I own a parrot. It’s name is Maisey. Maisey is “rescue” bird, a parrot who was abandoned by it’s owner who did not realize how time-consuming a tropical bird can be. So, I have a reputation of being good caretaker of parrots.
A doctor friend of mine asked me if I would bird-sit his Naylan Conure while he and his wife visited their daughter in Equador. Connure’s are the smallest of hook-billed birds. They are very frisky, loving and devils for attention. Little did I realize that “Lorita,” this little devil, would really become a bird from hell.
They came by our house, with the bird, it’s cage, bird food and bird toys. I hovered around the buffet that I had cleared of nick-knacks for Lorita’s new home, making sure that she would be happy with the location and the view.
Lorita was delightful. She perched on my finger, tried to cuddle into my pocket, preened my hair, showing off for her mom and dad. Doctor and wife was satisfied that their little darling would safe and well cared for during the next two weeks. I hadn’t noticed the beginnings of the two horns that had appeared on the top of Lorita’s head.
They left. I cooed to Lorita. I was making little bird-baby noises to her. “Nick… nick… nick… nick…” Lorita responded back… “cheep… cheep… nick… nick.” Maisey heard the commotion and answered back with enjoyment. All was well in my parrot world. I went to bed feeling that Lorita had become a happy member of my household.
The next morning I was up early. Maisey had awakened. Maisey was screeching. “Hello… hello…” I chirped to Maisey and I paid special attention to Lorita, removing her cage cover and opening the cage door. I wanted Lorita to understand that I wanted her to feel at home. Lorita climbed out of her cage, scurried up the side, planted herself on the top of her cage and focused her eyes on mine.
“Good morning… Lorita” I said. Then that damm bird jump off the cage, fastened herself to my robe (right above my ribcage) and proceeded to bite me on my neck. I grabbed the bird (gently, as according to the way to hold a parrot) with two fingers on each side of her head, palm on her back, and I placed her back on top of her cage. Lorita paced back and forth across the top of her cage… and then I noticed the horns.
Ok… maybe she really didn’t have horns… but she should have. For the next two weeks I had to put up with six gouges into the back of my right hand, an attempt to tear off my lip, and when she couldn’t do me bodily damage, Lorita would ALWAYS manage to poop on me.
And then right on schedule, the doctor came back and stopped by to pick up Lorita. Lorita jumped onto his finger, and looked me right in the eyes. And I swear I heard the bird say “Don’t you tell the doctor anything.” And as the doctor walked out of my apartment with the bird and cage, like a possessed person I chanted… “Take a look at those little horns on her head... Take a look at those little horns on her head.” Maybe I’m getting to old to take care of pets?
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