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

by Abbott, Georgi

  We brought her home and took her to meet Pickles. Poor thing. She had no idea that she was about to become Pickles personal plaything, or the equivalent of the tormented little brother. We entered the living room and Pickles went ballistic! He booted it, half running, half flying, tripping over himself and falling off branches in his haste to get close to her. Between flutters and tumbles, he cried out “Hello baby! Well hello there! Wanna scratch? Wanna potato? Helllooooo!” Once to the bottom of his stand and close to Athena, he couldn’t keep his eyes of her. He talked and laughed, talked and laughed and kept it up for hours.

  Except for all the commotion when entering the room, Athena barely looked at Pickles, she couldn’t care less. She stayed that way and has never been a threat to him. We weren’t stupid though—animals will be animals and we were careful never to set them up for disaster.

  The day after we got her, we all went to the yard first thing in the morning for a spectacular, warm autumn’s day. Pickles was in his aviary and Athena settled in the grass to gnaw on a bone while we sipped our coffee. We sat next to the aviary, admiring nature and marvelling at our happy new family.

  Pickles was still infatuated with Athena and did his very best to get her attention, stopping only long enough to heckle neighbours and passer-bys. Athena finally heads in Pickles’ direction so Pickles comes lower and closer to the aviary screen. Athena squats to pee and Pickles cries out “Water! Gurgle gurgle. Fresh water!” This is simply amazing to Pickles. He’s doing circles and head bobs and shouting “Fresh Water! Fresh Water!”.

  At some point, Athena spots a passing dog and won’t stop barking at the intruder. Pickles is startled by the first loud bark, loses his balance, flips upside down on his branch and hangs there like a stunned bat. He regains his senses but remains upside down, beating his wings and emitting that bone chilling African Grey scream. Once upright, Pickles hollers to Athena “Stop it! Just stop it!” and like a good dog, she did!

  Pickles settles down and sits all tucked up with his cute little puffy cheeks as Athena wanders next to him, squats and produces a big pile of diahrea poop. Pickles whips his head toward us as if to say “Did you see that!?” then looks back at the steaming pile and asks “Pudding?” As I’m wiping the coffee I just spit off the back of Neil’s head, Pickles carried on, “Pudding? Want pudding! Mmmmm”.

  The chilly autumn crept in and there were no more yard days after that. Neil is off work for the winter while I continue my job in Kamloops. If I could find a job that could support us both, I’d gladly work while Neil stayed home and played homemaker. He’s good at it and enjoys both cooking, baking and cleaning. When I get home, the house is clean and supper’s on the table. For desert, there’s usually homemade cake, cookies, pie or something really fattening, and I don’t have to do a damn thing. I, on the other hand, am a lousy wife and hate doing anything remotely wifely.

  While I was at work one day, Neil was preparing dinner and I was expected home shortly. Neil’s in the kitchen when he hears Pickles announce “Mamma’s home.” Athena leaps from the couch and runs to the window barking while Neil follows. They both stand at the window but there’s no car in the driveway and Neil realizes he’s been duped. Athena’s still positive I am arriving—the bird said so—and she continues to bark while Pickles shouts “Stop it! Just stop it!” Athena’s barking and Pickles is shouting until Neil settles everybody down and goes back to cooking dinner.

  Moments later, Pickles hollers “Mamma’s home!” Athena jumps up barking, Neil runs to the living room and both stand staring out the window. Psyche. Neil catches on but Athena can’t believe a bird would lie so she keeps barking. “Go lay down!” Pickles demands. “Stop it! Go lay down!” Athena barks a couple of hesitant woofs then reluctantly goes back to the couch. Neil goes back to the kitchen.

  “MAMMA’S HOME!!!!!!!” Pickles screams. Running…barking. Man and dog stare out the window. Bilked again. Neil is feeling pretty sheepish, Athena’s not sure what to believe and now she’s whining. Pickles whines right back at her, only he takes it up a few notches. Neil goes back to dinner, Athena lies down and stares at the bird confused and hurt.

  “MAMMA’S HOME!!!!!!” Athena merely lifts her head as Neil rushes past her to the window. I guess it’s true what they say about old dogs and new tricks.

  Winter goes on, we get fatter as our plans for dog walking get blown out the window. There’s always a reason—it’s too cold, too much snow or too icy but mainly, it’s because Athena hates the cold. Good choice eh? A hairless Doberman in a high altitude winter climate. We have a hard time walking on ice but Athena is worse. Dobies simply don’t have the paws for grabbing, she’s just slipping all over the place. But we get by and somehow, Athena remains slim, even with the lack of exercise.

  Spring finally arrives and I’m able to take Athena for walks and runs. Her recall’s not great and we work at it but I have to be careful about where I let her run. We were assured she had no aggression but soon find out she will go after other dogs. The moment she reached them, she would spin on her heels and head back but we were afraid she’d do that to the wrong dog some day and cause a fight.

  Athena is still showing no interest in Pickles but just to be safe, we had erected a sturdy screen door between the living room and kitchen to separate bird and dog when we’re not around. We were more afraid of Pickles approaching Athena, than the other way around. Pickles is a little bugger and he could saunter over and nip Athena, given half a chance.

  Neil goes back to work in spring and this year he’s managing Lac Le Jeune Provincial Park. I left my job in Kamloops and went to work as the gatekeeper in the same park. There are 144 campsites in the park and it’s situated on a lake with excellent trout fishing. Wildlife is plentiful, including deer, moose and the odd black bear.

  Along the lakeshore, there’s a really nice day-use/picnic area and one day I was sent to write tickets for any vehicles without a parking pass. It was Canada Day, the beach was packed and the parking lot contained many violators so I got busy writing. As I approached a car, writing on my clipboard, I failed to notice a pothole and everyone around me heard the crack as I stepped into it and broke my ankle. As I was falling and trying to right myself, I sprained the other one. As I lay sat on the ground, unable to speak through the pain, many people came to assist but I wouldn’t let them look because I hadn’t shaved my legs. I spent the rest of the summer on cast and crutches. So much for walking the dog.

  With a broken ankle, the simplest things became nearly impossible, like taking a shower. I had to wash my hair in the bathroom sink so I’d have something to lean against while my hands were busy. One day, I’m washing my hair while Athena lounges on the bed. The whole while, Pickles is chirping and whistling at the top of his lungs. “What a happy bird.” I’m thinking, as I rinse my hair.

  “Heyyyy, wait a minute” I think to myself, “He’s a little too loud” and I turn off the water to hear him better. He sounds closer than the living room so I wrapped my head in a towel and hobbled to the living room to check it out.

  No bird. He’s not on the top of the cage where I left him, he’s not in the usual ‘fly down’ places and of course, he shut the heck up now. I know how he loves this game so I’m off on the hunt once again, knowing full well he’s sitting coyly, head bobbing and watching my every move. I always feel so silly playing this game, knowing that a little smart ass bird is fully aware of the fact that he’s pulling one over on me.

  Not on the couch. Not on his living room play stand. Not on a lampshade. The living room is void of birds.

  Not in the bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter or typing at the keyboard.

  On to the dining room but not on his play stand, table or hutch.

  As I turn to leave the dining room, Pickles just can’t contain himself any longer. He snickers. I scan the room again but he’s invisible. Another snicker, I narrow it down from the sound. “Pickles?” I call. He answers with a cough and a sneeze. Aha! Under the kitchen table.


  I bend down to look and there he is, crouching on a chair seat, poised to flee. “Ack!” he shouts as I reach for him, but I’m not fast or nimble enough, restricted by my crutches, and he launches—straight into the sliding window door. He goes down in a crumpled heap, shakes it off and attempts to escape through the glass again. I head over to retrieve him but he doesn’t like the crutches, especially from his floor level. Over and over he leaps and slams into the glass, all the while crying “Aviary? Aviary? Aviary?” which he sees within reach, if it weren’t for this stupid window between them.

  I’m trying to maneuver crutches and bend over to nab him before he hurts himself but it’s a difficult task and I end up toppling into an armchair. Pickles spots an opportunity to head for the hills and he sprints, running low with his wings splayed for balance. But there’s an obstacle—Athena appears before him, attracted by all the excitement. Pickles pauses momentarily, assesses his blocked escape route and opts to go for it anyway and shoots between Athena’s legs.

  Athena is mortified as the little grey plane taxies at full break speed towards her. She starts to hop like a cat on a hot tin roof, trying to keep her feet out of beak reach but trying not to hurt Pickles at the same time. This confuses Pickles and he’s trying to get out from under but everywhere he heads, paws are raining down around him.

  So there in the middle of the floor is a dancing, hopping, circling dog with a trapped, dancing, hopping, circling bird crying “oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh.”

  Finally I reach the commotion and scoop Pickles up. Pickles is livid and demands “Wanna go home!” so I plop him down on the base edge of his play stand where he promptly turns his back on me and sits muttering to himself.

  Athena follows meekly, slightly traumatized by the whole ordeal and worried that she may have been the bad one. She appears to be concerned about Pickles and gingerly sniffs and inspects him from a safe distance. Pickles is angry with me but turns to Athena and asks sweetly “Wanna snackery kiss?” What a suck up.

  The two of them got along well. Even though Pickles constantly teased and tormented Athena, he really liked her company and spent a lot of time trying to interact with her. Athena would lie sleeping on the floor beneath the play stand and Pickles would perch above, talking a mile a minute. He’d tell her stories, ask her questions and if possible, poop on her. He’d specifically move around the bottom of the play stand to position himself above her, let one go and bob his head madly when he scored. Athena totally ignored Pickles, except to obey the odd command to “go lay down”. And of course, Pickles yelled out “Mamma’s home!” any time he was bored, just to watch her run to the window barking. He’d wait until she settled down, rolled up in a ball on her bed and do it again. That dog—never once did she suspect it might be a lie.

  My ankle never did heal properly (even 3 years later) and it was difficult to walk Athena. Neil worked on his feet, almost every day and sometimes 10 to 12 hours so I couldn’t expect him to always be walking her but sometimes he did. She was becoming more and more aggressive towards other dogs and I could hardly hold her back. I couldn’t plant my feet because of my ankle and it was getting embarrassing, not being able to control my own dog.

  Her barking had become constant. She’d go to the yard and just stand there barking at something that seemed visible only to her. We got it under control for a while by rewarding her with a cookie every time she was quiet, telling her “Good girl, no bark!” But I think because I couldn’t walk her, she was getting bored. I would still take her places to let her run loose but now winter had arrived again. I needed help.

  We worked with behaviorists and I tried any advice I could get. Nothing seemed to work and I was frustrated because I’d never owned, or dealt with, an aggressive dog before. I applied all the Positive Reinforcement techniques that are used for parrot training but nothing seemed to work with Athena. I was at a loss, and it was getting worse.

  She nipped at a guy’s butt once, which shocked me because until that time, Athena was only dog aggressive. As I was getting out of the car one day, I opened the back door to get my groceries and Athena, spying a small dog, bolted from the car. Before I could react, she had the little dog pinned to the ground with her jaws at the belly. Fortunately, I was able to call her off and the little dog ran away. I spoke with the owner later, who had seen it happen from down the street, and he said his dog bore no marks. But that was it. I had to let her go.

  I had to give her up, for her own good. I felt her aggression had been misrepresented to me and thought it irresponsible and unfair to her, but perhaps she hadn’t been at the rescue center long enough for them to properly assess her. In the meantime (1 ½ years), we had bonded and it was hard to let go but she needed someone who had experience in dealing with aggressive dogs, or a home with acreage to run. I’ve owned dogs, always from pups, all my life but I was at a loss with this one. I cried all the way to, and back from, the rescue center. I had failed her.

  We let her go in the spring and it was a sad house for a long time. Pickles would call for her but Athena never appeared. We all missed her and as the summer passed, we felt we needed to fill that void so in August, I went looking for another dog. I wanted a small dog this time, and one that I could control on walks. We settled on a Min Pin (Miniature Pinscher, but no relation to the Doberman) and found the cutest little rust colored, 8 week old puppy. I spoke with my First Nations friend and asked him for a name that meant sweet or gentle and he immediately came up with ‘Neeka’, which means ‘Darling One’. He’s very spiritual and believes a name can shape the character.

  We brought the little guy home and introduced him to Pickles. Pickles is thrilled because dogs are chumps, they are easily deceived and he has a brand new victim. Neeka was doomed to spend his life as the butt of all Pickles’ practical jokes.

  Neeka is just teensy weensy. So tiny that a finger is almost too big to pet his head and his belly can’t be stroked without making contact with his little dick. Correction—he has a huge dick for such a little pup, embarrassingly large. And he loves his dick. He checks with it about everything. If he gets in trouble, he immediately pokes his dick as if it were to blame. Get away from the cage Neeka, poke the dick. Leave that remote alone Neeka, poke the dick. Neil says he’s whispering to his dick, like Brick on the TV show “The Middle” and thinks they’re plotting together. Neeka tried to copulate with everything in sight and stuffed toys didn’t stand a chance. He always had an erection and couldn’t walk because it would rub on his chest and make him friskier. We got him neutered but it was as if it didn’t take. It took 2 years for his obsession to fade, and for the erections to mostly go away but he still blames his dick for all his troubles.

  Neeka learned real fast that there’s food under Pickles’ area and Pickles knows that Neeka’s not supposed to scrounge for it but Pickles can’t resist enticing him. One time, Neeka was sitting on the floor, a couple of feet from where Pickles was sitting on the edge of the play stand and eating white pith from the inside of a piece of orange peel. He finished but Neeka wasn’t looking at him so he leaned out as far as he could reach, rolling the peel around on his tongue without taking his eyes of the dog. Neeka happened to glance up and Pickles promptly dropped the rind on the floor. A quick remand from Neil stops Neeka in his tracks. Pickles chuckles because he’s just found a new game and there’s no shortage of food to play with.

  Neeka is a little confused about who gives the orders around here—us, or the talking bird. Pickles is the bossiest and most demanding so Neeka probably feels that Pickles is the alpha person in the house. Pickles takes every opportunity to keep the chain of command in tact. He will slide down the outside corner of his cage and call Neeka. He thinks that if he whispers, even though I’m right there, that I can’t see or hear him. He whispers “Neeka. Neeka. Neeka come.” Little kissy noises to call the dog. “Neeka.” Neeka obeys and heads toward him but Pickles immediately reprimands him with a shout, “NO BIRD!!”

  Pickles anta
gonizes Neeka by learning all the squeaky toys and making the squeaky sounds when Neeka’s out of the room. Neeka races in to the room in hopes of catching the toy thief but he never catches on because Pickles pretends to be sleeping.

  I swear that bird sits and plots the majority of his day and it’s a good thing that Neeka is so good-natured and able to put up with it because it keeps Pickles from focusing his evil on us.

  Neeka turned out to be the sweetest little dog. He’s playful, cuddly, smart and loaded with character. A bit of a mommy suck but I like it that way. He’s attentive to Pickles, but in a good way. Neeka watches Pickles play, obeys some of his commands and always watches for food to drop. Pickles watches Neeka a lot too and likes to chat it up with him. I don’t let the two of them get too close though because Pickles might nip him and, even though Neeka would never bite on purpose, it’s possible he could bite out of surprise and injure Pickles. We still have the screen door protecting Pickles in the living room for times we’re busy or gone from the house. Neeka’s good on a leash, never pulls, and he has great recall when off leash.

  He’s absolutely perfect, except he gets a little upset when we leave without him, but don’t most dogs? What a contrast between Pickles and Neeka. If we leave the house, Neeka barks and howls, Pickles whistles and hoots at the top of his lungs. Neeka’s upset, Pickles is happy.

  While preparing to leave the house one day, Neeka frets and Pickles is practically pushing us out the door calling “Go bye-bye. Be gone long time”.

  Neeka screams bloody murder as we shut the door, walk to the car and drive away—Pickles sings at the top of his lungs, “Doodle-oodle-oo, woo hoo, doodle-oodle-oo!”

  Neeka dashes out the doggy door and runs along the fence line, barking at the car as it drives away—Pickles caws like a crow in the background.