Showing posts with label parakeet. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parakeet. Show all posts

Monday, July 1, 2013

My Parakeet Hates Me

When my oldest son went off to grad school, he left his parakeet Ralph behind and asked me to take care of it. I said, “Sure.” Sounds simple enough. Feed and clean cage. Done. Except not.

Ralph has a bad habit. He likes to rip out his feathers. So his breast is naked. He looks like those body builders who shave their chests. And while this may not look bad on a body builder, it looks hideous on a parakeet.

So I Googled self-mutilation in parakeets. It turned out that it’s common. One day, a parakeet is grooming his feathers and decides, “Hey, I’ll pull one of these out.” For some reason, he thinks, “This is really cool. I’ll pull a bunch out.”

According to Google, stress, boredom, and habit are the main causes. Apparently, you can buy a cone to put around the bird’s neck so they can’t puck their feathers. (A bird version of the cone of shame dogs wear after surgery.) But that sounded really stressful—to me and the bird. So I went with other treatments—keep the bird entertained and help him relearn proper grooming habits. I bought him new cage toys. I rearranged his perches and toys, so he was stimulated. And I talked to him—“Hey, Ralph, how are you doing? Please stop ripping out your feathers—it makes you grossly unattractive.”

And twice a day, I mist Ralph with distilled water. It forces him to regroom his feathers. And he hates it. Consequently, he hates me. Now when I walk into the room he turns his back to me. Though he tracks me with one eye, always giving me the evil eye. He plays ring-the-bell with my other kids. But when I try to play, he flies to the other side of the cage and refuses to acknowledge my existence. (I’m a victim of bird shunning!)

Now when I approach the cage with the misting bottle, he glares at me.  And I know he’s thinking, “Open the cage door, bird torturer, and I will gore you.” (I bought him a new beak stone and his beak is now razor sharp.)


On the other hand, he now has a single feather growing out of the middle of his chest. So score one for the evil bird torturer. 

File:Parakeet young.jpg
This obviously isn't a photo of Ralph (who looks just like this, minus the feathers across the chest) because my computer, which has all the photo processing software, is again at tech repair because they sent it back without fixing it. GRRR. Thanks to Wikimedia for the parakeet photo.


N.B. Screwing Up Time is currently on sale for 99 cents. The sale ends tomorrow, July 2. Click here to buy SUT at Amazon.

Monday, October 3, 2011

Parakeet vs. Canada Goose


I have a lot of respect for birds (except for the ones that nest in our attic vents and break the venting mesh). And I have a special place in my heart for the monk parakeets of Connecticut. Though their beginnings are a bit sketchy—some say they’re from a PT Barnum show, and others say they’re from an overturned exotic pet truck. In either case, these green and white parakeets got free in CT. Everyone assumed that a New England winter would kill them off. It didn’t. The parakeets build their nests around the transformers on high power lines—lots of warmth. The problem is their nests can cause fires and power outages. So the power companies are fighting the birds. (I’m rooting for the birds.)

But I don’t respect Canada geese. They plop their big feathered rears right in the middle of the road. I’ve been known to honk and yell. They just stare me down with their black-ringed eyes. Daring me to hit them. Which I haven’t, though the thought has occurred to me.

The other day I was driving home from WalMart when a flock of them were coming in for a landing at a fake pond. Now this pond is very small and the flock was big. And they were coming in too fast, their angle was all wrong, and they were wingtip to wingtip. And I waited for the fiasco. At the last second, the big flock all baffled their wings at the exact same second and settled their derrieres perfectly on the pond, whose surface was now solid Canada goose. And, of course, they gave me their standard I’m-so-superior-to-you Canada goose stares. I smiled. Touché.

I just hope they continue their journey south—maybe they could go to Brazil or Peru. I’m sure there’s a WalMart pond there somewhere. Though maybe the parakeets will fight them for space. I’d love to see that.