Pickles The Parrot: A Humorous Look At Life With An African Grey

by Abbott, Georgi

  Neeka is absolutely positive we are going off to find some nice trail to walk. He knows darn well we’re going to throw sticks, give each other cookies for coming when called and all kinds of other good stuff—Pickles could care less where we’re going, just be back for supper.

  In the end, they’re both thrilled when we get home…

  Neeka gets so excited he pees a little—Pickles drops a load.

  Neeka squeaks with glee—Pickles announces “Daddy Bird’s home! Everybirdy’s home!”

  Neeka scampers around our feet, looking for attention—Pickles demands “Supper! Want some supper! Dontcha want some supper? Wanna eat some supper with your beak? Let’s go get some supper! Aren’t ya hungry? Step up, let’s go! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

  Once settled in the living room, Neeka steals a lap—Pickles sits on the edge of the couch and asks “Wanna party in your beak?”

  Neeka’s a happy little dog. At 2 years old, he is only 6 pounds and slim. He loves the yard and spends hours hanging around under brush, chasing his beach ball or laying in the sun. Pickles likes it when I play fetch with Neeka and throw the plastic bone over the aviary. He flaps and screams himself into a frenzy, laughing and falling upside down. He calls Neeka if he takes too long bringing it back and reprimands him as he runs past on his return.

  Pickles has never shown any sort of jealousy toward Neeka. We can cuddle Neeka, feed him or play with him and Pickles doesn’t care a lick. He’s not jealous when Neil and I hug either, as some birds can be.

  Pickles and Neeka are completely opposite in nature. Pickles is outgoing and brash while Neeka is shy and aims to please. Neeka is a ray of sunshine while Pickles is like some malevolent force of nature. They like each other, they amuse each other and they’re content in their weird bi-polar relationship.

  Chapter 7

  Our Home Life

  Everybody exists well in our household. If we’re not spending time all together or paired off with somebody, everyone’s happy to entertain themselves for the most part but Pickles needs the most attention. A quick walk around the house, transportation to another room for a change of scenery or a short conversation is all it usually takes to please him. When we walk him, he perches on our hand while doing the ‘Grey Lean’ to indicate to us where he wants to go and it’s usually the chest freezer in the laundry room. This is a good surface to flat-foot around and make cool banging noises with his beak. Flat-footing parrots always make me laugh and Pickles is no exception. He doesn’t have a lot of control on this slippery surface and once he gets going, it’s sometimes hard to stop at the edge so he’s like a little airplane suddenly presented with the end of a runway. Or he’ll stand flat-footed while banging the freezer and each bang causes a slight slip so he bangs and slips around the whole surface.

  After he’s through banging, he likes to feel the freezer vibrations. He puffs up in a squatting position and his eyes glaze over, as the vibrations possess his body. I’m not sure if this is sensual for him, or just soothing but he will sit for long periods of time like this. Once out of his daze, he pushes his beak along the surface like a little snowplow and honks like a goose, then he wants to step up and get on to the next destination. He has to be taken to each room in the house, look out each window and dance in front of the bathroom mirror. It’s at this point that he’s trained to poop in the bathroom sink and if I position him right, he’s able to drop his load right down the drain. A bull’s-eye is accompanied by happy little head bobs.

  The last stop after a walk has to be the dining room to play on his boings. The dining room set-up changes from month to month. Sometimes it’s just ropes and boings, sometimes a play stand with toys, maybe his cat scratch post with box to climb around in or sometimes just a smaller cage. He likes the living room set-up to stay the same but he gets bored with things quickly in the dining room.

  On one occasion, after dropping him off on his boings, Neil came home from work smelling of smoke and gasoline from burning slash piles at the park and headed straight to the shower. Pickles usually goes with him but Neil didn’t want to subject him to the smell of gas so he went without him.

  Pickles sat on his boing in the dining room, flustered that Daddy had ran in the house and straight past him with hardly a word.

  "Daddy's home?" he asks in Neil's wake.

  "Yes Pickles." I answer.

  "Where Daddy?" he ponders.

  I tell him Daddy's taking a shower.

  "WATER??" he demands.

  I tell him yes so now he’s indignant because he didn’t get to go with Neil. But, (and suspiciously quickly) he gives up the indignation and begins to swing in circles upside-down on his boing. At first he swings at a normal speed but then speeds up, faster and faster by beating his wings at the bottom of the boing. Suddenly, in all the commotion, he loses his footing and falls to the ground. This happens now and then and he's happy to be picked up and set back up. But this time, as I go to give him a hand up, he lifts his little foot as if to step up then suddenly darts overtop of my hand and makes a break for it. There's nowhere to go—in his haste he hadn't planned a very good escape route and I have him cornered. I attempt another 'step up' but he fakes to the left and runs past me to the right. I turn in time to see a flash of red tail disappear into the hallway.

  When I appear at the head of the hall, he's frozen in place and a little grey face is cocked and staring up at me. He looks up at me, glances down the hallway, back up at me then sizes up the length of the hall to the bathroom and makes a break for it announcing "Bye Bye. Be right back."

  Now, there's nothing funnier than a running, waddling, pigeon-toed Grey—especially when they're on the lam. I'm laughing by now as he's running to beat the band, hollering "Daddeeeeeeeeeeeee! Daddeeeeeeeeeee!"—like I'm some kind of monster after him—glancing over his shoulder now and then, afraid that I may overtake him at any moment. Halfway down the hallway, I guess he's starting to panic that I'll nab him before he makes it to the bathroom so he starts alternating between running, hopping and flapping a few inches off the ground. Now I'm in stitches—and still at the head of the hall, not having gone anywhere near him.

  I knew what he was thinking. He's obviously watched too many horror movies where the good guy is running from the monster, gets to his front door, fumbles with the keys and just as he's inserting the key and turning the doorknob, he turns his head just in time to see the jaws of death descending upon him.

  Finally he arrives at the bathroom door, which has about a 2-inch gap from the floor. He hurls himself under it but gets no further than his shoulders. "DADDEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!" he screams from the floor. Neil finally hears all the ruckus and peeks out from behind the shower curtain to find a bird wedged under the door, pleading eyes staring up at him. Neil's a little concerned and asks if he's okay but by then I've arrived at the door to rat him out so Neil ignores him and goes back to his shower.

  Pickles backs up from the door, looks up at me then makes another dive for it—this time laying on his side, reaching under the door with one talon. No dice—can't fit. Now he has to face the music so he opts for sucking up. He cocks his head so that one eye is staring up sheepishly at me and asks sweetly "Wanna kiss?" then blows me one…"mmmwha."

  Well, how can I pretend to stay mad at that?? I blow a kiss back at him and he puts a foot up saying "Step up, let's go home." I oblige and carry him back to his boing.

  Now he's pretty proud of himself for taking a little excursion with no dire consequences so he begins hooting and chirping as he starts swinging madly on his boing again. He's swinging and flapping upside down so wildly that he's banging into the wall and I tell him "Be careful Pickles!" to which he stops dead, still upside down, looking at me and asks "Is it scary?"

  He rights himself, wiggles his bottom and poops. I had forgotten to put newspaper below him so I grabbed a Kleenex and knelt to clean it up.

  "What's up?" He asks.

  "I'm picking up poop." I answer.

  He lo
oks at me intently then asks "Baby butt poop?"

  This made me laugh so of course Pickles joined in with his cackling and head bobs then breaks into song—his own rendition of Old MacDonald, Home on the Range and Knick Knack Patty Whack Give a Dog a Bone” but his version—I’ll never forget it—went like this…“Baby butt, baby butt, baby baby baby butt, baby butt, quack quack, knick knack, patty whack give a dog a hooooome, home on the range…”

  That bird really knows how to crack me up but I think he cracks himself up more.

  Pickles loves his TV and it has to be on all the time or he gets cranky. I don’t know that he really watches the screen, like some birds are known to do, but he definitely likes the noise. He picks up many different sounds from the television, mostly from commercials. He will sing, whistle or talk right along exactly as it’s playing. He likes football and hockey and will shout, “SCORE!” if the crowd goes crazy. It’s almost like he understands the meaning of this word because he always seems to use it appropriately. Such as the time I was cleaning his cage and he bonked the top of my head, yelled “Score!” and ran away chuckling.

  Pickles is American Idol’s biggest fan and is always in complete disagreement with Simon. The worse the singer, the more Pickles sings along—interjecting with “Whatta good song! Woo hoo!”

  One evening, while Neil and I were watching TV, a commercial came on and I went to the kitchen to make a snack. Neil and I always let each other know when the program comes back on and before I finish making the snacks, I hear Neil say, “It’s on.” so I drop everything to go back to the couch, but the commercial’s still on. I ask Neil why he called me back but he said he didn’t. We look at Pickles. Can’t be. I go back to the kitchen and seconds later I hear “It’s on.” I go back to find Neil shrugging and pointing accusingly at Pickles.

  Since then, when Pickles announces a program is on, we have to warn the other “No it’s not.” And of course Pickles has picked up on that too so all we hear during commercials is him saying, “It’s on. No it’s not. It’s on. No it’s not.” Luckily, Pickles had decided that commercials are what’s really important so mostly he only announces “It’s on” when the commercials start.

  A typical evening around our house is watching TV and interacting with Pickles and Neeka. It’s family time with pets instead of kids. This evening was fairly typical…

  The phone rings as Pickles is dining on green beans. As it's ringing, Pickles is repeating the ringing in the bowl—which he discovers produces a really interesting echo. So while Neil answers the phone, Pickles continues the bowl ringing. He realizes the beans are impeding the good sounds so he tosses them out, one by one. But now he notices daddy is engrossed in a telephone conversation and wants in on the act.

  He often carries on telephone conversations with himself and in between, he makes what must be the sound he hears of someone talking on the other end of the phone—kind of an electronic garbling. So while Neil is talking, Pickles' own conversation goes…“Ring. Beep. Hello? (garble) What? (garble) mmmmm. (garble) Everybody's home. (garble) Huh? (garble) Wanna good story? (garble) Okay bye. Beep.”

  Pickles has put an end to his conversation and decides Daddy must be coached to do so too so he’s telling Neil, “Okay bye. Beep. Okay bye. Beep. Okay BYE. Beep. OKAY BYE!!! Daddeeeeeeeeeee! Go BYE!!!!!!”

  Neil finally tells his friend that Pickles has ordered him off the phone and hangs up. Neil tells Pickles what a brat he is while Pickles skips away, head bobbing and snickering. Neil goes after him saying, “Come here my little Chickadee.” So Pickles does the chickadee song, “Chicka dee dee dee” but it quickly changes to “Dad dee dee dee.”

  Neil asks Pickles if he’s a Chickadee but Pickles explains that he is in fact a Big Eagle. He doesn’t always do the usual raising of wings that other parrots do, instead, he raises himself as tall and fluffy as possible and exclaims “Beeeeagle.”

  “Fine,” says Neil “Step up Big Eagle” and takes him to the couch beneath the window to bird and people watch. Pickles becomes a fierce guard dog. Neeka likes to sit on the corner of the couch and bark at anybody walking by and Pickles has taken up the cause. He sits in Neeka’s spot and barks “Woof Woof Woof!” This alerts Neeka who comes to join him. The two of them stand barking their warnings to all intruders. I can only imagine what this looks like to people walking by.

  Later, Pickles perches on the arm of the couch next to Neil's face and asks “Wanna snack?” Neil agrees and hands him a pine nut. “Want anudder snack?” Neil gives him another. About every 3 or 4 snacks, Pickles cranes his neck out to give and receive a kiss from daddy.

  Snack time is over and Pickles asks for a “good story”. Pickles places his beak against Neil’s lips and says “Talk to the beak.” I don’t think Pickles really cares about the story, he just likes the sound and feel of the vibration against his beak. Neil's obliges while going cross-eyed trying to watch Pickles eyes for signs that Pickles is not pleased at this particular story. He's a gentle bird but only a fool would get complacent with a bird around their face. But all is well and Pickles draws bored with Neil's tale of how the chickadees like to eat Mountain Ash berries and how they eat so many that they become funny little drunken flyers.

  It’s almost bedtime and Pickles is getting sleepy. Neil is watching TV while lying down with his arm draped across the back of the couch, absent-mindedly scratching Pickles’ neck. Pickles grabs Neil’s finger to swing upside down but Neil isn’t prepared. Pickles slides on his back, down the back of the couch, across Neil’s chest, continuing to slide across the couch seat, landing on the floor—still on his back. He never flapped his wings or panicked, just shot from top to bottom like a sleek upside down, out-of-control little bobsled—then lay on his back on the floor with little footsies clenching and unclenching as a sign for Neil to offer him a finger to grab hold of.

  I’m thinking that that will teach Pickles to hold onto us a little better but nope—once rescued and brought back to the top, hanging upside down, he let go to do it all over again. But this time he landed wedged between Neil and the back of the couch. Much to Pickle’s disappointment, he was never again able to duplicate that same downhill momentum.

  Now it’s time for bed and after feeding Pickles his nighttime almond, Pickles climbs into his cage and into his tent. He waits for a minute or two then pokes his head out to say “Lights off!” backs up and parks himself. We turn out his light and partially cover his cage while Pickles tucks his head under his wing to dream of snacks and toys and songs and scratches to come.

  It’s wonderful having a parrot that likes going to bed at night. Maybe it’s because he has the freedom to be out of his cage all day long, or maybe he just likes going to bed. In the summer, we always expect him to stay up as long as it’s light outside, and the first couple of years he did but now, most of the time he wants to go to bed between 5:30pm and 6:30pm. We only cover him with a white sheet so it doesn’t make it that dark inside of the cage and sometimes he goes right to sleep in his hanging tent but most times he just hangs out by himself, ignoring us. Earlier, he was nice about going to bed but since then, he has become more demanding. Now when Pickles takes the notion to go to bed, you’d darn well better help him out with this, or else.

  The first thing he does is climb from his play stands, into his cage and on to his favorite perch. Throughout the trip he’s chattering…“Bye-bye. Wanna almond snack. Lights off. Bye-bye now.” From there he’s happy to sit on his perch singing and talking while he waits for us to turn off his light and hand him an almond. But sometimes we get delayed, so the squawking starts. He’s warning us but we’re in the middle of a TV program. He scrambles out of his cage—and I’m pretty sure he’s actually stomping in anger—sits on his door, yelling and flailing his wings as if to say “Hey stupid! Didn’t ya here me? Turn the bloody lights out and get me my snack!” He doesn’t wait for a reply, he just does an about face and heads back to his perch.

  We heed his call and hop into action. We
prepare his majesty’s chambers while Pickles sits on his throne above us, barking orders and probably wishing he had a megaphone. I know darn well that if we were to fashion one for him, he’d know exactly how and when to use it.

  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.”