Last summer, we adopted a 15 year old Scarlet Macaw. I absolutely love parrots, but due to their long lifespan and conservation issues, have decided to only have rescues or foster birds in my home from this day forward (well, from that day last summer). I intended to adopt an African Gray, having had one in my previous life (when married to my first husband). Quela was an awesome, amazing bird. I brought him home as a baby and he bonded with me, loved me and lived with us for five years. (I initially wrote "loved US" but that wouldn't be correct, now, - he was definitely a one-person bird and bit anyone else who tried to touch him. To this day Becca HATES birds, thanks to Q.!) He mimicked all of us with eerie accuracy. He made incredibly accurate microwave, telephone, and doorbell imitations, so I sometimes literally didn't know where to turn in my own home! I can't tell you the number of times I came tearing out of the bathroom thinking someone was at the door or on the telephone. Oh, such excitement! But there's more...
This bird was incredibly intelligent. He loved taunting the dogs. Our dogs were smart (well, ONE of them (the Akita) was quite smart, the other, a lovable Pug...not so much....) but Quela was smarter! He had my voice down pat. After dinner, he'd lean out of his cage and direct his voice toward the back door...."You want to go for a walk?" Both dogs would be at the back door, tails wagging...and I'd be still at the sink, cleaning up the dinner dishes, oblivious to the eager canine anticipation building in the backyard. My ex-husband (I love to tease him and refer to him as my BabyDaddy, which elicits the reaction "WE WERE MARRIED FOR SEVENTEEN YEARS!!" Hee.) Anyway. Oh, the memories. I love revisiting this time in my life. R....let's see...what should I name him...? Your blog name shall be..."Claude". Anyway - back to the subject at hand....Claude used to park his car in the driveway, parking logistics being what they were; and I'd pull my car into the garage. Quela would hear the keys in the front door and say "Claude? Claude? ClaudeClaudeClaude??!?" He (Quela, not Claude) would hear the garage door open and my car pull in, and start saying "Mom? Mom? Mom's home!" He would use his vocabulary so appropriately (again, Quela, not Claude, although with Claude being an attorney, he did that quite well also; let's give credit where credit's due. And maybe he'll read this and next time we have to confer via telephone re: Becca or Brandon's latest monetary or existential crisis, he won't be QUITE so...um...negatory. Smile, Claude.)
Now I would STILL have this bird, owning a parrot is a lifelong commitment since they live to be 60-80 years of age, or more. I loved this bird, he and I spent time together every day and he was a part of the household and family. He would eat oatmeal out of a little bowl every morning with the kids before I took them to school. (So CUTE!) His sense of parrot humor was funny - when he wasn't taunting the dogs, he was trying to make Becca like him. (He was well aware she didn't!) One time we were all on the couch watching MST3K - if you remember this show (I HOPE it's still on, it's priceless.... three robots and a nerdy guy commenting on cheesy movies!).....a mummy parachuted down to earth or some such scenario, and Becca HATES mummies almost as much as she does large parrots with sharp beaks. She slunk away from the TV across the room, near the bird cage. Quela came over within view of her, saying "Becca? Becca? Becca?" which only served to annoy/irritate/emotionally upset her even more. Tears ensued, we changed the channel, and of course, she still didn't like Q.
That summer, we had some extensive work done on our home (another entry, another day titled "Be Aware of What Your Contracted Workmen are Doing When You're Not Around" - we had extensive asbestos contamination. FUN. ). We had to move out for the rest of the summer, and I boarded the dogs and the parrots stayed with my neighbors down the street. We had the dubious pleasure of running our lives from the Marriott Residence Inn...you know you're there too long when Claude is asking the morning staff for specific breakfast items and calling them by name....PLEASE, Claude! My lovely neighbors had an African Gray that was a female, named "Doc". (Initially, they thought Doc was a boy, a common mistake with parrots.) Little did I know that sultry Miss Doc would become...The Other Woman. Yes, she and Quela pair-bonded over that summer, and when I brought my Quela home, he stopped eating and started feather plucking. My beautiful pride and joy, who had never featherplucked in his little life, was now completely miserable, unhappy, and lovesick. A few weeks later, I resigned myself to him needing to be with his mate. I was sad, I cried, and I never got over that bird.
So this was what I wanted - another African Gray. For months, I put off going to the local Bird Rescue because I knew I'd get sucked in and come home with something, and wasn't sure I was ready. My good friend was in the process of adopting a Blue & Gold Macaw; and she kept telling me I should go see the Scarlet that her bird was raised with. So I did...and yes, I got sucked in.
OK, Blogger...I'm trying to add a picture here, and you're not letting me.
(To be continued)
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