Feeding Birdies

My birds seem to like Harrison's birdie bread -- that is, they chow down as soon as I give them a bowl of it, but they never seem to want seconds.  I don't think I'm giving them too much because I've seen how many Nutriberries they can scarf down without taking a breath.

If you're familiar with Pat Sund's blog Parrot Nation, you probably already know about chop.  Pat didn't invent chop, but she has brought it to everyone's attention -- so much so that nearly every parrot slave has at least a few packages of chop in the depths of their freezers. 

Of course, I've made a couple of batches of chop myself.  It's not necessarily difficult but it does require some thought and planning.  For example, I was making it for two small birds but there's no graceful way to purchase half or quarter of a cabbage at the grocery.  Flax seed is easy to measure from those big containers at the local food co-op but canned black-eyed peas not so much.  So I ended up with a huge amount of chop I figured would last me at least a year.  Honestly, I froze it in tiny amounts of less than two tablespoons.

My parrots eat it with about the same enthusiasm as they do birdie bread.  They love it for one meal, then they want something else.  This used to worry me until I decided to look at it in a different way.

They all eat Harrison's as their basic diet, plus whatever table food I share with them plus Nutriberries plus chop or birdie bread.  My avian vet has assured me they're all healthy.  So I'm thinking now that they aren't overly interested in second helpings of anything because their diet is pretty much balanced (as far as any of us really know about parrot diets).  The only thing they ever want seconds of is Nutriberries.  The only thing I usually want seconds of is ice cream, so I understand.

I think next I'm going to try one of Pat's grain bakes.  I'll let you know how that turns out, too.

Living with a Talking Parrot

I've never lived with a talking parrot before Cheb, so I haven't been prepared for the nightly ritual, which goes as follows . . . .

I cover up Cheb's cage and wish him a good night.  A few minutes later I hear a soft "whatcha doing," followed by a louder "whatcha doing."  Followed then by "pretty bird," repeated at various sound levels.  Then an entire assortment of noises and gurgles and whistles and mumbling goes on for maybe ten more minutes.

All this plus frequent chattering during the day.

Cheb's ability is really amazing, and I'm thrilled to have him.  But it's taking some getting used to.

Memes of the Day

If you're a parrot slave and enjoy jokes and cartoons about parrots, have I got a blog for you!

I've been posting humorous memes related to parrots and other birds on Scritches.com for a time now. Not every day or on any kind of regular schedule -- just whenever the mood strikes.







Here are a few to get you started.

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.

Cheb's First Vet Exam

 




Cheb went in for this first well-bird exam yesterday.  He bit the technician several times and fought the veterinarian with all his might when she poked and prodded him.  I'll take him back Monday for blood work.













Here Cheb is surveying the exam room, including my cup of coffee, the veterinarian's glasses, and Cheb's new microchip documentation.

New Birdie

If I had unlimited time and money and

space I'd love to have four or five of each species of parrot.  

But I have neither the time or money or space, so I'm perfectly happy now with Charli and with Flash.

Until I saw this little cockatiel offered for adoption from a local dog and cat rescue.

His name is Cheb. He was found under a car three years ago by a woman who kept him until now. She's working full-time and going to school full time, which doesn't leave much time for Cheb.

He is extremely smart. He says "whatcha doin" and "pretty bird" and seems to be working on some new words.  He loves to whistle and sing, too.

Toast

I admit it -- I love toast. Hot from the toaster oven, smeared with real butter, topped with marmalade or jelly.

This morning I had cinnamon and sugar on my toast. On real bread from Great Harvest, not that squishy blob stuff from the chain grocery.

And I'll admit this, too -- today's post isn't really about toast.  Toast is just my way of easing into the act of writing something other than the endless comments on Facebook.

The third thing I'll admit is that I'm severely addicted to Facebook. I love the stream of colorful posts between snippy saying from people I've never met but consider to be "friends" because we've shared Facebook posts for years.

sigh . . . .

It's been a rough week.  No doubt about that.  My last aunt died a few weeks ago, then Liz Wilson died, and then I got the news that my last uncle (not related to my last aunt) was not expected to live much longer. I had a bad episode of depression, so bad in fact, that I was mean to my therapist. I'm sure he's used to far more abuse than someone like me can hand out, but I feel rotten about it. An apology is in order, and he'll get one at our next appointment.

I continue to job search, with no success.  I've written a couple of articles for which I won't get paid; more of a favor than anything else, plus it's good for my so-called discipline. Well, if I actually had any discipline, that is.


Had a quick chat with the tomato guy at the local farmers' market yesterday morning.  He told me what plants to order, which I will. I do this every year, without any success, but I love tomatoes and sooner or later they'll thrive!

I'm not 100% sure how I feel about the police not giving Miranda Rights to that guy who bombed Boston earlier this week. He's an American citizen, so he has those rights regardless, right? They've certainly got more than enough evidence to convict him.

L and I went to that restaurant out of town I've been wanting to visit.  Beautiful farm country, 30 minutes from my house, deserted roads, delicious food, good service. I had the country ham and swiss po-boy; L had the pulled pork sandwich. I ate too much dessert.

It's going to be a beautiful day. Tonight I'm joining Bev and some of her friends at Bella Notte to celebrate her birthday (which is tomorrow).

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.

This is Normal?

I have no excuses, so I offer none.

Today promises temperatures that are not in the triple digit range, so I think I'll do some cooking for a change. Maybe a meatloaf or something. With real vegetables.

My book is finally published and out. It isn't as good as I wanted it to be, but when is something I write ever good enough? It's finished and I'm glad I wrote it. (You can order your very own copy by clicking here.)

The problem now is what to write next. I've been thinking about doing a book on how parrots change lives, but there are a lot of logistics to work out first.

The parrots in my life are, as usual, perfect. The Bobbsey Twins like to stand on the open door of their cage and just watch things. Or nap.  At least once a day one of them will become frightened of something real or imaginary, fly off and across the room, and land on top of the kitchen cabinets. This causes the other one to follow suit. Then come the contact and alarm calls (though they're standing next to one another) for me to come "rescue" them. Which I do and they fly back to their cage and stand on the open door.

Charli has developed some sort of obsession with her metal food bowl. I've used these bowls for years as well as small white bowls, but suddenly the metal bowl must be attacked, thrown around, and subdued. I've been trying to get it on video because it's so adorable how Charli hauls that bowl around, but once she sees the camera she drops the bowl and pretends everything is normal.

Right, like anything is normal in this household . . . .

Changes

The TV I bought a few years ago in order to receive whatever it is that changed and made our old televisions obsolete began developing problems a few weeks ago.  When I turned it on nothing would happen until I unplugged it, plugged it back in, and turned it on, and then waited.  And waited.  The waiting times grew longer and longer until I got fed up with it yesterday.

I took it to an appliance service store, only to find they don't work on this particular brand.  They assured me that the cost of diagnostics and any repairs would soon be more than buying a new television.

So, for less money than I paid for the first television with a DVD player, I bought a bigger TV and a blue-ray player.

What to do with the old one, I asked.  Oh, the clerk told me, people just throw them out.

Just throw them out.

It makes me feel old.  I grew up accustomed to televisions that lasted a long time, clock radios that lasted a long time, appliances that could be repaired, even shoes that could be repaired.

Now we just throw 'em out.

Single Crochet, Double Crochet

When I was in the third grade my grandmother attempted to teach me how to crochet, but I couldn't comprehend how to hold the needle and pick up stitches and drop stitches and count rows. Later, after she died, I found dozens of exquisite lacy pieces of crochet in all manner of patterns and sizes.  She had told me that she had never been able to crochet more than the simplest pieces, so the antique pieces must have belonged to her mother or grandmother.

In my 20s I sewed a lot of my own clothes and even learned to knit and purl but I could never figure out how to end stitches or bind off.  In my 30s I crocheted a simple shawl that didn't require anything more complicated than single crochet stitches.

Tonight I took a beginner's class in crochet.  My fingers remembered the way to hold the needle and how to make the chain stitch after all these decades.  We learned the double stitch and the slip stitch tonight; next week we make a pair of fingerless gloves.

On the way to the class I stopped at a favorite restaurant for an early dinner, only to find the only parking spaces were the ones with those awful automatic parking meters a block away.  You have to walk a block, pay $1.00 an hour via credit card or cash, get a piece of paper, walk back to the car, and put the piece of paper on the dashboard.  Everyone detests these things, so naturally they're everywhere.

Just as I opened my wallet to pull out a dollar bill a man shouted at me from across the street.

"Have you put any money in yet?"

"No," I said.

The street was empty and a middle-aged man in jeans and glasses ran over to me.  "I've got a lot of time left on my ticket," he said.  "If you want it," he added.

"Wow," I said, "you've just made a bad day better."

His car was parked behind mine, and he was right.  There were 45 more minutes left on his parking slip.  I thanked him, he grinned, got into his car, and drove away.  Later I wondered if I should have offered him money, but I didn't think about it at the time.

Instead I think it was probably his random act of kindness for the day.  Paying it forward.