Maynard time. He gets the most attention, I always drag him out when company comes over, people ask about him. I steal packets of crackers from buffets so I can give them to him. I keep tortilla chips that I can’t eat on hand because he likes them. I cook too much pasta because Maynard likes it. But he doesn’t seem to realize how much I do for him.
Okay, so he doesn’t really like to be taken out and paraded around like a puppet. And it’s my duty to feed him what he likes. But why does he hate my shoes?
One of the first things I learned when I picked up Maynard to bring him home was that he loves feet. Well, he attacks feet. He feeds my feet. Ew. He chews on my socks if I am not paying attention. But if he sneaks into the bedroom, he goes right to my shoe rack and starts laughing maniacally while throwing shoes everywhere. When the rack is empty, he runs to the closest one on the floor and gives it another good bite. All the soles of my shoes have beak divots.
Shoes aren’t the only enemies in our house. Maynard also hates new toys. He hates new food. He won’t go near the new play stand I brought home. And he hates towels. On warm days I take him in the shower, and he could take or leave that. But when we get out, if I try to dry him off, I have to keep my fingers out of the way.
Closed doors aren’t so much enemies as challenges. If he can’t open the door, he tries to chew through it. If that’s not fast enough, he starts to call for me. If I don’t open the door, he starts to chew the rug or flooring outside the door. I wish I had a safe area outside to take him, to see if he would dig a hole to get out.
A funny aside, I have mentioned before that we have a DefCon 2 infestation of mice. As Wikipedia says, the next step is nuclear war. With downsizing and putting some birds temporarily in the living room, I have been able to clean the bird room and plug up holes in the ceiling and floor. Now I have to go through all the things and sort by what to keep, what to trash, what to sell, and what to recycle. Most of it has to be washed. I was making good progress on a particular box, when down near the bottom I turned over a seed cup. A mouse jumped straight up into the air, did a summersault, and fell back into the box. I made what my husband calls my default noise. The mouse jumped out of the box onto my foot, then disappeared. I stood and screamed as loud as I possibly could. It seemed the thing to do at the time.
When I looked up, Maynard was running as fast as his little legs could carry him. He refused to go back in that room the rest of the day. Wish I had a video of it. No, he doesn’t know he’s a bird and he could have flown out of there. Maybe that’s a good thing.
Thanks for reading, I’ll be back on Sunday.