Coffee & Cruellers

Cold and wet this morning; big storm out west headed this way, we're told.  I've got coffee and pastries and a million things to do -- all indoors -- so I'm not too worried about the weather.


The birds are, as always, busy, busy, busy.  Charli is chewing up a nice thick paperback book that cost me $1.00, and the two cockatiels have come out of the cage in order to climb up to the top and then down to the bottom and then back up to the top and down to the bottom.  If something startles them, they'll fly into the kitchen and land on top of the cabinets.

Here is a picture of them just as I opened the cage door this morning.










And here Flash demonstrates how to leave the cage and climb around to the back of the cage where he likes to hide behind the cage cover so that I can't see him and immediately freak out, thinking he's gotten out and is in trouble somewhere . . . . with Cheb supervising and encouraging him on.

Obedience

Here Flash and Cheb demonstrate how well they obey me.  Flash is the one on the left.

Inseperable

Quarantine is over.

Someone else's food is always better than yours; even if it's the same food.

I worried that Flash might not like Cheb or that Cheb might not like Flash; I needn't have worried at all.  I was prepared for Cheb to say in his own cage for as long as he wanted, which turned out to be less than one day.

Cheb moved right in with Flash, and Flash let him.  They eat together, they fly around the house together and hang out on top of the kitchen cabinets together, pretending I don't know where they are. (No, I don't let them stay up there long, and they are not allowed out when I'm cooking.)

When they're in the cage they are both busy all the time.  Walking back and forth, climbing up and down, chewing on toys.  They are quite devoted to walking the perimeter of the cage and to keeping the toys under control -- well, Cheb keeps the toys under control; Flash has never seemed interested in toys.

I'm not sure who's "dominant" yet.  I'm not sure Cheb knows how to preen or be preened by another bird, though Flash keeps pushing his head at Cheb.  Sometimes Flash follows Cheb around; sometimes Cheb follows Flash.  I have yet to hear any hissing or any disagreement of any kind.

Flash went into Cheb's cage to welcome him to the house.

Cheb continues to chat incessantly, and I think he's practicing some new words, which I can't wait to hear.

I am so lucky to have Cheb; I don't know how his ex-mom could have given him up but if she ever comes across this blog I want her to know that Cheb is happy, he's good friends with Flash, he's healthy and is slowly eating better, and is in all ways quite full of himself.

The Battle of the Seed

Cheb was on an all-seed diet when I adopted him. In fact, I suspect he's been on an all-seed diet all of his life.  We don't know exactly how old he is, but I think he's relatively young.

Getting him on Harrison's is one of my first goals with him.  In this picture is his usual mixed seed, which he is ignoring in favor of bits of millet spray.

He evidently doesn't recognize pellets as food. I've been crumbling up Nutriberries on top of his seed mix, and he seems to like those pretty well -- ignoring the pellets, of course.

Flash's basic diet is Harrison's, so I'm really hoping he'll show Cheb that they're okay to eat when quarantine is over.  I'm also hoping Flash will teach Cheb how to use the water bottle.

Cheb talks and whistles all day, and Flash shrieks and paces and worries because there's another cockatiel in the house he can't see.  I reassure him as best I can, but he isn't convinced.

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.

Transitions

It's been dreadfully hot and humid the past few weeks.  Storms yesterday, and a nice peaceful day today in the mid-80s.

I've had a good Saturday.  Farmer's market early this morning, then some serious decluttering of my home office.  Threw out three big bags of trash, and took two big loads to Goodwill.

Birdies and I had fresh, sweet corn on the cob for lunch, and I also had tomatoes with cottage cheese.

The big news is that I finally found a way to take early retirement!  I'll still have to work, of course, but I won't have to worry about being destitute.  My last day at that place will be October 8.  

I'm applying for online instructor jobs and I won't mind working part-time for the university, but I won't ever have to go back to the place that's been driving me crazy for the past three or four years.  There's even a good chance I'll be able to get enough peace of mind back to get some writing done.

I've been missing Sugar Franklin a lot the past week or so.  This time last year she and I were engaged in the mighty battle of cockatiel beak versus syringe.  She always won.  I was looking for something in the outside storage building the other day, and the first thing I saw was her cage.  I didn't clean it very well when I put it out there, so I was thinking today maybe I should just throw it out.  In the unlikely event I ever get another bird it will always be her cage.  I think I have another cage just like it in another storage area.  We don't have any rescues in this area, so there's really no one to give it to.

The Bobbsey Twins are just as silly as always, arguing over which perch to sleep on, throwing any poisonous substances such as vegetables out of the food dishes, demanding Nutriberries every night.

Charli is well, though I think she's been a bit more quiet lately.  More happy to sit on my knee and doze or hang out on the basket in the plant stand after a hard session of chewing up the sudoku book.  She's had a few more yellow feathers come in on her legs.  Someone on the brown-head list has noticed this on his brown-head as well; he likens it to getting gray hair.  Charli is about 11 now, maybe moving into the beginning of middle age for a brown-headed parrot.

I worry sometimes that I give her more attention than I do the Bobbsey Twins, but she demands more while the cockatiels have one another and don't seem to mind if I'm around or not (as long as there are plenty of treats available).

The Plot Continues

This is little Flash, snoozing between bouts of scheming with Nicholas.  He has such a beautiful crest, and he's an awesome flier.  I adore him.


Things continue to be unhealthy at work, and I've got applications out everywhere I can.  Personal life is pretty stable; family members and friends all well. The weather here is nearly as bad as it is everywhere in the nation.  Spring cannot come quickly enough.


All my parrots are spoiled and continuing their work on the Great Parrot Takeover.  I no longer pretend I'm anything but a pawn and almond provider in their diabolical plans.

In this picture Nicholas and Flash eye me warily.  Evidently I interrupted some sort of planning session.


I've told all my non-parrot-owning friends to begin the search for me if they don't hear from me for a certain amount of time.  Just in case.

I was up late last night, which was okay because I figured I could sleep late Saturday morning. Except, of course, that I forgot that Nicholas does not believe any creature should sleep once the first molecule of sunlight appears.

So, in response to continual chirping and calling and demands to get the cage covers off, I drug myself out of bed and took off the cage covers. Congratulated everyone on being all nice and awake. I watched the Bobbsey Twins scamper around their cage, then Flash decided it would be a good time to masturbate. Which he did, while Nicholas tried to preen him. Flash likes to hold onto one of Nicholas's toys, a long rubbery bright pink spiraly thing, when he masturbates -- only it frequently slips out of his foot so he has to stop, grab the toy, readjust himself, and start over.

This proves that no life is without its complications.

Then I opened the blinds to see 2 finches and 2 female Cardinals at the bird feeder, and a never-before-seen-by-me bird at the suet cake. It had vivid sharp stripes of black and white, the tip of its head had a splash of red, and its breast was gray.

(Sidebar: If you aren't already a member of Cornell's Project Feeder Watch, do give it some thought. People all over the US note the birds at their feeders on specific days, which provides lots of data on migration patterns, numbers of birds, and other scientific stuff. Costs $15 a year and is fun to do. It runs from mid-November to April, but you only have to pick out a two-week period that's convenient for you. Here's the link. And no, they don't fuss at you if you forget.)

Back to my post -- The bird feeder swings in the air, and as I watched, several more birds flew down to feast. Except this was not acceptable to the birds already there, so there ensued a no-nonsense air battle whereupon everyone flew away.

I guess the birds could see my reflection in the window because they wouldn't stay around long enough for me to get group pictures or do a mini movie. This picture was taken through the screen and glass, and you can't see it but the feeder hangs from a tree branch.

Sugar Franklin always loved watching this view -- there are always seeds on the ground for the ground feeders and I use safflower seed in the feeder because the bigger birds (crows, starlings) aren't interested in safflower seeds. To the left of the neighbor's house and the feeder you can see part of the neighbor's back yard and out over into the street. She always had something interesting to keep track of when her slave wasn't home to provide scritches and treats.

I am most assuredly getting better. It's still strange to speak of her in the past tense, but I can speak of her now without bursting into tears and that's a sure sign of improvement.

Well, it's Saturday and I have a long, long list of things to get done today. God knows my parrots won't help with any of it . . . .

Flash Taking a Walk

Flash was walking around the living room -- he was so cute trotting around. But by the time I got the camera he'd gone back under the cage and wasn't much interested in coming back out.

I just love how well he minds me.

Little Flash and Nicholas showcased tonight!

Let's see -- Sugar Franklin acted ever so slightly distressed on Saturday; tail bobbing just a tiny bit, sleeping a lot. She'd laid an egg on Tuesday, so I knew there was another one on the way despite my very best lectures to her. The vet's office closes at noon on Saturday so I rushed her in, whereupon she perked up enough to make a liar out of me. She was about 5 grams heavier than usual, and the vet felt the mass without a shell. That one only cost me $55, but I'm made of money, you know.

She laid a perfect egg on Sunday morning, whereupon she's been her usual feisty aggravating self.

Work has been quiet this week; my supervisor is on vacation. Thank you, God.

The weather is typical for us this time of year. Seventy degrees one day, snow the next. It rained most of last weekend and was warm this week, but they're warning us of snow for the weekend,

I've been having all kinds of epiphanies (I don't think that's spelled right) related to my piano lessons. My self-talk is not good, and I'm way too hard on myself and get frustrated because I can't "do it right," which leads to more negative self-talk, which leads to more frustration and the growth of nine extra fingers, none of which will strike the right key.

O is going to Europe for three weeks, and she gave me three weeks' worth of homework. Mostly scales, which I hate, but these are supposed to help me learn to play with hands in one position and then lift my hands to move to another position. This sounds so easy I imagine my two readers are lifting their eyebrows, but believe me it is incredibly difficult to move and get your fingers all arranged in a completely different position within the space of a quarter note. Even though she always insists I go as slow as I need to, but still.

Last week's lesson included a song in which I was to play stacco (short, clipped notes) with my left hand while playing legato (smooth and connected) with my right. At the same time. I simply could not and still can't do it. O and I had a really bad lesson this week because of it, but we worked it out.

I bought a metronome a couple of weeks ago. I'd never seen one other than on TV before. It's a little electronic, digital thing that will beep from 40 beats a minute to over 200 beats a minute. I tend to stay around 64 to 68. It will do all manner of other things but I have no clue what they are or what good they'd do me. Anyway, it sort of made me feel like a real musician. Or at least a reasonable facsimile of one.

My Little Flash

Flash, the little cockatiel pushed on me at a bird fair by a rather unscrupulous breeder, doesn't like me much. He'd rather die than allow me to pet his head or touch him -- unless he needs transportation across the room.

That's okay; I love him anyway.

I took him in for his annual well-bird exam, and the vet found a little spot on the hock of his right foot. It looks like a little scab from a burn, but it isn't on the part of the foot he uses or sits on. He has a heated perch but the temperature is so low I don't see how he could have burned himself on it or how he could have sat on the perch in such a position to injure that part of the foot, and temperature of the perch is different from the base to the tip so he has total control over where he stands. And he doesn't use the heated perch much. I've never seen him favor his foot or show any sign of discomfort at all.

Anyway, we don't know what it is. The vet told me to watch it and if it didn't look better in a few weeks, come back in. Then the blood work came back, and the vet said there was an increase in some kind of enzyme that denotes tissue damage. She thinks it's probably from the place on his foot, but I have to take him back in a couple of weeks to be sure.

Naturally, Flash isn't what you'd call willing to let me look at his foot, but I persist. Usually I can sneak a look at the place by twisting my head and looking kind of upside down at it without touching him (it's visible from the back when he's in a normal stance), but sometimes I have to pick him up. And then give him an extra treat for the "trauma" of it all. I feel guilty because I didn't know he'd hurt himself, and because I don't know what caused it.

Flash has a crooked beak, which makes his little face look off-center, as you can see in the picture. It doesn't affect his eating at all. I don't care -- I'd love him if he had two crooked beaks.