A "Temporary" Resident

When my husband and I told our teenagers “NO . . . MORE . . . PETS!” we meant it. It was part of our new “simplification program,” an undertaking we hoped would reduce the stress in our lives.

Our nerves and finances had been pushed to the limit after years of living with our children’s animals. We’d suffered through a dog that howled like a demoniac, a cat, Max, whose bullying of neighbouring felines had resulted in expensive “repair” bills, and Kato, the rat, who had an overwhelming compulsion to chew everything in sight, which left our furniture and tempers frayed!

Our daughter Selena was puzzled by our new resolve. She worked in a pet store and loved all the animals in her care—and naturally felt the best place for most of them would be our home.

She had trouble believing we were actually serious and began a subtle campaign. She extolled the benefits of boas, (yes, the constricting kind!) told tales of tantalizing tarantulas, and finally treated us to a homily on hedgehogs—without success. Undaunted, she played her trump card.

Selena knew that years earlier, while visiting Oahu, I’d been captivated by the colourful macaws I’d seen in Paradise Park. With this in mind, she described her store’s parrots and, in particular, a sweet two-month-old Congo African Grey she cared for. My husbandand I listened with growing fascination, as she told of spoon-feeding sessions and the loving cuddles they exchanged.

One afternoon, Craig and I stopped by the pet store. We were in the mall anyway and told each other it wouldn’t hurt to “just step in and say hello.” Selena promptly led us over to the cage where the baby bird was. The little fellow peeked up at us out of endearing round eyes, then cooed, “He-llo,” and we were hooked!

Sensing the tide of parental opposition had turned, Selena now took the plunge. “I’m moving out in a few months, so, it’s not like you and Dad would be going back on anything . . . er, you know, your simplification program,” she said. “The bird wouldn’t be a permanent resident so, honestly, I wouldn’t think you were being inconsistent in your resolve. The way I see it, this is a win-win situation for all of us—especially Bailey-bird; he would be lost if he were sold to anyone but me.”

Somehow, after seeing the little tyke, we didn’t have the heart to say no; and before we knew it, another creature had come home to stay.

And stay . . . he did. Selena moved out eventually, but had difficulty finding a landlord who shared her enthusiasm over a parrot accompanying her to her new lodgings.

Bailey-bird, meanwhile, was delighted his verbal utterances evoked such adoring “ooh’s” and “aah’s” from us. He graduated from his sweet hellos with gusto, becoming increasingly adept at communicating his every wish.

He soon learned that “want” could precede nearly every request in the English language. His “Want-a drink?” was followed by: “Want an apple”; “Want-a cookie”; “Want some orange juice”; “Want-a nut”; “Want more!” When he tired of this, he became inventive. “Need a drinky,” he’d urge. “Need to go get some orange juice.” “Need some supper . . . well, come on!”

In short order, Bailey discovered another form of communication, facilitated by a device he was fascinated with. When the phone would ring, he’d go into action. “Hello?” he’d ask huskily, his intonation uncannily like my husband’s. Then he’d continue: “Uh huh. I see. Oh dear . . . hmm . . .yes. Okay. Catch ya later. Bye.”

Living with a bird that, it’s been said, has the intelligence of a four-year-old has certainly been an eye-opener. This is brought home to me every time I start brushing my hair or applying make-up. Bailey watches intently, and then asks, “Time to go bye-bye?” If I fail to respond, he’ll mutter softly to himself: “Yup, haf’ta go bye-bye, lovey. See ya later, alligator.” This latter part is most important. Bailey needs to tell himself, or hear, that reassuring “see ya later” part to feel at ease over our leave-taking.

Bailey’s powerful flocking instincts were manifested the first time Craig had to be away from home for three days. Craig told Bailey good-bye before he left that afternoon, and Bailey and I spent a peaceful evening together; however, when Craig failed to appear the following morning, Bailey knew something was amiss. He repeated urgently, “Craig’s gone bye-bye.” I agreed with him but this only added to his distress. When he started pulling his feathers out, I knew something had to be done. I explained that Craig had gone bye-bye but “we’ll see him later.” I emphasized that last part over and over. This must have done the trick because Bailey quit his destructive behaviour.

Although Bailey has accepted that, at times, we have to be absent, he’s developed inventive ways to avoid being separated from us when we are in different areas of the house.

Craig related that one day he heard me calling him. He knows when he hears my “HEY . . . CRAIG,” it’s prudent not to ignore it. He was in his workroom in the basement but came upstairs to answer my summons. He found the kitchen empty so he returned to the project he was working on. Soon he heard “HEY . . . CRAIG” again, and sighing, put his work aside and trudged back up the stairs—only to find an empty room. Confused, he went in search of me, unaware I’d gone outside. He was crossing the living room when he heard me calling to him from the bedroom. Figuring he’d located me at last, Craig entered the room and was surprised to find only Bailey . . . sitting innocently in his cage. Bailey must have seen that my summons was particularly effective and, feeling lonely, used it to call Craig.

A second incident involved my stepmother. She was in the area and we invited her to our home for a family dinner. I’d put Bailey in his cage in the bedroom, just off our dining room, but he made it clear he wasn’t too happy about that. He did his best to catch our attention by calling, shrieking, and whistling, and when these attempts failed, he resorted to maniacal laughter. He sounded so funny, we gave in and brought him out and put him on his parrot tree in our living room. Evidently, this still wasn’t close enough, because Bailey flew over and landed on my stepmother’s head!

Bailey’s colourful speech and hilarious antics have won our hearts. Our daughter still hopes to take him one day, but for now, he’s a family bird, shared and loved by all.

He’s become such a fixture in our home that Craig and I chuckle when we remember how determined we were that no more critters would cross the threshold . . . in those long ago days when we stated firmly “No more pets!” and then became caretakers of a delightful “temporary” resident.

Parrot questions? Contact Athlyn Green

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