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Exotic Birds: Lively Multilingual

When I was a veterinarian assistant from 1977 to 1979, I was given two exotic birds—one of whom was terminally ill. My instructions for him were to “love him to death”; that is, to love him until he died. But I have loved him ever since, too.

He was a Salmon-Crested Moluccan cockatoo. I had always wanted a cockatoo but hadn’t the income to be able to afford one. So when he came into the clinic to be “disposed of”, one of the veterinarians let me know of his situation and asked me if I wanted to take care of him and love on him for as long as he lasted. I jumped at the chance.

Unfortunately, he didn’t last very long. He was gone within the week. Although he didn’t appear to be suffering, he was definitely and obviously wasting away by the day. He was still responsive, reactive and friendly, though.

Unlike most cockatoos, he was scary quiet because he was in an end-stage condition. All he wanted was to be held, scratched and loved. I don’t know why his owner couldn’t bear to be with him the last few weeks he was alive, and I didn’t ask. (Death is very scary to a lot of people. Or just plain too hard to witness.)

If I remember right (and I’m not sure I do) I think his name was Caesar. The name fit. A doomed creature, he remained large and in charge until the day he died.  I will never forget his agreeableness, his black, intriguing eyes, or his personality.

I think he liked me. I definitely liked him.

The other exotic bird was an Amazon parrot. He was relinquished to the vet to be “disposed of” because one of his eyes had been injured and had atrophied, which made him look less than perfect, so the owners no longer wanted him.

We could see at a glance that he was utterly terrified. I took him home and watched, horrified and upset, as he clung, almost upside down, to the top of his cage in the farthest corner. It was apparent that he hadn’t been handled at all—or, if he had, the handling had been ham-handed and frightening to him.

Every time I reached in to try to pet him, he shrieked and clung more tightly to his corner. Fortunately, I had taken wild animal affection training and had read many books about how to handle and tame frightened animals, so I picked a day and propped myself next to the cage with my hand inside it and right up next to him. I tried offering him food, but he was too scared for that.

I read a book, still keeping one hand very still inside the cage for him to ponder. After what seemed like hours—and probably was—I felt a tentative foot in my caged hand. I stopped reading and looked at the parrot. I said, “Hello, there. It’s all right. You’re fine. I bet your tired hanging in the corner. Come on down.”

Then I returned my gaze to the book and continued to read.

Not long after I felt both feet on my hand. I stopped reading and said, “There you go. That’s a lot better, isn’t it, fella?  You’re fine. You’re safe with me. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

And I went back to reading.

I felt him walking, balancing, and trying out this warm, innocuous “branch” he’d stepped onto. When he felt more relaxed and stabilized, I offered him a piece of fruit with my free hand. He cocked his head and took it, looking at me as if he had a decision to make.

I told him, “You are a beautiful boy. I love you. You’re completely safe here.” Handed him another treat.

All of a sudden, it was as if a light bulb went off. He “got” it. He realized I wasn’t going to haul off and hurt him; that I was there to love on and support him.

Within days, he was making my day. He was very responsive to me and wanted to be with me all of the time. When he was in his cage, he would jabber away and entertain himself and me with various antics, all of which I would name and reward him for doing.

When he hung upside down from a perch and flapped and flailed his wings from that position, I would call out Kamikaze Bird.

When he spread his wings and held them out, I would call out “Like an Eagle!”

When he would meow and bark, I would call out “Like a Kitty!” and “Like a Doggy!”

Before too long, all I had to do was name a behavior (Kamikaze Bird, Like a Kitty, Like a Puppy) and he would perform for me.

All he needed was a good friend.

It floored me to think that his original owner had relinquished him because he had a funky eye. Here was a fantastic, fun bird that could (and did) entertain its human family for hours. Obviously, the original owners never got close enough to him to figure that out.

But their loss was my eternal gain. And now I bequeath this fond memory to you.

 

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