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

by Abbott, Georgi

  Til he tipped over backwards and fell on the rug.

  He pulled and he pushed and he blonked and he bleaked.

  He picked at the billball and fell on his beak.

  He scuffled and scorted. He screed and he skried

  And suddenly quick as a Whifflepuff’s cry,

  Out fell the prize. My, My, and Oh My!

  And what was this wonderful, wonderful thing?

  A Sondercubs triss or a Whipnubbers bling?

  A Whirlykaboodle brings anyone joy.

  No! A Special Kermuffly Pickles Bird Toy.

  Move over Dr. Seuss.

  It’s a good thing my mother is not a prude. Right off the bat, we were throwing little whiffle balls to Pickles on the back of the couch and as he snagged one in the air with his talon, it caused him to flip over on his back, wedging him against the wall. “Oh shit!” he exclaimed as he struggled to right himself. That was the very first time he had uttered these words and thankfully, he seldom repeats it.

  Pickles loves to fool my mom by ringing the phone and she falls for it most times. If she doesn’t, he calls out “Answer the damn bird!”

  We celebrated my mom’s birthday while she was here and even though the word ‘party’ was never mentioned, Pickles somehow senses the days we plan to have a couple of drinks and play music. Perhaps it’s because he sees us making ice. He joins in with the sound of tinkling ice cubes, the snap of the pop can being opened and the fizzling of the soda—which he calls “juice”. Then Pickles suggests the perfect place for the party…

  “Anybody in the aviary? Wanna party? Wanna party in the aviary? Want music in the aviary? Let’s go party in the aviary! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

  The three of us agree, so we made Pina Coladas, put on Pickles favorite fiddle music and packed him out to the yard while he showed his appreciation with “Woo Hoo! What a good song! Sing a song with your beak!”

  Neil grabbed the hose to water the herbs and inadvertently sprayed Pickles. This was NOT a part of the deal and he ran along his perches, flapping his wings angrily, hollering “Uh oh. Uh oh. Uh oh. Stop it! Just stop it! Stop it brat!” Neil stopped and apologized but Pickles’ good mood was ruined…until a neighbor who’d never met Pickles spotted us and came over to chat with him. A new victim caused Pickles to snap out of his snit and when the fellow said, “Well now, what do we have in here?” Pickles answered…

  “Freshwater rat baby!”

  During this period, Pickles’ favorite word was ‘rat’ and he had become quite fond of adding ‘ary’ to his words.

  “Hello rat baby! Want some rat beans? Want some rat poop? Poop on the rats. Go poop. Poop in the rat aviary for a snack. Wanna go in the aviary? Want some snackery in the aviary? Wanna bananary in the aviary? There’s a buggery in the aviary! Hafta poopery in the aviary? Huh?”

  “rrrrrrrrats”

  The neighbor looked at us, looked at Pickles and back at us.

  “I don’t know this bird.” I said. “He wandered in the yard one day, we fed him and now he won’t go away.”

  Chapter 4

  Not Always Fun & Games

  Birds poop, a lot. No getting around it. If you own a bird, it’s something you learn to put up with. In the wild, they poop to get rid of the extra baggage for fast take-off, flight and safety. Over time, Pickles got pretty good about holding it and not just releasing his bombs all helter skelter but there were many episodes early on. Poop decorated floors, furniture and clothing. I don’t know how many times I’ve been out in public only to return home and discover a nice gooey blob on my arm, shoulder or chest that I hadn’t noticed before I left the house. Nobody ever says anything. They can’t help but see it but you’re not given the chance to explain—no, I didn’t just hork all over myself.

  Pickles turned out to be a very finicky eater so we were always looking for new and innovative ways to get him to eat the things that were good for him. Like most parrots, he showed his displeasure by throwing food. We didn’t always have the time to clean up after him so his cage, the walls and the floor were sometimes mottled with dried up scraps of food. He thought nothing of flinging undesired food in our faces and stomping around on the top of his cage, throwing a temper tantrum.

  I learned to make birdy breads. They are sort of like carrot cake and I add different items of fruits and vegetables to each one so that he gets the proper vitamins and nutrients he requires. It’s very time consuming between baking them and cutting them up in rows of little squares, wrapping with saran wrap, labeling then freezing. But Pickles loves them and he gets a square each night for supper. Over time, he got use to the taste of most fruits and veggies and will sometimes eat them fresh now, but not much. His favorites are bananas, grapes, pomegranate, carrots, potatoes and pepper seeds. Breakfast is fresh peas or corn and during the day he gets pellets, seeds and nuts. He’s a healthy, active bird so I guess we’re doing something right.

  Fortunately, we live in an arid area of the BC Interior and have no problem with mold or mildew. We can leave fruits or vegetables in Pickles’ bowl for longer periods of time than someone living in a humid climate—everything just sort of dries up, like sun drying a tomato. We don’t have to worry about mold on his cage however, things can dry to a dust and cause respiratory problems.

  On the other hand, humidity would be good for Pickles because he hates to bathe and he’s a dirty, dirty little birdie. He freaks out if we use a spray bottle and mostly he just gets his feet and beak wet on the odd occasion that he takes a bath in a bowl. The only humidity he gets, is from taking showers with Neil. He likes to perch on the shower rod and watch but doesn’t like to be splashed. Sometimes we’ll bend over the kitchen sink and Pickles will run up and down our arms to get a little wet under the tap.

  At some point, it became difficult to keep Pickles aloft. He was insisting on climbing down his cage to explore, or to be with us. Often, he was almost stepped on when he suddenly appeared at our feet while we were off doing something. It was becoming dangerous in the shop with customers walking around and it seemed there was no way to make him stay put.

  I won’t go into many details or the complications of this and other behavioral problems but what it boiled down to was finding the PBAS (Parrot Behavior Analysis Solutions) Group where they pair you with someone to help and interact with you on a forum or through email. They teach Positive Reinforcement which has become a way of life for us with Pickles. Pickles is never punished, parrots don’t understand punishment, it just causes dislike, distrust or fear. He is rewarded for good behavior and bad behavior is ignored. All it takes is a little creative thinking to make a parrot feel that he is in control, and reinforcers such as food or toys are used as encouragement.

  PBAS taught us the importance of enrichment and foraging so Neil got busy making play stands for Pickles. He started by building a wooden base with 4-inch lip all the way around, which gave Pickles something to sit on, and attached legs like you find on a computer chair in the center so that Pickles couldn’t reach and climb down. To the base, he attached a few thick branches with thinner branches shooting off the main branch, providing him a variety of perches and climbing material. From these, we hung various toys. Neil built several stands so that Pickles would have an area in each room to hang out on while we did dishes or ate dinner etc. Each one was different and he was happy to be moved from room to room to be with us. The main play stand was placed next to Pickles’ cage in the livingroom so that he had access to it whenever he wanted.

  Our lovely home became one big birdcage, still void of paintings or knick knacks that we felt needed protection from Pickles. We may as well have replaced the couches with stick furniture and the carpets with cement flooring and put in a drain so that we could hose the house down to clean all the spattered poop and food as needed.

  It took a couple of weeks of working with PBAS but various plans were implemented, success was achieved and it has stuck with him for the most part. There is still the ve
ry, very odd time that Pickles, if left alone too long, will climb down and go searching for us. Sometimes he might be startled into flying down but he has become uncomfortable on the floor so he will quickly scramble back up his cage.

  Pickles has always been afforded a lot of freedom, meaning a lot of time out of his cage. About the only time he was required to be caged was at bedtime or if we had to go out. He started refusing to go in the cage when we needed to go out and as I said earlier, we don’t like to force him into anything. To make matters worse, he was now deciding which days he wanted to go to work with us. Some days, he preferred to stay home and refused to get in his travel cage to go with us. The first couple of times this happened, he wouldn’t go in his living room cage so we had to trick him by placing his favorite foods inside and locking the cage door after he climbed in. He caught on fast and stopped going in after the food.

  I was desperate one day. Neil was out of town and I had to open the shop. Pickles didn’t want to go to work, and didn’t want to go in his cage. After trying unsuccessfully to bribe him, I finally had to leave. I came home part way through the day to check on him, it’s only a 2-minute drive, and everything seemed fine but he still wouldn’t get in his cage. When I got home that night, he was whistling happily on his cage top and there were no signs of destruction or tell tale signs of poop on floors or furniture. Since Pickles, by this time, was not all that destructive and preferred staying aloft, we figured we’d let him have his way until we came up with a better plan.

  Still though, there were days he was good about going in the cage and I had no problem locking him in so one day I had some shopping to do and was gone for about 45 minutes. Upon my return, I thought it curious that I wasn't greeted with Pickles' usual "Mama's home! Hello baby!" so I walked into the living room to investigate.

  My heart sank to the pit of my stomach as I realized my very, very, VERY worst fear had become a reality. I stood, dumbfounded, gaping at an empty cage. Somebody broke in the house and stole him.

  Then I noticed the cage door. hmmm. What kinda self-respecting thief would steal a parrot and take the time to lock the cage door in the open position? Damn, I'd gone out and forgot to put Pickles in his cage. My relief quickly turned to worry though because he wasn't anywhere in sight.

  I began my search, looking for signs of a poop trail. I'm calling for him and his silence conjures up images of an electrified bird lying in a smoking heap behind the couch (having chewed through an electric cord). My grasping mind tells me "it's okay, you know how he clams up in impish delight while enjoying an impromptu game of hide-and-seek" but I'm uneasy non-the-less.

  As I'm on my hands and knees, peering under a couch, I hear a VERY distinctive nose laugh. You know the sound—when someone is laughing through their nose with their mouth closed. I look up from my crouched position, into the kitchen about 6 feet away and there, smack dab in the middle of the dictionary stand, roosts a smartass little Grey.

  "Pickles!" I exclaim.

  "What's up?" he queries with a twinkle in his eye.

  "I've been looking all over for you!" I reply.

  "Huh?" he asks.

  "You heard me.” I said, which triggers more nose laughing and some gleeful head bobbing.

  As I walked toward him he commanded, "Step up" as his little footsie was waving in the air in anticipation of my hand and a free ride home—or so I thought.

  The moment he stepped up on my hand, he flung himself upside down exclaiming "Upside down bird!" I told him to get back up as I righted him with my other hand. After momentarily obliging, he promptly fell over once again. He thought this a delightful little game and continued to fall over like some stinkin' drunk.

  So there I am, walking around with an upside down bird on my hand, telling him to get back up and he's piping "get back up!" right back at me. I carry this lippy, drunken bird to the cage and try to set him down gently on his back but he just lies there clinging to my finger. I try to pry his talons off but they just dig in deeper.

  I give up, sit on the couch and place him on his back in my lap, between my legs. He lies there, trying to outlast me. Eventually he says "ticko, ticko, ticko" so I tickle his belly. He gets so excited that he releases his hold but is now stuck on his back like a turtle, waving his feet frantically in the air. I don't help the little stinker. Instead, I sit there and nose laugh.

  All this time I had thought Pickles was getting his vocabulary from me. As it turned out, he'd been reading the dictionary behind my back.

  I think the most serious issue was about 2 years after we got him, when Pickles started to bite Neil. He was biting hard and drawing blood any time Neil tried to get him to step up. There were 2 reasons we believe were the cause. I had come out from behind the counter at the shop one day to help someone choose some flies and another customer ducked behind the counter and got Pickles to step up. He moved fast for a large, imposing looking man and I didn’t have time to react. By the time I got to him, Pickles was running up his arm and the man was grabbing his beak and teasingly shaking Pickles head. Pickles didn’t like this and he bit, but this guy just thought it was funny and kept doing it. I got Pickles off the guy’s arm as soon as I got there but the harm had been done.

  From that moment, Pickles would talk to men but he didn’t like being too close and would not step up for them, and this included Neil. Neil became quite fearful of Pickles and of course, Pickles picked up on this. He would offer Neil his neck for scratches but when Neil went to oblige, Pickles would whip his head around and bite—hard.

  Around the same time, Neil had taken a 6-month job out of town, which meant he was only home for the odd weekend. During this time, Pickles bonded tight with me and Neil had become almost a stranger to him. It was frustrating for me when Neil came home to visit because, since he couldn’t get close to Pickles there was little interaction between the two of them. Pickles had grown use to our routine of going for walks around the house or playing on the couch. He can be quite the card while playing and I would try to get Neil to watch but Neil was beginning to resent the time I spent with Pickles when he and I had so little time together these days. I was afraid their relationship was doomed for life, which wasn’t fair for all involved.

  I hatched a plan. Once he finished the out-of-town job, I made Neil Pickles’ primary caregiver. Neil did all the feeding and all the cage cleaning. Pickles’ favourite treats are pine nuts so Neil would drop them into Pickles’ bowl or next to him throughout the day. Neil didn’t get too close the first few days but made a point of standing next to Pickles just to chat. I taught Neil how to read Pickles body language so he could anticipate a bite and before long he was able to pick his moments and get Pickles to step up. All interaction with Pickles was to be fun, nothing negative and I handled any unpleasant situations that arose. Pickles soon learned that all interaction with Neil was fun and games and they bonded quickly. A few months later, Neil wrote an article for Good Bird Magazine entitled The Myth of One Person Birds. He wrote how to change it and how it’s selfish not to. If something happens to a parrot’s primary caregiver what becomes of that parrot? What kind of life will he have if he’s incapable of bonding to anybody else?

  A short time down the road, Neil had to go out of town again for 2 months and this time Pickles was miserable. If Pickles is miserable, I’m miserable. Not just because I feel sorry for him but also because the little snot is convinced it’s entirely my fault so he rags on me all day. If parrots had their own swear words, his spiteful squawks would surely be unspeakable and when he does use his words, it’s an insistent “Dadddeeeeeeeee. Daddy be right back!! Dadddeeeeeee. Daddy’s home??? Dadddeeeeeee….”. I’d rather pluck nose hairs than listen to that.

  Two nights after Neil's departure, Pickles is especially cranky. After an intense bout of the above behavior and mad at me for ignoring him, he stomped around the top of his cage attacking every single toy that had the nerve to cross his path then promptly ran down the outside cage bars and plopped his hea
d into the outside pellet bowl. There he hung, clinging to the bars upside down with his head hidden like an ostrich in the dirt. He remained like that for quite some time completely motionless. I watched. He hung.

  After awhile I finally asked if he was okay. An echoed grumbling was my only reply. A couple of minutes later, I asked again but his only response was a very quiet, mournful "Daddeeee" punctuated with a sigh.

  "You gonna hang upside down with your head in a bowl for 2 months Pickles?" I asked.

  "Stuck" he said.

  "You're not stuck, your just sulking" I accused.

  "STUCK" he insisted.

  "Liar" I said.

  A solitary eye rose barely above the brim just long enough to glare at me, then back to the bowl.

  Fine, let's see how long he can pout upside down. I wait.

  We both sit in silence. Blessed silence. Something I hadn't experienced for a couple of days.

  Pickles couldn't stand it after awhile and couldn't resist raising his head in slow motion until one eyeball appeared just long enough to confirm he still had my attention. Then back in the bowl.

  He soon tired of this position so, with his head still inside, one foot reached for the side of the bowl, but he slipped. With a flap and a squawk, he landed in the bowl with nothing but his little twinker sticking out.

  A short struggle ensued and, without ever retracting his head, he managed a foothold on the edge of the bowl. There he perched, headless. And embarrassed. He blames the pellets and punishes them all by smashing them with his beak and sending them flying, head still in bowl.

  He settles down but now it's a matter of pride. He's tired of his head in a bowl but how do you remove a head without losing face? He opts for a clever change of subject. Switching to his sweet voice, he politely asks, "Wanna sing a song?"

  I'm tempted to make him sweat it out a little longer but I cave and sing him his favorite song. Up pops the weasel with a "Woo Hoo! Whatta good song!!" Pickles chimes in and we pretend he didn't just spend the last few minutes making a fool of himself.