Pickles The Parrot: A Humorous Look At Life With An African Grey by Georgi Abbott Page B
Authors: Georgi Abbott
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refused
to get in his travel cage to go with us. The first couple of times
this happened, he wouldn’t go in his living room cage so we had to
trick him by placing his favorite foods inside and locking the cage
door after he climbed in. He caught on fast and stopped going in
after the food.
I was desperate one day. Neil was out of town
and I had to open the shop. Pickles didn’t want to go to work, and
didn’t want to go in his cage. After trying unsuccessfully to bribe
him, I finally had to leave. I came home part way through the day
to check on him, it’s only a 2-minute drive, and everything seemed
fine but he still wouldn’t get in his cage. When I got home that
night, he was whistling happily on his cage top and there were no
signs of destruction or tell tale signs of poop on floors or
furniture. Since Pickles, by this time, was not all that
destructive and preferred staying aloft, we figured we’d let him
have his way until we came up with a better plan.
Still though, there were days he was good
about going in the cage and I had no problem locking him in so one
day I had some shopping to do and was gone for about 45 minutes.
Upon my return, I thought it curious that I wasn't greeted with
Pickles' usual "Mama's home! Hello baby!" so I walked into the
living room to investigate.
My heart sank to the pit of my stomach as I
realized my very, very, VERY worst fear had become a reality. I
stood, dumbfounded, gaping at an empty cage. Somebody broke in the
house and stole him.
Then I noticed the cage door. hmmm. What
kinda self-respecting thief would steal a parrot and take the time
to lock the cage door in the open position? Damn, I'd gone out and
forgot to put Pickles in his cage. My relief quickly turned to
worry though because he wasn't anywhere in sight.
I began my search, looking for signs of a
poop trail. I'm calling for him and his silence conjures up images
of an electrified bird lying in a smoking heap behind the couch
(having chewed through an electric cord). My grasping mind tells me
"it's okay, you know how he clams up in impish delight while
enjoying an impromptu game of hide-and-seek" but I'm uneasy
non-the-less.
As I'm on my hands and knees, peering under a
couch, I hear a VERY distinctive nose laugh. You know the
sound—when someone is laughing through their nose with their mouth
closed. I look up from my crouched position, into the kitchen about
6 feet away and there, smack dab in the middle of the dictionary
stand, roosts a smartass little Grey.
"Pickles!" I exclaim.
"What's up?" he queries with a twinkle in his
eye.
"I've been looking all over for you!" I
reply.
"Huh?" he asks.
"You heard me.” I said, which triggers more
nose laughing and some gleeful head bobbing.
As I walked toward him he commanded, "Step
up" as his little footsie was waving in the air in anticipation of
my hand and a free ride home—or so I thought.
The moment he stepped up on my hand, he flung
himself upside down exclaiming "Upside down bird!" I told him to
get back up as I righted him with my other hand. After momentarily
obliging, he promptly fell over once again. He thought this a
delightful little game and continued to fall over like some
stinkin' drunk.
So there I am, walking around with an upside
down bird on my hand, telling him to get back up and he's piping
"get back up!" right back at me. I carry this lippy, drunken bird
to the cage and try to set him down gently on his back but he just
lies there clinging to my finger. I try to pry his talons off but
they just dig in deeper.
I give up, sit on the couch and place him on
his back in my lap, between my legs. He lies there, trying to
outlast me. Eventually he says "ticko, ticko, ticko" so I tickle
his belly. He gets so excited that he releases his hold but is now
stuck on his back like a turtle, waving his feet frantically in the
air. I don't help the little stinker. Instead, I sit there and nose
laugh.
All this time I had thought Pickles was
getting his
to get in his travel cage to go with us. The first couple of times
this happened, he wouldn’t go in his living room cage so we had to
trick him by placing his favorite foods inside and locking the cage
door after he climbed in. He caught on fast and stopped going in
after the food.
I was desperate one day. Neil was out of town
and I had to open the shop. Pickles didn’t want to go to work, and
didn’t want to go in his cage. After trying unsuccessfully to bribe
him, I finally had to leave. I came home part way through the day
to check on him, it’s only a 2-minute drive, and everything seemed
fine but he still wouldn’t get in his cage. When I got home that
night, he was whistling happily on his cage top and there were no
signs of destruction or tell tale signs of poop on floors or
furniture. Since Pickles, by this time, was not all that
destructive and preferred staying aloft, we figured we’d let him
have his way until we came up with a better plan.
Still though, there were days he was good
about going in the cage and I had no problem locking him in so one
day I had some shopping to do and was gone for about 45 minutes.
Upon my return, I thought it curious that I wasn't greeted with
Pickles' usual "Mama's home! Hello baby!" so I walked into the
living room to investigate.
My heart sank to the pit of my stomach as I
realized my very, very, VERY worst fear had become a reality. I
stood, dumbfounded, gaping at an empty cage. Somebody broke in the
house and stole him.
Then I noticed the cage door. hmmm. What
kinda self-respecting thief would steal a parrot and take the time
to lock the cage door in the open position? Damn, I'd gone out and
forgot to put Pickles in his cage. My relief quickly turned to
worry though because he wasn't anywhere in sight.
I began my search, looking for signs of a
poop trail. I'm calling for him and his silence conjures up images
of an electrified bird lying in a smoking heap behind the couch
(having chewed through an electric cord). My grasping mind tells me
"it's okay, you know how he clams up in impish delight while
enjoying an impromptu game of hide-and-seek" but I'm uneasy
non-the-less.
As I'm on my hands and knees, peering under a
couch, I hear a VERY distinctive nose laugh. You know the
sound—when someone is laughing through their nose with their mouth
closed. I look up from my crouched position, into the kitchen about
6 feet away and there, smack dab in the middle of the dictionary
stand, roosts a smartass little Grey.
"Pickles!" I exclaim.
"What's up?" he queries with a twinkle in his
eye.
"I've been looking all over for you!" I
reply.
"Huh?" he asks.
"You heard me.” I said, which triggers more
nose laughing and some gleeful head bobbing.
As I walked toward him he commanded, "Step
up" as his little footsie was waving in the air in anticipation of
my hand and a free ride home—or so I thought.
The moment he stepped up on my hand, he flung
himself upside down exclaiming "Upside down bird!" I told him to
get back up as I righted him with my other hand. After momentarily
obliging, he promptly fell over once again. He thought this a
delightful little game and continued to fall over like some
stinkin' drunk.
So there I am, walking around with an upside
down bird on my hand, telling him to get back up and he's piping
"get back up!" right back at me. I carry this lippy, drunken bird
to the cage and try to set him down gently on his back but he just
lies there clinging to my finger. I try to pry his talons off but
they just dig in deeper.
I give up, sit on the couch and place him on
his back in my lap, between my legs. He lies there, trying to
outlast me. Eventually he says "ticko, ticko, ticko" so I tickle
his belly. He gets so excited that he releases his hold but is now
stuck on his back like a turtle, waving his feet frantically in the
air. I don't help the little stinker. Instead, I sit there and nose
laugh.
All this time I had thought Pickles was
getting his
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