How I Live Now
No, not the Meg Rosoff book that won all those awards.
I'm talking about life-with-parrot.
Please understand, I've never wanted to own a parrot, but my family has dreamed parrot-dreams for years, and sometimes when you're part of a family, well, it just has to go their way. So, enter Frank the Parrot, about whom I've spoken several times already. He's really cute and sweet as parrots go. But he's not supposed to be my bird.
The only thing is, nobody told Frank the Parrot this simple fact.
And Frank the Parrot has decided I am his one and only, his long-lost soulmate, the female with whom he should bond for time eternal. With parrots, this involves lovely behavior such as regurgitating food for me to share (parrot puke, woot! on my shoulder, woot!), nesting, defending and protecting, and oh, joy. Life is busy. It goes something like this.
1. I get up and have coffee scratching Frank's head as he sits on my chair arm, or more typically, my chest, attempting to block my view of my laptop. This could go on all day if I'd allow it. When I stop, Frank often gets distressed and tries to pull my hand back to his head.
2. I write an email. Frank lovingly vomits his breakfast and gazes at me, hoping I'll partake.
3. A few minutes later, puke and other leavings removed, I return to email and what's left of my coffee. Frank speaks sweet parrot nothings in my ear. Literally. "Hi, Frank. Pretty bird. Whatcha doing bird. peekaboooooo. Hello? Heelllloooo? Hey, Frank. How are ya, Frank. Helllooooooooooo? Peeeeeeekaaaaboooooooo." Then he usually burps. He obviously thinks this is sexy and laughs. Then he bites my ear a lot.
4. I perservere and write another email and slog through the last sip of coffee as Frank heads off to my bookshelf to build me a wonderful parrot home. This involves selecting all my papers, pitching them in the floor one at a time, and the same for books, cd's, remotes, the phone, and anything else I've been foolish enough to leave in his reach. I often remove him from the bookshelf 20-30 times, at which point, go back to paragraph 2 and begin again.
5. If Frank gets everything removed from his chosen shelf (which varies by day), he'll then happily begin chewing into the wood to hollow out my soon-to-be-nest. I remove him 20-30 more times, at which point he swaps to trying to hollow out my nest in the hall wall, my roomate's desk, the floor in front of my chair, the widescreen television, the laptop screen, or my piano.
6. If I leave the room, Frank follows, strolling along behind to supervise.
7. If I eat, Frank eats with me, as in right on my arm, out of my plate, unless I put him in his cage.
8. If I move too quickly, Frank flies to land on my shoulder so he doesn't miss a moment of my fascinating journies. This gets interesting in places like . . . the bathtub.
9. I spend a goodly portion of the afternoon sucking up to the cats and dogs who can't get near me without being parrot-bitten for daring to notice my existence.
10. I spend most of the evening sucking up to the sulking family, who wants to be adored by the parrot, who bites them and ignores them.
11. I spend the wee hours of the night reading parrot training articles obsessively.
So, yesterday, I tried "ignoring" the mating behavior and all the affection, and refused to let Frank get on my shoulder (the advice of so many of the articles). At which point, Frank had a fit of pique and made sad, upset noises, said depressed things, then ripped out lots of his pretty feathers.
Yep. He's the psycho-stalker-I'll-hurt-myself-if-you-leeeeaave-me bird boyfriend. Oh, goodie!
After more article reading last night, today I am trying to use my status as the parrot's preferred human to widen his horizons and get him to attend to others. I encourage him to step up on them and praise him for attention he pays them. We're doing a step-up-with-no-demands routine, where he's just asked to get up on someone else, then gets to return to his own activities after a favored treat.
If this doesn't work, I might have to move away, or take out a restraining order. . . .
I'm talking about life-with-parrot.
Please understand, I've never wanted to own a parrot, but my family has dreamed parrot-dreams for years, and sometimes when you're part of a family, well, it just has to go their way. So, enter Frank the Parrot, about whom I've spoken several times already. He's really cute and sweet as parrots go. But he's not supposed to be my bird.
The only thing is, nobody told Frank the Parrot this simple fact.
And Frank the Parrot has decided I am his one and only, his long-lost soulmate, the female with whom he should bond for time eternal. With parrots, this involves lovely behavior such as regurgitating food for me to share (parrot puke, woot! on my shoulder, woot!), nesting, defending and protecting, and oh, joy. Life is busy. It goes something like this.
1. I get up and have coffee scratching Frank's head as he sits on my chair arm, or more typically, my chest, attempting to block my view of my laptop. This could go on all day if I'd allow it. When I stop, Frank often gets distressed and tries to pull my hand back to his head.
2. I write an email. Frank lovingly vomits his breakfast and gazes at me, hoping I'll partake.
3. A few minutes later, puke and other leavings removed, I return to email and what's left of my coffee. Frank speaks sweet parrot nothings in my ear. Literally. "Hi, Frank. Pretty bird. Whatcha doing bird.
4. I perservere and write another email and slog through the last sip of coffee as Frank heads off to my bookshelf to build me a wonderful parrot home. This involves selecting all my papers, pitching them in the floor one at a time, and the same for books, cd's, remotes, the phone, and anything else I've been foolish enough to leave in his reach. I often remove him from the bookshelf 20-30 times, at which point, go back to paragraph 2 and begin again.
5. If Frank gets everything removed from his chosen shelf (which varies by day), he'll then happily begin chewing into the wood to hollow out my soon-to-be-nest. I remove him 20-30 more times, at which point he swaps to trying to hollow out my nest in the hall wall, my roomate's desk, the floor in front of my chair, the widescreen television, the laptop screen, or my piano.
6. If I leave the room, Frank follows, strolling along behind to supervise.
7. If I eat, Frank eats with me, as in right on my arm, out of my plate, unless I put him in his cage.
8. If I move too quickly, Frank flies to land on my shoulder so he doesn't miss a moment of my fascinating journies. This gets interesting in places like . . . the bathtub.
9. I spend a goodly portion of the afternoon sucking up to the cats and dogs who can't get near me without being parrot-bitten for daring to notice my existence.
10. I spend most of the evening sucking up to the sulking family, who wants to be adored by the parrot, who bites them and ignores them.
11. I spend the wee hours of the night reading parrot training articles obsessively.
So, yesterday, I tried "ignoring" the mating behavior and all the affection, and refused to let Frank get on my shoulder (the advice of so many of the articles). At which point, Frank had a fit of pique and made sad, upset noises, said depressed things, then ripped out lots of his pretty feathers.
Yep. He's the psycho-stalker-I'll-hurt-myself-if-you-leeeeaave-me bird boyfriend. Oh, goodie!
After more article reading last night, today I am trying to use my status as the parrot's preferred human to widen his horizons and get him to attend to others. I encourage him to step up on them and praise him for attention he pays them. We're doing a step-up-with-no-demands routine, where he's just asked to get up on someone else, then gets to return to his own activities after a favored treat.
If this doesn't work, I might have to move away, or take out a restraining order. . . .
posted by WriterChick at 3:55 PM
2 comments
