Pickles The Parrot Returns: My Continued Adventures with a Bird Brain

by Abbott, Georgi

  “Sometimes I go to the grocery store with mom - I go in a birdie backpack. When we get to the produce section, I yell "Wanna buy some beans!" but sometimes, when there's other people around, I ask them "Wanna buy some poop?" Cuz, like, you never know.”

  “I kept bugging mom because I wanted to go in my backpack and I wanted to go NOW! Mom told me I could really use some patience. I agreed and said, “Fine, then give me some of that patience and give it to me NOW!”

  I don’t know what Pickles loves best – going to his aviary or going for a walk in his backpack. Either way, it’s almost always embarrassing for Neil and me.

  His aviary is next to the house and overlooks the yard and trout pond. It is screened all the way around and the roof is made of clear Plexiglas. There are Arbutus branches spanning most of the area and a shelf in front for flatfooting. He has toys and boings inside, a couple of small trees and vines of beans and peas growing along the back. I never seem to think of getting a picture when the beans and peas grow up along the screen but it makes great foraging for Pickles and he can eat all the veggies he wants. Usually though, it’s grab, chomp, fling, grab, chomp, fling. Sometimes we get the scraps for dinner, we’ll rescue the better stuff off the ground and have it for supper. The two front corners of the aviary have Hop vines growing up into the screen and although Pickles doesn’t eat them (they are safe), he does like to pick off the heads and toss them or, at the very least, prune the vines.

  Neil just built a birdbath inside, with a drizzle of water coming out a bamboo shoot above, and it’s resting on a pile of sod which will quickly fill in with grass and blend into the aviary. There are some stumps and logs and the floor of the aviary is grass. Dandelions grow inside and Pickles likes to chew the heads off and eat them, and the leaves. The aviary used to be twice the size, made from an old greenhouse we had, but Pickles never utilized the back part so we chopped it in half and reclaimed some more of our yard.

  The trees and shrubbery in the yard allow Pickles to see out into the neighborhood but make it difficult for people to see him as they’re passing by. This is why it can be so embarrassing when he’s out there. Pickles is always whistling or hollering something and people can usually spot us in the yard, but not him, so we always get the blame for everything Pickles does. Sometimes we get the chance to explain but sometimes people have gone past before we’re able to talk to them.

  I’ll never forget the first time we put him outside, in the aviary. He was only about a year old at the time and the minute we set him inside the aviary, he went nuts whistling at the top of his lungs. He’s loud, very loud. And he prefers the wolf whistle so everyone in the neighborhood thought we were coming on to them or something, until we were able to let most of them know that we had a parrot.

  We get wildlife traveling through our section of town fairly often – moose, deer and bears. The bears mostly come out at night but it’s not uncommon to see them during the day.

  We had a large black bear lumbering along outside the fence one early evening when we were all sitting outside. Neil and I stayed quiet, hoping the bear wouldn’t notice us but Pickles spotted him and decided to invite him in. He started with the quick dog whistles, tried the kissy calling sounds then went on to call “Come! Neeka come! Good Boy!” The bear just sort of glanced in our general direction but carried on along the fence line however, Pickles succeeded in attracting Neeka and once Neeka came in his direction, he spotted the bear. Neeka commenced barking, and so did Pickles. The bear stopped, turned, saw us and sat back on his haunches to contemplate our group.

  We weren’t overly concerned because bears don’t usually attack people in town and we don’t usually have bears climb our high fence but it’s certainly possible for both to happen. And I’m thinking, we succeeded in getting Neeka to stop barking but if Pickles doesn’t stop, and if he attracts the bear into the yard, they move very fast and we wouldn’t have time to get Pickles out of the aviary and safe in the house. I don’t really think a bear would go after a bird but perhaps a noisy one that was easy pickings in a flimsy (for a bear) screened enclosure might be tempting for him. As it turned out, the bear had little interest in us so he meandered on down the road with Pickles yelling after him “Be right back!”

  Because of our long winters, Pickles didn’t get his first trip in the backpack until it was warm enough in mid May this year. He was shivering in anticipation as he saw me heading towards the backpack sitting on the kitchen table. He hopped right in and sat patiently while I fastened Neeka with a collar and leash, then up on my back and away we went.

  It was a beautiful, sunny day and we just strolled around the whole block, which goes in a circle back to our house. Pickles barked the whole time, only pausing to call back to the odd singing or chirping bird – echoing that particular bird’s call, which he already knows.

  We stopped to talk to a neighbor lady who was cleaning her car interior and Pickles sat quietly with us on her cement wall. Now and then he would ask for, or give a kiss but he was happy to just look around and soak up some warm sunrays while we chatted.

  About fifteen minutes later, we headed back home and Pickles was still in a great mood and enjoying the fresh air so I decided to place him in the aviary while I checked the yard for any fresh growth. Suddenly banging started from a house across the street, which was undergoing renovations, and soon after, the sound of a power saw pierced the air. Pickles likes loud noises so he wasn’t particularly perturbed but at one point he started yelling “What’s all that racket???” Pickles kept yelling his question and the men couldn’t hear him over the noise but someone passing by could. “Is that you or your bird saying that?” they asked. “My bird” I sighed. “Amazing!” they said, then walked on down the block.

  A couple of minutes later, I was alerted to the fact that Neil was returning home. He was a block away but Pickles had spotted the car and was yelling “The Daddy’s home! Woo hoo!” (Sometimes he calls him ‘The’ Daddy) Daddy stopped a minute and talked to Pickles through the car window then drove past and parked in the driveway. Pickles can no longer see him from the aviary’s position and he’s yelling “Daaaddddeeee” while Neil goes through the front door, through the house and pokes his head out the side window to say “Hi Pickles”. Neil tells him he has to wash up, that he’ll be right back and Pickles cheerfully replies “See you out the window!” We always say that to Pickles if we’re going outside to do something and we know he’ll be able to see us from wherever he’s sitting at the time, but this is the first time we’ve heard Pickles actually say it to us.

  At the time of this writing, we’ve only been out in with the backpack twice this year as it’s just now nearing the end of May and we’ve been experiencing a lot of rain. The second time, we went for a walk around the lake in town. The lake (Logan Lake) is across the highway from the outdoor mall and has a park at one end, a campsite at the far end (with a challenging 9-hole golf course behind that. We don’t golf though), paved walkway with lanterns along the highway side and forested on the far side with a hilly trail that connects all the way around so that you walk through the park and campsite at the each end.

  We stopped to rest at a picnic table in an empty campsite along the lakeshore and I set Pickles’ backpack on top of the table. It wasn’t long before Pickles attracted attention with his chattering and a few people stopped to look at him and pet Neeka. A black man, with his three young teenage children strolled over and Pickles suddenly went quiet. The family stood in a circle around him as Pickles gazed up into each and every one of their faces. As he did, he remarked “huh” while slowly nodding his head. It struck me that he’d never seen a black person before and this was interesting to him. I was worried that this would keep him from talking but he soon got over it and had them all in stitches.

  The whole time, I was remembering a story my mom often tells, about sitting in the doctors office when I was four or five years old. I don’t remember the occasion but I too, had never seen a black person,
until then, and I just stood in the middle of the waiting room, staring at him. Mom finally pulled me aside, told me I was being rude and to stop it. I just pointed at him and asked, loudly, “Mommy? Why is that man black like my dolly?”

  From an early age, my mom taught me to be tolerant of other races. She bought me a black doll and I think I remember my sister having a Chinese doll. By the way, I’ve always hated the word tolerant in this instance. To me, tolerating someone, or something, is just ‘putting up’ with it. I don’t know a better word but regardless, she taught me well, and to appreciate everyone the same.

  Also, I’m sorry if I offended anyone with the term ‘black’. I once asked a black friend what the correct term was and he said “I call myself black, why don’t you?” I also received the same response from a friend in the Kamloops Indian Band. He said that they called themselves an ‘Indian’ Band and told me it was politically correct to do the same. I looked on the internet after that and indeed, there are dozens and dozens of ‘Indian’ Bands listed in the province. And yet, I’ve been chastised for using the word ‘Indian’ and ‘black’. All I know is that I mean no disrespect and I hope none is taken.

  Back to the backpack. Late last summer, Neil and I were driving through another town, on our way to a lake cabin and we had Pickles with us. We don’t like leaving either Neeka or Pickles in the car for fear they might be stolen but especially Pickles. A parrot is just too tempting. Neil went to one store while I went to another to pick up a campfire lighter and I figured it would be okay to take Pickles in his backpack. They usually accept it in our town so off we went while leaving Neeka in the car – because it seems nobody likes dogs in a store.

  Everything was fine as I walked down the aisles in search of my lighter – until Pickles began mooing. He had picked up cow mooing from when we were living and operating an RV park in Kamloops one summer and there was a nearby field of cows. A few people looked up and sort of just glanced around while I put my head down and kept walking, hoping they wouldn’t pinpoint where the noise was coming from.

  I find the aisle I’m looking for and as I’m looking through the camping equipment, a clerk walks by but is too preoccupied to notice what’s in the backpack – until Pickles chimes up with “Be right back!” after she passed by. She glanced back over her shoulder and that’s when she noticed I had a parrot on my back. “I’m sorry, you can’t have that bird in here” she told me. I asked nicely if I could just find my item, pay and leave. The lady asked me again to leave and I said, “Look, here it is! Can I just pay and go?” Just then, Pickles asks in his sweet little voice “Wanna kiss?” and then blew her one with a drawn out “mmmmwwwaaaa”. “Awww” the lady said, “That’s so sweet! Okay, I’ll cash you out.”

  I followed her to the till, paid for my lighter and as I pulled the door open to leave, Pickles spouts “Bye bye buggerbutt rat baby!” I glance over my shoulder to see the lady standing wide eyed and drop jawed and eventually she laughs and says to me, “Not so sweet after all, eh?”

  Pickles is great at putting his own words together. ‘Buggerbutt’ is a combination of words he’s been saying for years – ‘Wooly Bugger’ (the name of a fishing fly) and ‘Baby Butts’, his words for small, wild birds.

  I highly recommend birdie backpacks. As long as you have thick skin for embarrassing moments (and there WILL be embarrassing moments), it’s a great adventure for domestic birds of any kind. Just make sure it’s sturdy and not easily chewed up. I’ve had three of them and the first two were destroyed by Pickles. I was hiking down a trail one time and Pickles had started out happy and chatty but after awhile he got really quiet. That’s not unusual, sometimes he just likes to gaze at things, so I didn’t think anything of it. When we finished our walk, I took the backpack off and found that Pickles had chewed one corner and down the front seam, leaving a gaping hole that he could easily have squeezed through. I immediately bought the Flying South backpack, which is a sturdy cage inside of a canvas cover that zips open on all sides, providing as much or little exposure as required.

  Don’t try to just plop your bird into it though, because if you freak him out to start, it may take forever, if ever, to get him to go in willingly. We started by setting it in the corner of the couch and slowly playing with it, setting toys or treats inside and allowing him to take his time until he went inside to investigate. After he went in on his own a few times, we would partly zipper it up then quickly unzipper until we could zip it up completely and he was happy to sit in there. Then we would pick it up off the couch and set it back down. Next, we’d walk a little further with it each time until finally we were able to put him on our backs. The whole process was easy for us because Pickles was still very young (about a year old) and it only took two days until he was willing to go for a walk outside in it.

  Chapter 19

  We Love Nature

  “Mom's sad because the old Ponderosa tree across the street looks old and gnarled. He's dying cuz some Pine Beatles ate his guts and is killing him before his time. She sees death. I see new perches”

  “How do I call a flower? Why would I want to? They'd have to grab their knees & pull up their roots. Can they even walk? Or do they just slither along the ground, messing up their petals? Then, they're gonna drag mud all over the house & when they get to me to see what I called them for, I'd be like - ummm, so how's it going? And they'd be like, - WTF, you called me for THAT? And I’d be like ... sorry little petunia, mom gave me some Callaflower for lunch and I thought it was an order.”

  “I went to the mall to watch bears and someone told me bears don't hang out in malls. But I stuck around anyway cuz that's the thing about bears - they attack where and when you least expect it.”

  “There's some places mom&dad don't like to go fishing or camping because they say the mosquitoes are terrible. Apparently our yard only has nice ones.”

  “I love rain. I love the nice earthy smell from a good rainfall and the way everything sparkles as it glistens with moisture. I love the sound of fresh, clean water raining down on the roof - the sound reminds me of the time we went camping and Dad got drunk and pissed on the tent.”

  “If you're a worm, I bet you had no idea just how far your little body could stretch until that Robin tried pulling you out of the ground.”

  “I was sitting in the window, talking to the wild birds but they have a very short attention span so telling whole stories is useless.”

  “I like games but I don't like the games that bears play. It starts out okay - I like playing tag and getting chased, but it's kinda anti climatic when it changes to playing dead. It's okay for a while but then it gets boring. Next time a bear chases me, I will stop and suggest Tiddly Winks instead.”

  “I perched on rock amid waving cattails along the edge of the shore. The sun beams warmed my skin beneath my ruffled and open feathers as I gazed across a lake so calm, it appeared as glass. Here and there the water rippled from brief gusts of winds, making thousands of little diamonds dance on the surface. Grassy hillsides the color of butter surrounded the lake and the patches of forests dressed in autumn colors of fiery reds and oranges reflected on the water like a delicate quilt. Butterflies danced in the air while a Whisky Jack spread his wings to glide in lazy circles without a care in the world. A Dragonfly swept down from the sky, landing on a partly submerged rock nearby to clean his face and gossamer wings with dainty feet. Suddenly a trout the size of seal broke the surface and swallowed the dragonfly. I crapped myself right then and there.”

  “Be kind to the earth. Because, like me, it can come back to bite you in the ass”

  I was born and raised a city girl and grew up in Burnaby, a suburb of Vancouver, surrounded by mountains, lakes and ocean. I grew up in a ‘safe’ time, when children were free to wander through the streets and parks on their own. Days were spent playing games in the street and yards, and everybody was expected home when the streetlights came on at night. There were lots of parks nearby and plenty of ball diamonds for friendly
games of scrub. Swimming pools, playgrounds and creeks were everywhere and all with in a few minutes walk in either direction. The ocean was easily accessed by bus but we would sometimes walk the distance and as teenagers, we hitchhiked.

  My favorite lake, Deer Lake, was a couple of miles away and we frequented it often in summer. The Oakalla Prison Farm perched on the grassy hillside above the lake and we spent many a day laying on the beach pondering and discussing horrific rumors we’d heard about inmates over the years. The other side of the lake was a heritage park containing many houses and buildings that had been the first to be built in Burnaby. There was a museum and there always seemed to be some sort of event taking place on the grounds.

  Even though we lived practically in the middle of a city, nature surrounded us. Vancouver is still a very green city but back then, even more so. A string of majestic mountains lay to the north of Vancouver and provides incredible views from anywhere in the city. The nighttime can’t hide them as lights light up the sky where two ski resorts sit on two separate mountains. They look like some strange alien airports suspended amid the dark sky. It’s a short drive across the bridge that spans the Burrard Inlet and over to the mountains and from there you can see the entire city stretching almost as far as the eye can see below you. It’s spectacular at night and, as a teenager, I spent many nights in Lover’s Lane or attending bush parties.

  Then there was Stanley Park. It was named after Lord Stanley (once the Governor General of Canada) who also has the coveted NHL Hockey trophy bearing his name – The Stanley Cup. The park is a peninsula of over 1000 acres situated on the ocean where the Burrard Inlet, and all ships, enters between the mountains and the city. How many times have I walked that seawall and how many hours have I spent gazing at the animals in the zoo? I don’t know if it’s still the same but when I was younger, there were deer in the park and bear would often swim the inlet and forage in the woods. Other wildlife abounds, aside from the land and marine animals that occupied the zoo. Nature and animals attracted me often to the park.