A Parrot in the Parlor

We have inherited another gray pet. I say 'another' because we already have Charlie, the gray mini-poodle, who has been part of the household since he moved in with Bette when she came home from Florida several years ago. Cody, the gray Burmese mix domestic short hair cat, was adopted from Compassionate Companions when he won me over from his cage with his easy going ways.

My dad, Mike, is no longer able to care for his African Gray parrot, Skyler. Someone had to take her. So.....I thought, how hard could it be to take care of a bird. Clean up the cage, recycle the newspapers in the bottom, scrub out the feeding dishes, get some seed and enjoy the chatter.

Wrong.

She's much more complicated than your average aloof cat or doting dog. This animal has definite ideas about social issues. She and I got along pretty well the first week she moved in. Pat was gone on a trip to Florida, so it was up to me to settle her in. The original spot for the cage was quite aesthetic, I thought, centered in the living room by a big window. She wasn't happy until I moved her into the great room where she could see the kitchen and all the activity that goes with a living area.

Then there was the lesson about returning to captivity after a feather-flapping outing on top of the cage. We finally agreed on the key word 'IN' after about a week of 30 minute standoffs.

I was feeling good about our relationship and the other two pets got over their jealousy when the revolting development occurred. Pat came home. I wasn't sure he would take to the idea. That was not the problem. He liked her very much. The dynamic here became critical when, lo and behold, Skyler fell in love with my husband. (You can see where this is leading.) Pat let her out of the cage and fed her grapes and toast with jam. Cute, I thought. Nice. I just do sunflower seeds and some very expensive, vitamin-formulated, tasty fruit bits. Then I reached to refresh her water dish. She ruffled her feathers and dove at me, piercing my hand badly with her can-opener beak. A brief and angry battle ensued with me laying a tremendous guilt trip on her 'after all I've done for you' and how well she would blend in between two cornish hens after I fatten her up for Thanksgiving. Pat rescued us both and the lines were drawn.

So this is how it is. Skyler is happy in her new home now and we give each other space and share dominance. She goes in and out of her cage when I ask her and I wear safety glasses and body armor. She will tell me her preferred schedule if I don't head off to bed at 9:00. "Good night, Skyler," she says quite clearly. This battle of wills is destined to play out for some time. Parrots can live to 50 years of age.....if they behave.