Week 11: expertise, authority

“Echo! Echo! Pretty boy! Com’on pretty boy!” I must have yelled that a million times, and whistle… I couldn't whistle any more if my life depended on it. He had gotten out at 9:00 the night before. I couldn’t believe it when I heard him the next afternoon. My aunt and I had been walking and calling for hours, kids in tow. Well they were in tow for most of it, and then Joanie came and got them so we could keep looking. It was getting late and we were getting desperate. 

“Jesus! Why can’t I see him! He sounds so close!” My aunt kept saying as we climbed over fallen trees and around rocks. Every time we’d get close he would sound like he was back where we started. After a while we didn’t hear him anymore. We called and called but he never answered us again. We went home for the night, planning an early start.

The next morning we headed back to the tress we had heard him..

“ECHOOOO!” As soon as he heard my voice we heard him, then we saw him. How glorious he must have felt, even with the terror of being out in the elements. To fly, like a bird should. Not confined to a house, but to have the whole sky. The boomerang shape and the white of his wings made him stick out. He must have been two hundred feet up. He circled and screamed but we never got him to come down. I don’t think he knew how from way up there. Maybe that’s crazy, but I really don’t think he could.

It’s my fault he got away. I didn’t clip his wings. I could never bring myself to do it, I would have taken away what it meant to be a bird. Now look, my mistake… his death. Two nights later the temperature was too cold for him to have survived.

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“I want to get them for the boys. I know they keep asking for him.” Dad and I had been arguing about twenty minutes now. I refused to have another lone bird, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for another one anyway, after Echo. Eventually I gave in and my aunt and I went to Ellsworth to pick out two, hand-fed, eight week old Cockatiels.

I follow the small Asian woman into the room where the birds were kept. She reaches in the cage and pulls out a Cinnamon Cockatiel.

“This one definitely female.” She says as she hands it to me. The little bird immediately climbs up on top of my head after checking my hands for food.

“I like this one, I’ll take… her.” I had a sneaking feeling she was a male based on the markings, but it can be hard to tell when they are young. Then I ran into the sticky part. 

"I'm pretty sure this one is male." She said as she brought out two Traditional Grays and handed them to me.I knew which was male and which was female as soon as I looked at them. She was wrong, but i kept my mouth shut. Even without their adult plumage, their markings were very distinct. I wanted the male, to look like Echo for the kids, but that female… She would not leave me alone. Seriously now, how is it even possible to ignore an eight week old bird that practically flips out when you put her back in the cage, nearly falling out the door trying to get back on your arm? Pretty friggin cute if you ask me.

Much to the bird’s dismay, my view on wing clipping has changed. You bet your sweet ass I learned how to do that real quick. I do allow their feathers grow enough for them to fly some. Some meaning they are unable to gain altitude, but not fall right to the floor if they try to fly.  This doesn’t keep them safe entirely though. If they were to somehow get out the door or a window and a gust of wind caught them just right…. That’s all they would need. That is where butter knives stuck in door frames, above the reach of little gremlins, come in handy. My new goal, since Echo, has been to learn everything I possibly can about Cockatiels to ensure that the ones I have now will have the best life. It’s surprising how much you don’t know when you think you know enough. For example... Had I known Cockatiels like to have their heads scratched just like a cat and dog, Echo would have been a lot happier... On the other hand, when you actually do scratch their heads, it gets pretty difficult to get the birds Off of you. And typing?  Nearly impossible unless I lock them up.-6

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“Can I help you?” Alex asks. Alex is the owner of Pet-Pro.

“The Latino, is it male or female?” I don’t bother to take my eyes off the bird. I already know he is busy do about a million and two things as he talks to me.

“Uhhh…. I don’t really know on that one. We haven’t had it long enough to tell. I need time to observe.”

“May I go in and look at him?” He looks at me for a moment. 

“That room not open to public. Um... I’ll let you in for a minute, we're not too busy.” He walks to the door and holds it open as I walk in and go up to the cage.

I had already been watching him for about five minutes.  As I watched in that five minutes I saw him making dominant poses over the other bird in the cage, which happened to be a Traditional Gray Cockatiel, and male. The Gray had run away from him every time. Gorgeous bird, I had to see if I was right that it was a male.If I was incorrect and it was female I just may have to get it.

When I get to the cage I set the tips of my fingers on the bottom bars, and whistle a cat-call, or wolf whistle, whatever you may call it. His bright yellow crest shoots up and he run over to the side of the cage, tunes just flying out of him. 

“I thought so. He is a he.” I said laughing. “This one’s a talker!”  Alex looks at the bird then at me. 

“Good to know.” He says, as he lets me back out of the little room where all the birds are kept. I continue down the aisle and pick up the Millet sprays. If go home without it I there will be some very grouchy birds.

(In no way do I claim to be 'The Expert' on Cockatiels, but I have definitely learned enough to know more than most employees in any of the pet shops in this area. That is just sad for the animals.)