Today is my mom’s birthday, so she asked me to write the blog post for her. I wanted to give her some of my favorite toys, but I chewed them up pretty good. I give her lots of pretty feathers every day.
Mom says I had an under-privileged chickhood. I don’t know what that means, but the first place I remember living was with a guy who called himself an amateur pharmacist. He had lots of money, and worked at night. Drove a big, noisy car, too. He kept me in a room all by myself, which wasn’t much fun. I tried to call to him to come play with me. But he just closed the door.
He fed me lots of pasta and bread, which I now demand to have. Mom doesn’t give me too much, but Dad does. Too bad I don’t like him much. Oh, this guy I lived with back then, he did a lot of business on the phone. I could only hear part of his conversations from the other room, so my phone voice is low and mumbly. And there’s lots of pauses in there.
Then a nice lady bought me because I kept making more and more noise. She was pretty cool, but not my mom. She didn’t really know how to act around parrots. She didn’t like some of the words I learned from my first owner, either. She had really nice feet, so that made me kind of happy.
Her sister took me in next, and she tried to love me, but she still wasn’t my mom. I bit her hard sometimes, and would scream at her. But she never put me in a room alone. And she gave me pasta and bread. I guess I should have been nicer to her.
One day she took me to A Bird Haven to get my mani-pedi, and she met a nice man named Frank. Frank was not afraid of me. His calm and firm manner made me trust him, and I went to sit with him without biting or screaming. The nice lady decided right then to give me to Frank. I was very happy with Frank and his roommate, they let me chase their feet, and they had other birds that I talked to. They were home a lot, too.
In the apartments where they lived they knew lots of people, many came to talk about birds and see their flock. One man really liked me, and I was okay with him. So Frank let the man take me home. He had a nice little boy and a dog, and a new nice lady. We had a good time until they had a new chick. I think they called it a baby. Whenever I talked too loud, the baby would cry. Everyone seemed cranky, even me. The family gave me back to Frank.
I didn’t know it, but Frank learned he had a sickness that he could not get better from. He liked me a lot, but he wanted to find a good, permanent home for me. He was good like that. One night he put me in a carrier and said we were going to the bird club meeting. We waited outside the apartment and mom pulled up to give us a ride. I didn’t know for sure she was my mom then, but I liked her right away. She let me sit on the wheel in the car, and talked to me. When it was time to go, I had to go back in the carrier.
At the meeting, Frank put my carrier on a long table, and mom sat at the other end. As soon as he opened my carrier door, I walked down to see her. I could tell she was the right one, she was nice to me, and she knew just how to scratch my head. Frank seemed surprised that I let her scratch me, but she was special enough to me. I picked her out right then.
I was surprised that Mom didn’t take me home that night. She came to the apartment and looked at my pretty cage. Then she went away. A whole week went by and I worried I didn’t tell her clearly enough that she was MY MOM! But then she came back, and with Dad too. They loaded my cage in the car, put me in the carrier, and we went home.
A year has passed since that day. I still love my mom, and she still loves me lots. I like to shower with her, and I like to sit on her lap and chew on her fingers. She gives me chips and yogurt, and lots of toys and things to chew. If she is home during the day and Dad isn’t home, she lets me run around on the floor. I like Dad when he gives me cheese and bread, but I don’t want him to be too close to Mom. I think he knows now that she’s a one-bird lady. Now I just have to convince her to get rid of the other birds, and we’ll be fine.
That’s my story, and Mom just learned it at a memorial for Frank. The second lady I lived with showed up, and she and Mom talked for a long time about me. I guess Mom misses Frank a lot.
Happy Birthday, Mom! Lots of birdy lovings. And she says she’ll be back on Sunday.