The Bird and I

Someone smarter than I once said that, ""If you think your life is not complete without someone shrieking at you, get yourself a single lovebird." If you buy a pair of lovebirds, you have a pair of lovebirds, an interesting conversation piece. But if you buy a single, hand-raised lovebird, and place his or her cage in an area of human activity, and take said lovebird out of the cage for a while a couple times a day, you have a friend. A loud, demanding, sometimes obnoxious and always entertaining, friend. A very loud friend, with no sense of boundary or personal space.

Billie is our bird, with an androgynous name, though we presume he is male because of the lack of eggs and, my daughter tells me, his especially obnoxious behavior -- and the way he shows affection by regurgitating on his legs and has an unhealthy fascination with towels. But, setting that aside, he is generally a good companion as I am alone at home during the day. His wings were clipped when we got him, but we let them grow back out, and I could not imagine doing that to him again. He is confident and happy, and has flight patterns around the house, and the flying is good for his health.

He also wants attention. Yesterday when I had him out and ignored him as I tried to write on my laptop, he settled along the top and chirped at me. When I still ignored him, he dropped onto the keyboard and walked around. I tried to write around him so he began pulling at the keys, pulled the cap off one and flew off with it. I had to chase him around the kitchen until he finally dropped it. Needless to say I put him back for awhile after that.

Today though he is mostly mellow, sitting on the half-open glass doors in front of the fireplace, preening and chirping to himself, warming himself by the roaring fire. The perfect picture of contentment, and satisfied to let me write. For now anyway. Letting me ponder what really goes on inside that little mind.