games with them. They talk to us in our language. They scheme for ways to trick us and amuse us. They fly. Mostly, they're the magic we deserve to have in our lives.

Nearly everyone on Tiel Talk cried with and encouraged Jenn through Tweety's illness and trips to the vet, and we rejoiced when Tweety improved and became her mischievous self again. We understand because we live with parrots, too.

Jenn was so lucky to have Tweety for so long, and Tweety was so lucky to have Jenn for so long. Jenn is a better person for having had Tweety. And I imagine Tweety was a better bird because of Jenn.

Jenn's house is silent now, that awful terrible silence left behind when the magic goes away.

But Jenn will always have some of that magic in her heart in a special light place, even though she can't see it right now or even comprehend that she'll survive the grief.

Those of us who share our lives with parrots have all been given great gifts of magic and wonder. And even though the loss is unbearable what remains is a gift of love, a connection to nature and to the higher parts of ourselves. It is an honor and a blessing to live with parrots, no matter how short the time seems.

Rest in peace, little Tweety. We loved you well.

Friendship and Death

A friend of mine and her mother were killed Monday in a terrible auto accident. She left behind three parrots that were her pride and joy. Her father isn't that crazy about birds, so an ex-friend of mine said she'd take them until homes could be found -- which was a blessing. But it's not easy to find good homes for a parrot -- with people who know how to care for parrots and how to deal effectively with their behavior.

I saw on a listserv that an old friend of the deceased wanted one of the birds, only this person is known for mistreating her birds. My ex-friend knows this yet was encouraging on the listserv. I'm just broken hearted, first to lose my friend and then to think that one of her beloved parrots might be going to this inappropriate person.

We so desperately need a parrot rescue and adoption facility here; the nearest ones I'd trust a bird to are in North Carolina and Cleveland. I've talked to a couple of friends about opening a branch of a nationally known bird adoption center here, but none of us have the time or the money or can find enough people to make it work.

Today was time for Sugar Franklin's annual well-bird exam; she looks good, but we'll do blood work on Thursday (holiday messes up delivery times so we couldn't do it today). She's been sleepy and quiet since we got home. She's all tucked in and sound asleep now, like the other three.

Tonight some fool has been firing off fireworks here in the subdivision. Just noise and smoke. I imagine him (of course it's a man) standing in the street lighting these things and hoping everyone sees him, as if the noise and smoke and light are a direct indicator of his maleness. But it's just annoying and dangerous and stupid.

I keep wondering what those three parrots have been thinking -- their "mom" vanishing and then being moved from their home into a new place. We know parrots grieve, but we also know they're adaptable. I hope they'll be okay.