Pickles The Parrot: A Humorous Look At Life With An African Grey (11 page)

No bird. He’s not on the top of the cage
where I left him, he’s not in the usual ‘fly down’ places and of
course, he shut the heck up now. I know how he loves this game so
I’m off on the hunt once again, knowing full well he’s sitting
coyly, head bobbing and watching my every move. I always feel so
silly playing this game, knowing that a little smart ass bird is
fully aware of the fact that he’s pulling one over on me.

Not on the couch. Not on his living room play
stand. Not on a lampshade. The living room is void of birds.

Not in the bowl of fruit on the kitchen
counter or typing at the keyboard.

On to the dining room but not on his play
stand, table or hutch.

As I turn to leave the dining room, Pickles
just can’t contain himself any longer. He snickers. I scan the room
again but he’s invisible. Another snicker, I narrow it down from
the sound. “Pickles?” I call. He answers with a cough and a sneeze.
Aha! Under the kitchen table.

I bend down to look and there he is,
crouching on a chair seat, poised to flee. “Ack!” he shouts as I
reach for him, but I’m not fast or nimble enough, restricted by my
crutches, and he launches—straight into the sliding window door. He
goes down in a crumpled heap, shakes it off and attempts to escape
through the glass again. I head over to retrieve him but he doesn’t
like the crutches, especially from his floor level. Over and over
he leaps and slams into the glass, all the while crying “Aviary?
Aviary? Aviary?” which he sees within reach, if it weren’t for this
stupid window between them.

I’m trying to maneuver crutches and bend over
to nab him before he hurts himself but it’s a difficult task and I
end up toppling into an armchair. Pickles spots an opportunity to
head for the hills and he sprints, running low with his wings
splayed for balance. But there’s an obstacle—Athena appears before
him, attracted by all the excitement. Pickles pauses momentarily,
assesses his blocked escape route and opts to go for it anyway and
shoots between Athena’s legs.

Athena is mortified as the little grey plane
taxies at full break speed towards her. She starts to hop like a
cat on a hot tin roof, trying to keep her feet out of beak reach
but trying not to hurt Pickles at the same time. This confuses
Pickles and he’s trying to get out from under but everywhere he
heads, paws are raining down around him.

So there in the middle of the floor is a
dancing, hopping, circling dog with a trapped, dancing, hopping,
circling bird crying “oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh.”

Finally I reach the commotion and scoop
Pickles up. Pickles is livid and demands “Wanna go home!” so I plop
him down on the base edge of his play stand where he promptly turns
his back on me and sits muttering to himself.

Athena follows meekly, slightly traumatized
by the whole ordeal and worried that she may have been the bad one.
She appears to be concerned about Pickles and gingerly sniffs and
inspects him from a safe distance. Pickles is angry with me but
turns to Athena and asks sweetly “Wanna snackery kiss?” What a suck
up.

The two of them got along well. Even though
Pickles constantly teased and tormented Athena, he really liked her
company and spent a lot of time trying to interact with her. Athena
would lie sleeping on the floor beneath the play stand and Pickles
would perch above, talking a mile a minute. He’d tell her stories,
ask her questions and if possible, poop on her. He’d specifically
move around the bottom of the play stand to position himself above
her, let one go and bob his head madly when he scored. Athena
totally ignored Pickles, except to obey the odd command to “go lay
down”. And of course, Pickles yelled out “Mamma’s home!” any time
he was bored, just to watch her run to the window barking. He’d
wait until she settled down, rolled up in a ball on her bed and do
it again. That dog—never once did she suspect it might be a
lie.

My ankle never did heal properly (even 3
years later) and it was difficult to walk Athena. Neil worked on
his feet, almost every day and sometimes 10 to 12 hours so I
couldn’t expect him to always be walking her but sometimes he did.
She was becoming more and more aggressive towards other dogs and I
could hardly hold her back. I couldn’t plant my feet because of my
ankle and it was getting embarrassing, not being able to control my
own dog.

Her barking had become constant. She’d go to
the yard and just stand there barking at something that seemed
visible only to her. We got it under control for a while by
rewarding her with a cookie every time she was quiet, telling her
“Good girl, no bark!” But I think because I couldn’t walk her, she
was getting bored. I would still take her places to let her run
loose but now winter had arrived again. I needed help.

We worked with behaviorists and I tried any
advice I could get. Nothing seemed to work and I was frustrated
because I’d never owned, or dealt with, an aggressive dog before. I
applied all the Positive Reinforcement techniques that are used for
parrot training but nothing seemed to work with Athena. I was at a
loss, and it was getting worse.

She nipped at a guy’s butt once, which
shocked me because until that time, Athena was only dog aggressive.
As I was getting out of the car one day, I opened the back door to
get my groceries and Athena, spying a small dog, bolted from the
car. Before I could react, she had the little dog pinned to the
ground with her jaws at the belly. Fortunately, I was able to call
her off and the little dog ran away. I spoke with the owner later,
who had seen it happen from down the street, and he said his dog
bore no marks. But that was it. I had to let her go.

I had to give her up, for her own good. I
felt her aggression had been misrepresented to me and thought it
irresponsible and unfair to her, but perhaps she hadn’t been at the
rescue center long enough for them to properly assess her. In the
meantime (1 ½ years), we had bonded and it was hard to let go but
she needed someone who had experience in dealing with aggressive
dogs, or a home with acreage to run. I’ve owned dogs, always from
pups, all my life but I was at a loss with this one. I cried all
the way to, and back from, the rescue center. I had failed her.

We let her go in the spring and it was a sad
house for a long time. Pickles would call for her but Athena never
appeared. We all missed her and as the summer passed, we felt we
needed to fill that void so in August, I went looking for another
dog. I wanted a small dog this time, and one that I could control
on walks. We settled on a Min Pin (Miniature Pinscher, but no
relation to the Doberman) and found the cutest little rust colored,
8 week old puppy. I spoke with my First Nations friend and asked
him for a name that meant sweet or gentle and he immediately came
up with ‘Neeka’, which means ‘Darling One’. He’s very spiritual and
believes a name can shape the character.

We brought the little guy home and introduced
him to Pickles. Pickles is thrilled because dogs are chumps, they
are easily deceived and he has a brand new victim. Neeka was doomed
to spend his life as the butt of all Pickles’ practical jokes.

Neeka is just teensy weensy. So tiny that a
finger is almost too big to pet his head and his belly can’t be
stroked without making contact with his little dick. Correction—he
has a
huge
dick for such a little pup, embarrassingly large.
And he loves his dick. He checks with it about everything. If he
gets in trouble, he immediately pokes his dick as if it were to
blame. Get away from the cage Neeka, poke the dick. Leave that
remote alone Neeka, poke the dick. Neil says he’s whispering to his
dick, like Brick on the TV show “The Middle” and thinks they’re
plotting together. Neeka tried to copulate with everything in sight
and stuffed toys didn’t stand a chance. He always had an erection
and couldn’t walk because it would rub on his chest and make him
friskier. We got him neutered but it was as if it didn’t take. It
took 2 years for his obsession to fade, and for the erections to
mostly
go away but he still blames his dick for all his
troubles.

Neeka learned real fast that there’s food
under Pickles’ area and Pickles knows that Neeka’s not supposed to
scrounge for it but Pickles can’t resist enticing him. One time,
Neeka was sitting on the floor, a couple of feet from where Pickles
was sitting on the edge of the play stand and eating white pith
from the inside of a piece of orange peel. He finished but Neeka
wasn’t looking at him so he leaned out as far as he could reach,
rolling the peel around on his tongue without taking his eyes of
the dog. Neeka happened to glance up and Pickles promptly dropped
the rind on the floor. A quick remand from Neil stops Neeka in his
tracks. Pickles chuckles because he’s just found a new game and
there’s no shortage of food to play with.

Neeka is a little confused about who gives
the orders around here—us, or the talking bird. Pickles is the
bossiest and most demanding so Neeka probably feels that Pickles is
the alpha person in the house. Pickles takes every opportunity to
keep the chain of command in tact. He will slide down the outside
corner of his cage and call Neeka. He thinks that if he whispers,
even though I’m right there, that I can’t see or hear him. He
whispers “Neeka. Neeka. Neeka come.” Little kissy noises to call
the dog. “Neeka.” Neeka obeys and heads toward him but Pickles
immediately reprimands him with a shout, “NO BIRD!!”

Pickles antagonizes Neeka by learning all the
squeaky toys and making the squeaky sounds when Neeka’s out of the
room. Neeka races in to the room in hopes of catching the toy thief
but he never catches on because Pickles pretends to be
sleeping.

I swear that bird sits and plots the majority
of his day and it’s a good thing that Neeka is so good-natured and
able to put up with it because it keeps Pickles from focusing his
evil on us.

Neeka turned out to be the sweetest little
dog. He’s playful, cuddly, smart and loaded with character. A bit
of a mommy suck but I like it that way. He’s attentive to Pickles,
but in a good way. Neeka watches Pickles play, obeys some of his
commands and always watches for food to drop. Pickles watches Neeka
a lot too and likes to chat it up with him. I don’t let the two of
them get too close though because Pickles might nip him and, even
though Neeka would never bite on purpose, it’s possible he could
bite out of surprise and injure Pickles. We still have the screen
door protecting Pickles in the living room for times we’re busy or
gone from the house. Neeka’s good on a leash, never pulls, and he
has great recall when off leash.

He’s absolutely perfect, except he gets a
little upset when we leave without him, but don’t most dogs? What a
contrast between Pickles and Neeka. If we leave the house, Neeka
barks and howls, Pickles whistles and hoots at the top of his
lungs. Neeka’s upset, Pickles is happy.

While preparing to leave the house one day,
Neeka frets and Pickles is practically pushing us out the door
calling “Go bye-bye. Be gone long time”.

Neeka screams bloody murder as we shut the
door, walk to the car and drive away—Pickles sings at the top of
his lungs, “Doodle-oodle-oo, woo hoo, doodle-oodle-oo!”

Neeka dashes out the doggy door and runs
along the fence line, barking at the car as it drives away—Pickles
caws like a crow in the background.

Neeka is absolutely positive we are going off
to find some nice trail to walk. He knows darn well we’re going to
throw sticks, give each other cookies for coming when called and
all kinds of other good stuff—Pickles could care less where we’re
going, just be back for supper.

In the end, they’re both thrilled when we get
home…

Neeka gets so excited he pees a
little—Pickles drops a load.

Neeka squeaks with glee—Pickles announces
“Daddy Bird’s home! Everybirdy’s home!”

Neeka scampers around our feet, looking for
attention—Pickles demands “Supper! Want some supper! Dontcha want
some supper? Wanna eat some supper with your beak? Let’s go get
some supper! Aren’t ya hungry? Step up, let’s go! Let’s go, let’s
go, let’s go!”

Once settled in the living room, Neeka steals
a lap—Pickles sits on the edge of the couch and asks “Wanna party
in your beak?”

Neeka’s a happy little dog. At 2 years old,
he is only 6 pounds and slim. He loves the yard and spends hours
hanging around under brush, chasing his beach ball or laying in the
sun. Pickles likes it when I play fetch with Neeka and throw the
plastic bone over the aviary. He flaps and screams himself into a
frenzy, laughing and falling upside down. He calls Neeka if he
takes too long bringing it back and reprimands him as he runs past
on his return.

Pickles has never shown any sort of jealousy
toward Neeka. We can cuddle Neeka, feed him or play with him and
Pickles doesn’t care a lick. He’s not jealous when Neil and I hug
either, as some birds can be.

Pickles and Neeka are completely opposite in
nature. Pickles is outgoing and brash while Neeka is shy and aims
to please. Neeka is a ray of sunshine while Pickles is like some
malevolent force of nature. They like each other, they amuse each
other and they’re content in their weird bi-polar relationship.

Chapter 7

Our Home Life

Everybody exists well in our household. If
we’re not spending time all together or paired off with somebody,
everyone’s happy to entertain themselves for the most part but
Pickles needs the most attention. A quick walk around the house,
transportation to another room for a change of scenery or a short
conversation is all it usually takes to please him. When we walk
him, he perches on our hand while doing the ‘Grey Lean’ to indicate
to us where he wants to go and it’s usually the chest freezer in
the laundry room. This is a good surface to flat-foot around and
make cool banging noises with his beak. Flat-footing parrots always
make me laugh and Pickles is no exception. He doesn’t have a lot of
control on this slippery surface and once he gets going, it’s
sometimes hard to stop at the edge so he’s like a little airplane
suddenly presented with the end of a runway. Or he’ll stand
flat-footed while banging the freezer and each bang causes a slight
slip so he bangs and slips around the whole surface.