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

by Abbott, Georgi

  We were struggling to find foods that Pickles liked, he seemed to turn up his nose at most things so it was frustrating to us and we were afraid he wasn’t getting enough nutrition. We had read that Greys are social eaters and had even read where people allowed their parrots to dine with them, so we tried it a couple of times. What fools we were. After making our dinner, we placed food on 3 plates—two large for us and one small one for Pickles. Pickles was set on the kitchen table, next to his plate and everybody ate nicely, for about 10 seconds. Suddenly, our food was more appealing to him than his own, even though it was the same food. We thought, okay, let him eat from our plates but then he insisted on stomping straight into the middle of the pile. Now, we’re not particularly fussy about feet in our food but all the food on Pickles feet became abstract artwork on every square inch of the table. Our food was only temporarily interesting though, as knives and forks became more important and then glasses, salt and pepper shakers, sugar bowl, napkins and anything else he could pick up or knock over. Dinner became a battle with a dashing, skirting little bundle of feathers. That idea lasted 2 days.

  We wondered if just eating in the same room might help. Since Pickles cage was in the living room, we took to eating at the coffee table. We always fed Pickles while we were preparing our own dinner and he would basically ignore his. But as soon as we plopped down our plates and commenced to eat, he couldn’t scramble fast enough to his food dish. He ate the entire time we did and didn’t stop until we finished. Case solved!

  Pickles prefers routine but he’s not as fanatic about it as some African Greys. He’s content waiting for people to rise in the morning, he just sits and chats to himself. However, breakfast has to follow pretty darn quickly after the cover comes off. For the first few minutes he constantly greets us with “Good morning!” but soon turns to “Want breakfast.” Back then, I had my computer in the kitchen (I’ve since moved it into the guest room) and Pickles’ cage was situated next to a window divider in the living room, which looks in to the kitchen. While Pickles eats his breakfast, I check emails and attend to work related things. One morning, on garbage day, I dragged myself out of bed and put the water on for coffee. I lugged the garbage cans through the snow, plunked them at the end of the driveway and placed heavy rocks on top so the crows couldn’t flip the lids. With frozen hands, I fed Pickles then sat down at the computer to drink my coffee and warm up.

  Not 5 minutes later, I hear a sound. A chattering kind of sound. I stop and listen—it stops. I go back to reading emails and there it goes again. I glance through the window between the kitchen and the living room and Pickles is sitting on his perch, next to the window, all fluffed up and half asleep so it can’t be him.

  I go back to my emails and the chattering starts again. I look at Pickles but he’s just sitting there, still half asleep. Then it hits me, that’s the sound of a squirrel! Shoot, it must have snuck through the open door while I was taking the garbage out. The sound seems to be coming from the living room so I go and investigate but don’t see anything. I check the mudroom, can’t see anything there either.

  Back to the computer, take a sip of coffee and there’s the sound again. This time I’m sure it’s coming from the living room so I tear the place apart. Nope. Nothing. Hmmm.

  This time, I go back to the computer, put my elbow on the desk, cradle my forehead in my hands and pretend to be looking at the computer while I’m actually peeking through my fingers at Pickles. It’s not long before I hear the chattering and see Pickles’ open beak and vibrating throat.

  “Aha!! I say. “It was you all along!”

  “Goof” he mumbles as he closes his eyes to sleep.

  Pickles learned to say “Wanna snack” very quickly. That, and “Poop on the paper.” We use pine nuts for training and rewards. They are very expensive but he loves them more than anything. In the beginning, I would have him sit on my knee and ask him “Wanna snack?” and then give him one. I think it took about a day before he asked for one and the minute he did, I handed it to him. I think he was in shock. He had asked for one, and one appeared! He was taken aback for a minute but then ate it and right away and asked for another one. I was thrilled that he learned so quickly but from then on, he drove us crazy asking for them.

  Soon, after asking for a snack and being rewarded with one, I’d ask him if he wanted another snack. It was uncanny the way he picked that up. He always asked first “Wanna snack?” and the next time was “Wanna nudder snack?” He has never asked for ‘another snack’ before asking for the first one.

  He has picked up on the difference between asking for something and stating that he wants something. For example, if he wants a snack but isn’t sure if we’ll give him one, he’ll ask for it (?) but if he really wants it and maybe we’re not listening, or refuse to give him one, he will demand “Wanna snack!”

  He has since applied this to many things. If everyone is home, he will state “Everybody’s home! Woo hoo!” but if we are in another room and he can’t see us, he asks “Anybody home?” If he’s in a good mood, he will sweetly ask, “Wanna go for a walk?” but if he’s bored and cranky, he says, “Wanna go for a walk!!”

  We taught him early on to poop on paper below his play stands. We put paper below the front 2 corners where he liked to sit on the bottom of his play stand to protect the carpet. Then, every time he’d poop there, we’d tell him “Good boy! Poop on the paper!” and hand him a snack. It didn’t take long before he’d sit there and ask for a snack and we’d tell him “Poop on the paper. Poop for a snack.” And he would. Sometimes, he’d be so busy pooping for snacks, he’d be fresh out of poop but he’d try. He’d shake and shake his bottom and strain to get one out but there was nothing except a little “phfft” sound. They say birds don’t fart but I’m telling you, he managed to get air.

  If we noticed Pickles on the top branches of his play stand, preparing to take a poop, we would say, “No, no, no, poop on the paper for a snack” and after a few days of coaxing, he would come down to the corner to do his business. Often, he would be playing on the top branches of his play stand and suddenly stop and go “No, no, no, no, no, no…poop…no, no, no, no, no…poop on the paper.” then climb, fast as hell, down to the right spot, take his poop and say, “Good boy! Poop on the paper for a snack!”

  He’s always had a bit of a fascination with his poop. He likes to let it loose and cock his head to watch it fall. He’ll stare at his artwork and remark, “mmmmmm”.

  Pickles is camera shy, always has been. I don’t know why but from the first time we ever pulled the camera out, he’d run and hide behind something or he’d go from sitting all fluffed up and cute as a button, to stretching and sleeking himself out toward the camera. We always end up with this big head in the foreground, skinny body behind and Pickles with a look on his face as if to say, “Get that damn thing OUT of my FACE!”

  Videos are hard to take too. If I want a video of Pickles, I have to place it somewhere and leave the room. The trouble with that is, Pickles moves around and ends up out of the line of the camera. I have a couple of videos with Pickles chatting himself up but I’d like to get some film of us interacting and talking with him too.

  Pickles likes to go for swings on a hand towel. I hold it above him and he grabs on to the bottom and pushes off as I swing the towel back and forth with him hanging upside down. “Shwing baby shwing!” he goes. “Woo hoo!” he exclaims. Suddenly he’s climbing the towel towards my hand and there’s no way I want that. Pickles gets rough with his beak when playing and I don’t want him to latch on to a finger so just as he reaches the top, I grab the bottom of the towel with the other hand and flip the towel so he’s back down on the bottom. He figures, this is fun and scampers back up.

  This game takes dexterity. If you’re timing is off, you’re going to wind up with a bird hanging by the beak from a finger. At one point, in my haste to flip the towel, I let go of one end before I had a hold of the other. Pickles fell and landed perfectly in a little rect
angular box I had left on the couch, with the towel crumpling on top of him. I lifted the towel to find him tightly wedged on his back, snug as a glove. He was not happy and his feet were flailing in the air as he growled his displeasure. “Step up!” he demanded. I gave him my finger to grasp and raised him up but the box came with him. I couldn’t resist…I flipped them both around so Pickles was on his feet, wearing the box on his back. He had no idea what to do and stood still as a statue. Slowly, he took a few steps and started to trot across the cushions but all I could see was a spastic little box, zig zagging across the couch.

  I finally rescued him and he proceeded to attack the culprit. He looked like a cobra with wings splayed and neck elongated as he struck the box with his beak in quick, short spurts. He grabbed it and threw it across the couch, went after it and tossed it again and it landed on his head. Bird and box tumbled across the cushions until Pickles emerged the victor and tossed it, once and for all, to the floor.

  There’s one thing that Pickles picked up almost as soon as we got him. In the mornings, Neil always gets up before me, feeds Pickles, makes my coffee and sets it next to the computer in the kitchen and yells “Cawwwwfeeeee. Come and get your CAAAwwwfeeeee.” Or, if I’m ready to get up earlier than he expects, I yell from my bed, “Cawwwwfee” and he gets it ready for me. I don’t deserve that man.

  One morning, I heard the usual singsong call for coffee so I got up, went to the washroom then sat myself down at the computer and reached for my coffee. But there is no coffee. What the heck? Then I hear “Good morning!” and I look through the window between the kitchen and living room and there’s Pickles, hanging on the cage bars with one talon and waving at me with the other. “Want out. Want some breakfast”. I look past the cage and there’s Neil, sound asleep on the couch. It had been Pickles calling“Cawwwfeeee”I

  Neil’s voice. Not only had he called me for coffee but he’d also made the tinkling sound of the stirring spoon.

  Pickles has fooled Neil too. If Neil’s in another room, Pickles will call out as if it’s me in bed, calling for coffee. He does it quietly, as if it’s coming from down the hall and behind the bedroom door. I don’t know how many times Neil has opened the bedroom door and told me my coffee’s getting cold when I was still sound asleep.

  Pickles had become a constant source of entertainment and a wonderful companion. We seldom kept him caged, preferring to interact with him most of the day. His wonderful sense of humor always left you wanting more and we were happy to include him in all family activities.

  Chapter 2

  Pickles Goes to Work

  Right from the beginning, Pickles accompanied us to the fly shop most days. It had always been the plan to have him there with us because we worked almost every day and since Pickles seemed to have settled in quite nicely, we felt a change of scenery would be fine for him. As it turned out, Pickles was in his glory. Since he loved people, he seldom bored of all the interaction from customers. It was obviously the reason he learned to talk so quickly—the more he talked, the more he could abuse everyone who walked in the door.

  Within the first few days of being at the shop, he started making the sound of the phone ringing and answering with “Logan Lake Fly Shop.”

  In the beginning, Pickles was placed on a wooden cross made of branches, which were held up with a Christmas tree stand. It was soon apparent that this just wouldn’t do. He was bored and constantly sliding down to the floor where he could be easily trampled by customers, or us. In the next few months, there were a series of set-ups for him until we settled on a cage surrounded by branches that were drilled into the walls. This gave him a play station with lots of hanging toys and the cage was where he went to sleep or eat. He was never locked in the cage unless we had to leave briefly for lunch or supplies. Pickles was usually clipped and seldom flew except a little when he was startled and even then, he basically dropped like a rock.

  Within a few weeks, Pickles had developed quite the talking ability. Within months, that ability exploded. He knew that the more he spoke, the more attention he got. He was shooting for the center of the universe.

  While owning and operating a fly shop, a large part of our job was to provide fishing reports and suggestions on what type of flies are most effective at the time. There are literally thousands of different variations and names of flies but the only one Pickles learned during all the time he spent in the shop, was the "Woolly Bugger". A popular fly and spoken a lot in the store so Pickles picked up on it up right away, obviously thinking what a cool sound. Perfectly understandable. All the other popular flies were boring words such as Mayflies, Damsels, Dragonflies etc.

  At first, he only liked the 'bugger' part of the name so it was inserted into everything, such as Hello bugger, it's raining like a bugger, poop on the bugger, daddy bugger, eat your bugger supper, knick-knack patty whack give a dog a bugger.”

  Finally he started saying the whole name and when customers jokingly ask, "What's working Pickles?" they were rewarded with the answer, "Woolly Bugger!"

  The last guy, after being completely floored by an intelligent response to his question, proceeded to grab a handful of Woolly Buggers from the bin and dump them on the counter. As he was reaching in his wallet to pay for them, he suddenly looked at Pickles, then at me and remarked, "I can't believe I'm actually taking fishing advice from a BIRD." But even more astonishing was that the guy came back 2 days later, floating 2 feet off the ground in excitement and announced that he’d just had the BEST fishing EVER!

  There’s a good joke that fits Pickles to a tee and it goes like this…

  (A lady was walking down the street to work and she saw a parrot on a perch in front of a pet store.

  The parrot said to her, "Hey lady, you are really ugly." Well, the lady is furious!

  She stormed past the store to her work.

  On the way home she saw the same parrot and it said to her, "Hey lady, you are really ugly." She was incredibly ticked now.

  The next day the same parrot again said to her, "Hey lady, you are really ugly."

  The lady was so ticked that she went into the store and said that she would sue the store and kill the bird. The store manager apologized profusely and promised he would make sure the parrot didn't say it again.

  When the lady walked past the store that day after work the parrot called to her, "Hey lady."

  She paused and said,” Yes?"

  The bird said, "You know.")

  Pickles has the same snide attitude. A group of 4 guys were bantering back and forth withPickles as they were shopping. Suddenly Pickles got quiet, climbed to his highest perch on the play stand, surveyed the room then demanded "Everybody go home!" Everyone laughed and ignored his command so he barked, "Let's go, let's go, let's go!"

  Pickles asked another customer "Wanna sing a song?" so the lady politely obliged with the song "Rockin’ Robin" to which Pickles snapped "Wanna GOOD song!"

  Then there was the guy who kept nagging Pickles to talk while he was busy preening with his back to us. Finally, he stopped preening long enough to peer over his shoulder and tell the guy to "Go poop on a bug".

  We tried and tried to get pickles to say, "How's the fishing?" a polite greeting when people walked in the door but, no way. He liked to greet people with "Hello bugger!" and when they left, it was, "Bye bye. Be gone bugger."

  Instead of asking people if they want to buy a fly, it was "Wanna buy a bean? Huh? HUH?"

  Now and then, Pickles would get cranky. Slow days were unacceptable and he would start in on me…

  Pickles: Wanna go home?

  Me: Not yet Pickles.

  Pickles: Step up, let’s go home.

  Me: Pretty soon.

  Pickles: Let’s go home and get some supper. Doncha want some supper?

  Me: I’m not hungry.

  Pickles: Arncha hungry?

  Me: We’re NOT going HOME Pickles!

  Pickles: Brat.

  A parrot in the fly shop turned out to be good for
business. Tourists and fly fishermen from around the globe had heard about Pickles and usually made a point of dropping by. At times it was frustrating though. People sometimes hung around a little too much and often they would want to teach him new words or sounds, which we didn’t want him copying. Children would hang around too long, taking up room at the counter or keeping us from getting work done. We had to watch them like hawks for fear that items would go missing.

  One couple dropped by and while they were shopping around, their 2 kids aged about 3 and 5 tore around the shop, screeching their little heads off. Suddenly, I was hearing it in stereo—the kids on one side of the counter, Pickles on the other. After awhile, the mother came up to pay for her items and while we were making the transaction, she kept cringing at Pickles’ screeches. “Doesn’t that bird drive you crazy with those sounds?” she asked. I replied, “Do your kids drive you crazy with the sounds they make?” She looked offended and said “Of course not.” I informed her that Pickles was merely mimicking the sounds that her children had been making for the last 20 minutes and that I would be stuck with those sounds for months. Indeed, 7 years later and he still makes those sounds now and then.

  Most people didn’t know what kind of bird Pickles was. Once, a lady leaned on the counter staring at him and said “Soooo, what’s with the pigeon?” Pickles was often mistaken for a pigeon. Usually, I was happy to answer questions about Pickles and parrots in general but I was getting a little tired of the same old questions, day in and day out.