He settled down after that but a couple of weeks later, I was sitting on the couch with Pickles on the back of the couch next to me. I noticed him looking with interest outside so I turned and saw the neighbour's headlights as he was turning into his driveway. I commented, "Davie's home" and Pickles went ballistic! He started flapping, crouching, wing splaying and running back and forth the length of the window. In his excitement, he somehow became airborne and landed on the base of his play stand. From there, he scampered up the branches, fast as a monkey hollering “Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home! Woo hoo! Hello baby! Hello bayyyybeeee!”
Oh man, I felt sooo bad. He thought I said Daddy and even though he knows the difference in driveways I guess he got confused.
It took me awhile to calm him but after awhile he sat there, all fluffed up, mournfully informing me "Daddy go bye-bye. Be gone long."
Eventually Neil finished the job and returned home. The next day, he went to work at the shop, giving me the day off. Pickles wasn’t happy.
“Daddy go bye-bye.” he said glumly, “Be right back” he added.
I informed him “No, Daddy be gone long time.”
Pickles whined, “Gone long time??”
“Yes” I answered.
Pickles firmly announced “He SAID he’d be right back!”
“He did not.” I argued.
“He said he’d sing a song!” Pickles said.
“Stop lying Pickles, Daddy went to work.” I insisted.
“What a load of beans” he spat.
I mentioned Pickles’ little screech in the first chapter. Over time, that little screech may as well have been a drill through the head. I think I might have preferred it. He did it whenever he wasn’t happy and usually, if Pickles wasn’t happy, it was because he wasn’t getting enough attention. At first, when he did this, we would tend to him and fix whatever was wrong. Bad mistake. Pickles learned that screeches were rewarded with attention so he used it incessantly. The more he used it, the more we tried to please him. We don’t yell at Pickles, well that’s not exactly true. We’ve yelled pretty loud, and let out some pretty good swear words but that’s only while being on the bad end of a beak. But when he’d start in, we’d start in with the firm reprimands. Well! Pickles thought this grand! Any attention, ANY, was better than NONE!
But when you really take the time to think about these things, it’s not hard to outwit a bird while allowing him to think he has the upper hand. It was hard, but from now on, the moment Pickles screeched, we would stand up and walk out of the room. He didn’t like that. Not one bit. So, he’d scream bloody murder for our return. We would wait for the first moment of silence and then immediately return to the room and sit down. We never looked at him or talked to him on the way in or the way out. At first, he would start the screeching within the first minute or 2 so up we got and left the room again. It’s hard to do this and hard to be consistent because it only takes giving in once for him to get his reward and revert back to his poor behaviour. That means starting all over. It’s never convenient when you’re absorbed in a TV show or you’re eating dinner but it had to be done. He’s a quick study once you come up with a plan. He soon learned that he didn’t just have to be quiet, that a nice chirp or word could initiate our return.
So, that worked while we were in the room but what about when we were off doing something and Pickles was bored? He could stay quiet for only so long before he’d revert to screeching for us to give him some attention so we developed a little whistle. Neil couldn’t join in on this plan because he can’t whistle but I started waiting until he was quiet for a moment, then I’d whistle. Within an hour, he had the whistle down pat and we whistled to each other from separate rooms. Later, it became him asking “Anybody home?” and we would answer back “Everybody’s home!” which resulted in a “Woo hoo!” and he’d either keep chatting with us or go back to whatever he was doing until the next time he wanted contact.
When we were busy, we would often make a point to stop and visit Pickles briefly to hand him a snack or toy. This would not only keep him busy or entertained, he was also being rewarded for good behaviour, all the while making him feel he is in control.
Positive Reinforcement not only works well on all kinds of pets, it’s especially effective on children, bosses, employees and even spouses! Of course, Neil is better at using it on me, than I am on him. He’s got more patience and I’ve got a bit of a short wick.
Our whole life consists of trying to outwit the little fellow. It usually works, but often we pay a price for it. His ‘step-up’ is basically bomb proof but he has moments when he insists on staying put. Pickles likes to be involved in the supper making process. Even if he’s hungry, he won’t always step up to go home (his cage) for supper because he likes to watch the pond and birdies from the dining room. If I suspect he’s not in the mood to leave, instead of asking, “Wanna go home for supper?” I say, “Wanna help mommy make your supper?” and he’ll trip over his own feet in haste to get on my hand. Now, this is a good plan to get him home, but a major pain in the ass in the meantime.
To get his supper ready, I have to take a row of birdie bread out of the freezer, unwrap it to get a square, wrap it back up and put it back in the freezer—all this one-handed while Pickles perches on the other. All the while, Pickles is reaching for everything in the freezer and trying to rip the food out of my hand or trying to help remove the saran wrap.
I put the square in a small bowl and walk across the kitchen to the microwave, which is in a little pantry. While we wait a few seconds for it to warm up, Pickles is loosing his balance on my hand from trying to reach for shiny objects on the shelves and usually ending up upside-down. I can’t place him on the counter yet, because I can’t trust him alone for a second while I’m doing the other things but once the supper is ready, I set him down while I break up the square, stir in the Hemp Seed and put it into his cage bowl. While I’m trying to do this, Pickles is trying to get at his food before it’s ready, running for the soggy dishcloth, inspecting the soap container, sprinting for the sugar bowl and tossing the cage bowl on the floor—all at once. He’s just a little grey blur who’s harder to catch than a mouse.
He loves the little jar of Hemp Seed and one day, manages to rip the lid out of my hand. He made a mad dash for it and grabbed it so fast that he was shocked he actually got it and his beak hadn’t been prepared to hang on to it. The lid went flying, my hand flew after it and Pickles was determined to beat me to it. Nobody got it before it landed in a soap filled pan in the sink. Pickles had a full head of steam so by the time he stood on the brakes he had too much momentum. He slid feet first into the sink, grabbed on to the rim of the pan and flipped head first into the soapy water.
Soap and water were flying through the air as Pickles flapped his way out. Now he’s livid and he takes it out on everything in sight. Both dishes go flying and as I bend over to pick up the bowls and the spilled food, Pickles managed to drop the wet dishcloth smack dab on my head. I came up in slow motion, giving him the evil eye as he snickered uncontrollably. When he finally stopped laughing, he asked, “Arncha hungry?”
Pickles definitely understands what’s funny and he has a sick sense of humour. He has 3 laughs—one is an evil snicker, one is a nose laugh and the other, a chuckle—and most times they are accompanied by head bobs. He likes to tease, and he likes to play practical jokes. He hates to be teased himself, but is sometimes good-natured about being the butt of a practical joke. The guy is warped.
Most African Greys are known to be fearful of change and fearful of new items. Pickles is actually pretty good but when you least expect it, he freaks out. Changing furniture around can be scary for Greys and they like things just they way they are, thank you very much, but Pickles doesn’t care a rat’s ass what you do with furniture. We can usually bring a new sofa in the living room, a big scary item, but hand Pickles a nail file and he screams bloody murder.
He understands the word ‘scary’ and will tel
l us when something is scary to him. But he also likes to pretend that things are scary—screaming and flapping his wings in mock terror—he thinks that’s hilarious.
Fortunately, loud noises don’t bother him. Sudden noises—bad, loud noises—good. The first time we ever had a thunderstorm (and we get them a lot) I jumped up going “Woo hoooooooo!” and danced around until Pickles decided, what fun! One time, a thunderclap hit with no warning and Pickles was so startled, he fell part way off his perch but while hanging upside down, he shouted “Woo hoo!”
As far as change goes, he demands his supper on time and he demands to go to bed at the same time each night. Supper should be served at 5:00pm precisely, bedtime is 6:30pm and if he doesn’t get his beauty sleep, he’s a very cranky boy the next day. After we cover him he doesn’t usually go to sleep right away, he prefers to hang out and eat some pellets, play with some talon toys and read a book. Okay, I’m sure he doesn’t have a book under the covers but he will drone on and on with his words as if he’s reading out loud. I think mainly, he wants to be locked in his cage and covered for some alone time. He probably figures it’s us that are locked out and behind covers, not him.
But when it gets right down to it, all the food, toys and freedom, still isn’t good enough. Pickles gets tired of some of his favourite foods sometimes, or maybe they’re not in season or just not a good product so we’re always looking for tasty new items. He has hundreds of toys but will tire of some quickly so we are constantly rotating. Sometimes just moving a toy to a new spot makes it more interesting but sometimes we need to put it away for a few weeks or months and when we bring it back out, he’s thrilled with the ‘new’ toy. All the freedom outside the cage isn’t good enough if he doesn’t have enrichment or attention.
Learning about parrots and learning how to adapt to them is an on-going process, a lot of work and every day there is a new challenge. There is no other pet in the world that requires as much work, attention and patience as a parrot does. On the other hand, there is nothing more rewarding than a happy parrot.
Chapter 5
Working & Living at the RV Park
A couple of years after getting Pickles, we got out of the fly shop. We had owned and operated it for 10 years and it was time to move on to something else. An opportunity arose for us to operate the RV Park, part of the Wildlife Park in Kamloops so we took the job for one season—from April until mid September.
We were provided with an RV, large enough to provide an area for Pickles. We set up a smaller cage, a new play stand, a bunch of toys and a boing (a coiled wire, wrapped with rope for climbing and swinging). The entire RV Park could be seen through the windows, so this provided all kinds of activity and entertainment for Pickles. He could watch us working outside or coming and going to the registration office/convenience store so Pickles was quite happy with his new digs.
We took a tour of the Wildlife Park the first chance we got. It’s amazing with all the animals and birds, and we even took in a Raptor’s show. Vultures, owls, hawks and eagles were paraded one at a time and some flew through the audience on recall. All the animals, with the exception of the Peacocks, were indigenous to the area and were provided good habitat and lots of room to live out their days, as all had been rescued and unable to be rehabbed back to the wild.
There were a lot of birds hanging around the RV Park, many we were unfamiliar with because of the difference in elevation. Crows were in abundance so Pickles was in his glory talking to each and every one. Now and then the Peacocks would escape and they were beautiful in the RV Park surroundings. The campers were thrilled to see them but during their mating period, we had to watch the kids for fear these big aggressive birds would hurt them.
Pickles learned many, many more bird songs and he was happy to share the songs with all the people in the Park. Most visitors were not aware of Pickles and some were confused about the bird sounds coming from our corner of the grounds. Pickles would do his Nuthatch impression and people would look around for the bird. Their eyes would look skyward at the screeching of the hawk and we were asked if a lake is hidden in the woods after the haunting sound of a loon fills the evening air. Pickles began to answer the Peacocks’ mating songs and I had to wonder if that’s why they were escaping—in search of this new, potential mate.
Across the river, along the valley bottom, there are cattle grazing and bellowing. Pickles learned to moo, which was quite embarrassing when we’d go for our evening walks through the RV Park, with Pickles in his backpack. He’d moo the whole way and of course, him being in back, it appeared as if we were the cows.
Once again, Pickles became a draw for customers. He had a play stand in the store, he went for walks, got to socialize and everyone was fascinated with him. Soon, new customers were arriving and having heard about Pickles through the RV grapevine, had decided to make a stop on the way to their destination.
Pickles isn’t very talkative while in his backpack outdoors, preferring to caw at the crows, sing to the birds and mumble like a little old man to himself so that you can only catch the odd word. When curious people approach us, it’s sometimes difficult to get him to speak, he usually just laughs at them. One night, we were cornered by a group of children who kept asking Pickles to talk. “Speak Pickles, speak!” they all chimed. Eventually, Pickles responded with a deep “Woof!” The kids thought this was hilarious and tried to get him to do it again. “Speak Pickles! Bark! Speak!” until Pickles ordered them all to “Go home!”
Sometimes people want to hold him and Pickles is willing to sit on anybody’s hand but we’re careful who we allow contact with because sometimes he will run up an arm to the shoulder. If we think people can deal with this and not freak out, we’ll hand Pickles off to them. We don’t usually allow Pickles on our shoulders because sometimes he refuses to leave and it’s too easy to get a nipped ear if he’s irked, or he will hide right between your shoulder blades, where you can’t reach him.
All too often, for some reason, people like to poke their fingers in his face. Are people really that retarded? One time, I set Pickles and the backpack down on a picnic table to chat with a couple of women. One of the women started to poke her finger through the bar and I told her that he doesn’t like fingers in his face and won’t hesitate to bite. She couldn’t resist and while my back was turned, she went for it. I turned around just in time to see Pickles with a firm hold of the tip of her finger. His eyes glazed over in ecstasy as he held on tight and began to grind. Anybody who owns a bird from the parrot family knows how painful the beak grind can be, and Pickles was giving his all. I watched in horror as blood appeared and started to pool on the bottom of the cage.
The woman pretended it was no big deal as I banged on the cage, desperately trying to unbalance Pickles but all that did was make him grab on harder as he flapped for balance. Crap. The woman was about to drop to her knees in agony but she maintained her composure as I worked at getting her loose. Finally, I poked my finger next to hers and Pickles went for the new meat just as I yanked my finger back. “SCORE!!” he announced, through a bloody beak.
I turned to inspect the idiot woman’s finger. She had quite the wound but still maintained that it wasn’t a big deal. “It doesn’t hurt” she said, through clenched teeth. Tears were forming but she insisted, “I’m okay.”
Just then, Neil joined us and I told him what happened. It was obvious what he was thinking…“What kind of hair-brain DOES that?!” but all he managed was “Huh.” He then asked me to come with him and he showed me a nestling crow, lying beneath a 30- foot pine tree. He looked basically full-grown and at first we thought he was, and that he’d been injured. All he could do was lie on his side, mouth gaping, and shuffle his feet in the dirt in an attempt to get away from us.
I knew there were 2 nests above, because I walked past this tree often and had been watching the baby crows in their various maturing stages. The nests weren’t very high, just feet above my head. I glanced up and there were no other babies left,
just adult crows cawing and dive-bombing us in protection of their young one. We weren’t sure what to do but in the meantime I went and got some water soaked bread in case he was hungry or thirsty.
It was difficult to get the bread in his beak, even though his mouth was open. If we did, the crow wouldn’t swallow it. Neil went for pliers and we fed him with that—like the beak of an adult, feeding it’s young by getting it deep. By getting the food to the back of his throat, he was able to swallow. He was obviously hungry or thirsty, and he took quite a bit.
We decided he should be placed back in the nest, but which one? Neil got a long stick, fashioned a bucket to it, raised the crow to the lowest nest and tipped him in. I don’t know if we placed him in the wrong nest and some adults threw him out, or if he fell out on his own, but the next morning he was back on the ground. Perhaps there was something wrong with him. The other babies had already flown the coop, maybe there was something wrong with his legs and he couldn’t stand in preparation for flight. Maybe he was weak and the parents had rejected him and thrown him from the nest but then, why were they dive-bombing us?
We decided to let nature take its course and left him on the ground. I had taken another job and had to leave for the day but I received a call at work—Neil was concerned. The weather had reached 40 celsius, the crow was in the sun all day and he was afraid a kid or a dog would get at him. He wanted to bring the crow to the RV and put him in Pickles outdoor cage, beneath the canopy for protection until we found the proper authorities to take him. I agreed, even though that meant Pickles wouldn’t be able to go outside for a while, and that the cage would need a good bleaching afterwards.
Neil wrapped the crow in a towel and carried him off with a half dozen crows following in frenzy. They perched in the trees next to the RV and complained all day while Neil went on with his work outside. In the meantime, I spent some time at work researching crows and looking for phone numbers of people to call and Neil spoke with the head guy at the WildLife Park. I couldn’t find any place in the Kamloops area that would take a injured crow, even the Wildlife Park. They said they don’t do crows, and that it wasn’t a good idea to rehabilitate them back to the wild because they become too friendly, harass people for food in the Park Café, or get so friendly that someone takes them home for a pet. To boot, I found out that it’s illegal for us to be in possession of a wild crow. I called the Ministry of Environment and explained the situation. They didn’t know who would take a crow but I was given permission to take care of him until we could release him.
Pickles The Parrot: A Humorous Look At Life With An African Grey Page 6