Pickles The Parrot: A Humorous Look At Life With An African Grey (13 page)

Tasks are done in the order he demands.
Lights off first—this is important. If you give him his almond
before that, he hurls the nut to the cage floor and hollers “What
are you, some kinda idiots?!” Okay, he doesn’t really say that but
the tone while he hollers “Lights OFF!” clearly denotes it.

So, the lights are off, Pickles has his
almond in one talon and has calmed down enough to treat us with a
bit of respect. “Fresh water” he politely reminds us. “Good brats”
he praises.

From here, Pickles happily surveys his
kingdom while chowing down on his nut. But now it’s important to be
at his beck and call for the moment he decides he should be
covered. But we forget. Suddenly there’s a screaming, flapping bird
sending anything in the room that isn’t nailed down into a dusty,
swirling little hurricane.

Neil jumps into action, grabs the cover and
heads for the cage while Pickles stomps back in the cage with evil
backward glances. He cheers up as he sees the cover descending over
him and whistles his very own, made up bedtime song—we don’t know
where it came from but he only sings it as he’s being covered. The
whole while, he’s all fluffed up, standing tall as possible with
splayed wings. “Good night Big Eagle” Neil says and drops the cover
over the cage. But it’s not the end.

We only cover the cage in the front and sides
(part way down), leaving Pickles able to peer around to see us if
he chooses. Once the cover is in place, we are expected to peel
back one corner so he can hang on the bars for kisses and talon
tickling. After a minute he gets back on the perch, fluffs up and
talks himself to sleep.

One particular night doesn’t end there, as it
usually does. After a few minutes, there’s a ruckus going on in the
cage. Pickles is banging hanging toys, throwing his bucket of talon
toys to the ground and raking a little metal cup across the his
cage bars yelling “WANT OUT!” Okay, maybe it’s not a little metal
cup but something is being banged across the bars and he IS yelling
“WANT OUT. WANT OUT.”

We find it strange that he wants back out but
we humor him by uncovering him and fastening his cage door back in
the open position. Out he scrambles, hands on his hips, and begins
to scream at us. Okay, he didn’t have his hands on his hips but I’m
sure only because that would be physically impossible for him.
“Lights OFF!” he commands then runs back in his cage.

What the heck?? He wants OUR light out too??
Jeeeeeez. We cover him back up and turn off the light above us.
There we sit, in the dark, pouting and wondering at what point in
the last few years did we became slaves to a bird?

I should mention that Pickles UV light sits
on the TV with a long arm that reaches to a spot right above his
favorite perch. We have to reach up and hit a switch to turn it
off. When Pickles wants it turned off, he stretches his whole body
toward it and says, “Lights off” while making the clicking sound of
the switch.

Pickles, like most parrots, is obsessed with
the phone. I would buy him his own except he’d just destroy it. But
wouldn’t it be cool to phone him and teach him to answer and have a
conversation with us? He likes to have our phone put up to his ear
so he can listen to people on the other end so I can just imagine
the conversations he’d have with his own telephone. I can also
imagine the bill he’d rack up from dialing.

One day, I need to make a telephone call and
an appointment. I settle on the couch and begin to dial the
11-digit long distance number. Pickles decides to help by making
the sounds of the numbers beeping. I’m half way through and, oh
crap, was that the beep of my number or his? I have long
fingernails and my phone isn’t nail friendly, often my nail slips
off the number. Hang up, start to dial again. Oops, too many beeps,
I think I missed one. Redial, faster, before Pickles can chime in.
Nope, Pickles starts to dial just as fast. Several attempts later,
I’m hoping I have the right number as the phone is ringing in my
ear—it’s long distance, after all.

Bingo, I have the receptionist on the line
and we begin our conversation. Part way through, the receptionist
asks what kind of dog I have. I start to wonder why she would ask
that then suddenly realize Pickles is barking in the
background.

“Oh” I answer, “That’s just my bird.”

“You have a barking bird?” she asks.

“Yes.” I sigh.

Pickles switches to crow calls and begins
cawing.

“Oh!” She exclaims, “You have a CROW! That’s
pretty cool”

“No, no, he’s a parrot—an African Grey.” I
explain.

“Really? Does he talk too?” She asks.

“Oh God, yes.” I tell her.

“Can you make him talk for me??” She asks,
all excited.

“Probably.” I respond and take the phone
receiver over to Pickles.

“Talk to the lady Pickles.” I say.

“Now?” Pickles asks.

“Yes please.” Say I, “Say hello.”

Pickles goes “Hoo, hoo hoo, hoo.” (An
owl)

“No, speak Pickles.”

“Chicka dee dee dee.” Goes Pickles.

“Aw, c’mon Pickles.” I say.

Pickles responds with a loon call.

I glare at him; he looks innocently back at
me then makes a fart sound.

Okay, that’s it. I take the phone back and
tell the lady that Pickles doesn’t feel like talking right now.

“Hmmmm.” she says, “Was that a fart I
heard?”

“Yeah, he makes that sound.” I admitted.

“Wonder where he learned THAT.” She responds,
a little snidely.

I’m thinking, listen lady, I just want to
make my appointment and get the heck off this phone so I change the
subject.

Finally, the receptionist is saying “Okay
Mrs. Abbott, your appointment is set for Tuesday, December…” and
Pickles lets go with a loud police siren.

“No way that was your bird!” She exclaims.
“How does he learn these things?”

“We live in a bad neighborhood.” I lie. “See
you in a couple of weeks.”

As I hang up, Pickles beeps his own hanging
up sound while saying ‘bye-bye’ and immediately begins to chat it
up with actual words and phrases.

“Oh, so NOW you wanna talk.”

“Now.” He says, in agreement.

Cleaning time around the house is especially
entertaining for Pickles. He loves to converse while we’re doing
housework and that’s usually when we have our best conversations.
It makes a chore, which I consider worse than working in the salt
mines, a little more bearable. All the activity, especially if both
Neil and I are involved, gets Pickles quite animated. He’ll yak at
us while hanging upside down on a perch or boing or lie in wait for
a head to absentmindedly wander close enough for a bop on the head.
It provides him the chance to yell ‘Score!” and have a good
snicker. The best opportunities come from cleaning the cage though
because it’s the best place to trap a head while you perch on the
cage door. If you don’t get it going in, there’s only one escape
and it’s ambushed on the way out when it’s eyes are on the wrong
side. It’s good-natured enough but jeez, sometimes he really nails
us.

The cage is the first order of business in
the living room. No point cleaning a cage if you’ve already
vacuumed because food and dried poop ends up all over the floor,
especially when Pickles is helping to dispose of it by ripping the
paper. Neil always announces his intentions by telling Pickles
“Daddy clean the cage now” and Pickles will scramble like a spider
to help, whooping it up the whole way.

We’re not the most consistent housecleaners
so poop sometimes accumulates on the base of Pickles’ play stand.
We pull out the scraper and sweep it into little piles that are as
tempting as piles of leaves to children. Piles of stuff require
jumping right in the middle and scattering it as fast as you can
with your feet and beak.

Pickles loves the vacuum cleaner with all its
noise and he competes with it to be heard. One day I pulled out the
vacuum and the belt was broken so I used our tough little
hand-held. I set it on the floor between Pickles at the bottom of
his play stand and Neeka on the edge of the couch then went to plug
it in. I returned, got on my hands and knees and turned it on.
Neither of them had expected it. They both startled with a shot as
one flew into the wall and the other into a window. I wasn’t
expecting the kerfuffle and in my shock, I knocked over my tea
which startled them even further. Neeka took off running down the
hall and Pickles followed, figuring Neeka had a good escape plan,
which only terrified Neeka further to have bird fast on his
tail.

I arrived in the bedroom at the end of the
hall to find Neeka trapped in the corner by Pickles on the bed. I
rescued Neeka by picking up Pickles and taking him to the laundry
room where I was doing a load of wash. Pickles had completely
regained his composure and was happy to be set down on the chest
freezer while Neeka was just happy to be away from both bird and
vacuum. Just then, the washing machine went into it’s rinse cycle,
a noisy affair from the spinning old relic, and Pickles, who’d
never experienced it before, went stone still with wide eyes. I
didn’t want another panic on my hands so I immediately started to
whoop it up, acting like it was a party with music. Pickles wasn’t
sure he should trust me at first but quickly realized, THIS was
better than the vibrations from the freezer! The whole room shook,
causing everything and everybody to convulse, and this was truly
wonderful to Pickles.

I had a hard time getting him to step up off
the freezer that day. Laundry had become the best household chore
ever!

I have no idea why Pickles likes to be left
alone but frankly, it’s a little insulting. He can be miserable as
hell but as soon as he knows we’re leaving the house, he’s happy as
a lark. When we cover him up at night, as far as he’s concerned,
we’re gone and he prefers his own company to ours so he has a great
time with himself. The fun and conversations he has by himself are
far better than when he’s with us. Sometimes we turn off the TV to
listen and we’d swear he has split personalities, just from all the
sensible questions and answers.

Earlier on, we had started leaving the room
when he was cranky and demanding but it’s come to the point that
when we do it now, we think he’s done it on purpose so he can be
alone! He’s cranky, we say “Bye-bye cranky bird”, he perks right
up, says “Bye-bye. Be gone long time” and he’s off somewhere to
amuse himself. Now we’re stuck in another room with nothing to do
and if we return, he gets cranky again. Sheesh.

I have to leave the house one day and give
Pickles some Cheerios on the way out. He grabs one in his talon,
waves it in the air and calls, “Go bye-bye” then chows down on it.
In between bites, he whistles and chirps, happy to see me go. I
don’t put him in his cage; I just close the screen door between the
living room and kitchen.

Later, when I returned home and drove into
the driveway, I spotted a little grey head peeking over the top of
the couch in front of the window. Or at least I thought I did, it
was there then gone in a flash. I parked and stared at the window.
Just as I was beginning to think I’d imagined it, up pops a head
again but a split second later, it’s gone again. I sat. He popped
up then down again. The little jack-in-the-box antics continued
several more times. Was he hiding? Did he think I couldn’t see him
if he was quick enough? Was this a game? He was obviously clinging
to the backrest of the couch and I wondered if he was doing his
usual snickering head bobs each time he ducked back down.

Eventually I went in the house but when I
arrived in the living room, there was no bird on the couch. Oh
great, up to his vanishing acts again. But I glanced at his cage
and there he was, perched inside with one leg tucked up as if he’d
been sitting there innocently the whole time.

“I saw you in the window Pickles” I
accused.

“Where Daddy?” he responds, changing the
subject.

“At work.” I answered.

“Hasta make some money?” Pickles asked.

“That’s right Pickles,” I said as I turned to
put the groceries away.

“Want some supper” Pickles called out. I told
him it was too early for supper but then glanced at the clock to
find it was 5:00 on the button. That bird has a built in time
clock.

I brought him his supper, telling him it was
a good supper tonight “It’s a berry supper Pickle Boy—you’re
favorite birdie bread”.

Pickles doesn’t miss a beat, “mmmmmm! A berry
good supper!” he quipped.

How clever.

Now, some readers might think that it’s
irresponsible of us to leave Pickles alone in the living room but
you have to know Pickles, and you have to know us. Pickles’ good
nature stems from his sense of independence and the ability to make
his own decisions. The more freedom he has, the happier he is. We
could force him into his cage when we leave but it would make him
angry and he’d be frustrated the whole time he was contained. Neil
and I have been blessed with careers that allow us to either take
him with us, work at home, or work different shifts so that Pickles
is seldom left alone for long. However, sometimes circumstances
change for brief periods of time and we’re not home much. This
would be hard for a parrot like Pickles because he’s so use to
company and freedom from the cage that we just can’t bring
ourselves to force him into it. Are there dangers associated with
allowing him to stay out of his cage and alone in the living room?
Of course. Pickles stays aloft 99.9 percent of the time and even
when he does come to the ground or the couch, he’s not comfortable
there for long so he scrambles back up his cage but yes, there’s a
tiny chance that he might decide to explore but the house is fairly
well bird proofed. Fortunately, he’s not particularly destructive
or much of an explorer.