Post by Swamp Gas on Jan 28, 2005 10:49:04 GMT -5
The Parrot In The Bathroom
Our dog-loving columnist finds the bird life surreal indeed. And you thought your cat was strange
By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist
Friday, January 28, 2005
Mark Morford
The Parrot In The Bathroom - Our dog-loving columnist finds the ...
01/28/2005
It's a terrifically odd and slightly disconcerting moment when you're at one end of the long narrow San Francisco hardwood-floored hallway and you hear a soft click click click of tiny taloned feet and you stick your head out of the kitchen and look down the hall, and you see this bird.
You see this one-foot-tall gray parrot, actually, tiny and delicate and uncommonly dwarfed by the high, arched 14-foot ceiling, just calmly walking down the hall and seeking you out and you just stand there and smile and watch as you get this strange and slightly unnerving sensation that says, whoa, wait wait wait, that's a bird. In my house. Walking toward me. On purpose.
This particular parrot is young, nine months of age. This particular parrot is still developing her personality and she has yet to speak a single word but odds are she will, oh will she ever, African grays being, we know, the most intelligent and talkative and sentient of all the parrot species, armed with the strongest potential vocabulary and most uncanny ability for mimicry, and studies have shown that this particular species can actually understand and use human language (as opposed to merely, well, parroting it).
But for now it's just a symphony in warm-up a few times a day, all manner of preparation sounds, gurgles and chirps and clicks, grunts and scratches and long, low burps, sing-songy whistles and monkey hiccups the likes of which make you laugh out loud and look on in amazement at this creature's tiny throat and tiny brain and wonder, what the hell is in there?
These are the things that make your life peculiar and interesting and slightly surreal, make you shake your head and sigh and look up to the universe and say, wow, what the hell, how did this happen and what sort of energy did I put out that brought this thing into my life and, I mean, who would've thought? A parrot.
Which is not to say I've abandoned my search for a fabulous dog. But I have to say, this bird thing is pretty cool.
The parrot in question is actually my SO's African gray, a beautiful but relatively random impulse purchase months back at the S.F. Bird Mart that instantly turned into an oh-my-God-what-have-I-done anxiety attack (as such purchases invariably do) the very next day, followed by a very quick learning process and a few weeks of calming down and slow but now quite lovely assimilation of this odd fluffy preening goofy neurotic creature into our lives. Mostly.
She is an unparalleled mess, this bird my SO named Anaya. Food and seeds and shredded toys and shredded magazines and shredded anything she can get her beak around will inevitably end up on the floor, not to mention the countless smallish parrot poops like friendly fire in numbers you would not believe (once every half hour, minimum).
Everything is chewable and everything is fair game and I have already replaced my cell phone charger and my speaker cable and carefully repaired a number of other cords, clips and connectors (and earrings and shirt snaps and the buttons on the TV remote) the bird has happily and very quickly chewed to pieces. Keep your cats with their fur balls and dogs with the shedding and drooling and the chewing of shoes. This one-pound feathered chirpball can wreak more havoc in an hour than a rabid Pomeranian with the mange. I am so not kidding.
But lo, there are, of course, wondrous upsides. Much to our surprise, this bird is, we have discovered, a massive snuggler. A cuddler supreme, which is rather astounding given how grays are not generally known for their warmth and not known for enjoying human contact and they can be aloof and nippy and anxious and downright bitchy, like Paris Hilton with a gin hangover.
Not this one. Not with her owner, anyway. With her, it's like the bird is fused to her at the wing. It's beak to cheek, head bowed for regular petting, nonstop light pecks/kisses. The bird cannot get enough. She is ever desirous to be in physical contact with my SO and ever seeking out someone's shoulder to ride on and ever flopping down from her cage to waddle over and attempt to climb up the couch to find her owner and she will, as previously noted, walk the length of the apartment to find her (or, sometimes, me), and if we are slouching halfway down the couch watching "Project Runway" or something the bird will happily "perch" just above the SO's breast and promptly hunker down and puff up and fall asleep. Which is, I have to say, a sight to behold.
This bird, quite literally, shakes her tail feathers. She sometimes stretches out her neck so far it must double her overall body length. Her head can rotate all the way around, like a dial, so she is looking at you upside down. She is absolutely terrified of the vacuum cleaner and will screech and growl and hop/flutter away as fast as birdly possible (her wings are clipped to prevent full flying and unexpected open-window escapes) and hide in the bathroom when it's running.
And she is always, always watching. Always observing. This is the African gray way. Keen eyes are always on you. Bad personal habits seem to be silently noted. Random bodily sounds you may emit, you secretly hope the bird is not recording for future parrot playback. (grays are famous, after all, for uncanny mimicry of not only the human voice but also any sound whatsoever. Appliances. Doorbells. Telephones. Vibrators. Etc.) All of which can make sex, shall we say, a more curious adventure indeed. (Future imminent conversation: "Oh, my God! Where did she learn that noise? Oh, right.")
The bird has a perch in the shower and loves the steam and could stand there and chirp all day long. In my apartment, her latest favorite perch is just under the coffee table, on the iron support crossbar, which I imagine is purely instinctual, given how parrots aren't exactly the top of the food chain in the wild and are usually preyed upon from above and therefore the table provides a serious canopy of protection from falcons and carnivorous monkeys and who knows what else. Or maybe she just likes to look at our shoes.
Creatures like this make you see your life differently. Dogs we're more accustomed to and cats require little maintenance or thought and even hamsters and gerbils and other four-legged furball things seem relatively common and easy to understand as they've been domesticated for generations and we've been raised with them for ages and we understand their behavior and needs and weird noises and stunning array of smells.
Whereas with a wild, two-legged feathered creature that walks around your house and makes itself known, you have a whole new set of links to the animal kingdom. A new set of senses is awakened and you see the world through those tiny intense eyes and it's shocking and delightful and annoying and messy and quirky and new.
And did I mention these parrots can live 60 years? Did I mention she will probably outlive her owner? Did I mention that the SO will have this very same bird when she turns 40, and 50 and even 60, through all manner of life changes, marriages and kids and divorces and multiple presidents and menopause and retirement and who knows what else? Did I mention how this fact makes you see the very concept of time differently? No I did not.
No matter. At this point, you can sit there for hours and watch her move around and flutter and stretch and do her bird thing and be almost constantly amused, entertained, almost like having a human baby but without the screaming and the diapers and the 4 am feedings and the debilitating college fund and the teenage body piercing. After all, it's a bird, fer chrissakes. A beautiful red-tailed small-boned lovely winged creature with talons and a beak and a propensity for defecating on your favorite shirt. And it loves you.
How very weird -- and wonderful -- is that?
Our dog-loving columnist finds the bird life surreal indeed. And you thought your cat was strange
By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist
Friday, January 28, 2005
Mark Morford
The Parrot In The Bathroom - Our dog-loving columnist finds the ...
01/28/2005
It's a terrifically odd and slightly disconcerting moment when you're at one end of the long narrow San Francisco hardwood-floored hallway and you hear a soft click click click of tiny taloned feet and you stick your head out of the kitchen and look down the hall, and you see this bird.
You see this one-foot-tall gray parrot, actually, tiny and delicate and uncommonly dwarfed by the high, arched 14-foot ceiling, just calmly walking down the hall and seeking you out and you just stand there and smile and watch as you get this strange and slightly unnerving sensation that says, whoa, wait wait wait, that's a bird. In my house. Walking toward me. On purpose.
This particular parrot is young, nine months of age. This particular parrot is still developing her personality and she has yet to speak a single word but odds are she will, oh will she ever, African grays being, we know, the most intelligent and talkative and sentient of all the parrot species, armed with the strongest potential vocabulary and most uncanny ability for mimicry, and studies have shown that this particular species can actually understand and use human language (as opposed to merely, well, parroting it).
But for now it's just a symphony in warm-up a few times a day, all manner of preparation sounds, gurgles and chirps and clicks, grunts and scratches and long, low burps, sing-songy whistles and monkey hiccups the likes of which make you laugh out loud and look on in amazement at this creature's tiny throat and tiny brain and wonder, what the hell is in there?
These are the things that make your life peculiar and interesting and slightly surreal, make you shake your head and sigh and look up to the universe and say, wow, what the hell, how did this happen and what sort of energy did I put out that brought this thing into my life and, I mean, who would've thought? A parrot.
Which is not to say I've abandoned my search for a fabulous dog. But I have to say, this bird thing is pretty cool.
The parrot in question is actually my SO's African gray, a beautiful but relatively random impulse purchase months back at the S.F. Bird Mart that instantly turned into an oh-my-God-what-have-I-done anxiety attack (as such purchases invariably do) the very next day, followed by a very quick learning process and a few weeks of calming down and slow but now quite lovely assimilation of this odd fluffy preening goofy neurotic creature into our lives. Mostly.
She is an unparalleled mess, this bird my SO named Anaya. Food and seeds and shredded toys and shredded magazines and shredded anything she can get her beak around will inevitably end up on the floor, not to mention the countless smallish parrot poops like friendly fire in numbers you would not believe (once every half hour, minimum).
Everything is chewable and everything is fair game and I have already replaced my cell phone charger and my speaker cable and carefully repaired a number of other cords, clips and connectors (and earrings and shirt snaps and the buttons on the TV remote) the bird has happily and very quickly chewed to pieces. Keep your cats with their fur balls and dogs with the shedding and drooling and the chewing of shoes. This one-pound feathered chirpball can wreak more havoc in an hour than a rabid Pomeranian with the mange. I am so not kidding.
But lo, there are, of course, wondrous upsides. Much to our surprise, this bird is, we have discovered, a massive snuggler. A cuddler supreme, which is rather astounding given how grays are not generally known for their warmth and not known for enjoying human contact and they can be aloof and nippy and anxious and downright bitchy, like Paris Hilton with a gin hangover.
Not this one. Not with her owner, anyway. With her, it's like the bird is fused to her at the wing. It's beak to cheek, head bowed for regular petting, nonstop light pecks/kisses. The bird cannot get enough. She is ever desirous to be in physical contact with my SO and ever seeking out someone's shoulder to ride on and ever flopping down from her cage to waddle over and attempt to climb up the couch to find her owner and she will, as previously noted, walk the length of the apartment to find her (or, sometimes, me), and if we are slouching halfway down the couch watching "Project Runway" or something the bird will happily "perch" just above the SO's breast and promptly hunker down and puff up and fall asleep. Which is, I have to say, a sight to behold.
This bird, quite literally, shakes her tail feathers. She sometimes stretches out her neck so far it must double her overall body length. Her head can rotate all the way around, like a dial, so she is looking at you upside down. She is absolutely terrified of the vacuum cleaner and will screech and growl and hop/flutter away as fast as birdly possible (her wings are clipped to prevent full flying and unexpected open-window escapes) and hide in the bathroom when it's running.
And she is always, always watching. Always observing. This is the African gray way. Keen eyes are always on you. Bad personal habits seem to be silently noted. Random bodily sounds you may emit, you secretly hope the bird is not recording for future parrot playback. (grays are famous, after all, for uncanny mimicry of not only the human voice but also any sound whatsoever. Appliances. Doorbells. Telephones. Vibrators. Etc.) All of which can make sex, shall we say, a more curious adventure indeed. (Future imminent conversation: "Oh, my God! Where did she learn that noise? Oh, right.")
The bird has a perch in the shower and loves the steam and could stand there and chirp all day long. In my apartment, her latest favorite perch is just under the coffee table, on the iron support crossbar, which I imagine is purely instinctual, given how parrots aren't exactly the top of the food chain in the wild and are usually preyed upon from above and therefore the table provides a serious canopy of protection from falcons and carnivorous monkeys and who knows what else. Or maybe she just likes to look at our shoes.
Creatures like this make you see your life differently. Dogs we're more accustomed to and cats require little maintenance or thought and even hamsters and gerbils and other four-legged furball things seem relatively common and easy to understand as they've been domesticated for generations and we've been raised with them for ages and we understand their behavior and needs and weird noises and stunning array of smells.
Whereas with a wild, two-legged feathered creature that walks around your house and makes itself known, you have a whole new set of links to the animal kingdom. A new set of senses is awakened and you see the world through those tiny intense eyes and it's shocking and delightful and annoying and messy and quirky and new.
And did I mention these parrots can live 60 years? Did I mention she will probably outlive her owner? Did I mention that the SO will have this very same bird when she turns 40, and 50 and even 60, through all manner of life changes, marriages and kids and divorces and multiple presidents and menopause and retirement and who knows what else? Did I mention how this fact makes you see the very concept of time differently? No I did not.
No matter. At this point, you can sit there for hours and watch her move around and flutter and stretch and do her bird thing and be almost constantly amused, entertained, almost like having a human baby but without the screaming and the diapers and the 4 am feedings and the debilitating college fund and the teenage body piercing. After all, it's a bird, fer chrissakes. A beautiful red-tailed small-boned lovely winged creature with talons and a beak and a propensity for defecating on your favorite shirt. And it loves you.
How very weird -- and wonderful -- is that?
