My readers both know that Maynard, my double yellow headed Amazon parrot, is my fair haired – er, feathered, child. He gets more treats, out time, and conversations than the other birds in the flock. Some of this is because he demands it. But part of it is that he’s just such a joy and a love.
I have called Maynard my puppy parrot, because of the way he likes to play, and run around on the floor. We just added a dog, Tilda, to the flock, and she resents that comparison. Maynard doesn’t play tug, doesn’t walk on a leash, and doesn’t lick me to distraction. Not.A.Puppy.
She wouldn’t be so insistent if she got the same amount of treats that he does. She’s had to watch and drool when Maynard got a chicken bone to chew on. I tried to give Tilda uncooked beef bones, but she didn’t much care for them. Maybe if Maynard got them first?
Every morning, my husband shares his toast with the parrot. He started doing this in an attempt to win Maynard’s approval if not affection. The ploy hasn’t worked, but now they have a routine from which we cannot deviate. Or there will be screaming.
Tilda would love a bit of toast. She watches and licks her chops as this happens. Sadly, Tilda has a delicate stomach, and any deviation from her regular food means dire consequences for her and the person who cleans up after her. The same goes for the cheese, tortillas, peanuts, and cooked carrots that regularly get handed in to Maynard.
We have nicknamed Tilda our Hooverella. She hoovers up the carpet around the bird cages. This resulted in a memorable occasion involving corn kernels and a blatant lack of digestion. As a result, I have been better about vacuuming the carpets around the bird cages. I still miss the occasional red pepper. I can’t believe she eats those.
When Tilda came to stay with us, she was a rescue from a bad situation. She’s turned into such a loving and fun companion who gains more confidence every day. She was underweight, but possibly that was due to having been bred almost to death. Now fixed and an only dog, she is gaining weight. We walk twice a day, every day. But she’s starting to look like a little loaf of dog.
I dread the thought of having to ration her food. She may actually learn to open the bird cages and steal their apples and cooked food. Tilda is a very smart dog. She chose me to adopt her, after all.
Thanks for reading, I’ll be back on Sunday.