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

by Abbott, Georgi

  We find it strange that he wants back out but we humor him by uncovering him and fastening his cage door back in the open position. Out he scrambles, hands on his hips, and begins to scream at us. Okay, he didn’t have his hands on his hips but I’m sure only because that would be physically impossible for him. “Lights OFF!” he commands then runs back in his cage.

  What the heck?? He wants OUR light out too?? Jeeeeeez. We cover him back up and turn off the light above us. There we sit, in the dark, pouting and wondering at what point in the last few years did we became slaves to a bird?

  I should mention that Pickles UV light sits on the TV with a long arm that reaches to a spot right above his favorite perch. We have to reach up and hit a switch to turn it off. When Pickles wants it turned off, he stretches his whole body toward it and says, “Lights off” while making the clicking sound of the switch.

  Pickles, like most parrots, is obsessed with the phone. I would buy him his own except he’d just destroy it. But wouldn’t it be cool to phone him and teach him to answer and have a conversation with us? He likes to have our phone put up to his ear so he can listen to people on the other end so I can just imagine the conversations he’d have with his own telephone. I can also imagine the bill he’d rack up from dialing.

  One day, I need to make a telephone call and an appointment. I settle on the couch and begin to dial the 11-digit long distance number. Pickles decides to help by making the sounds of the numbers beeping. I’m half way through and, oh crap, was that the beep of my number or his? I have long fingernails and my phone isn’t nail friendly, often my nail slips off the number. Hang up, start to dial again. Oops, too many beeps, I think I missed one. Redial, faster, before Pickles can chime in. Nope, Pickles starts to dial just as fast. Several attempts later, I’m hoping I have the right number as the phone is ringing in my ear—it’s long distance, after all.

  Bingo, I have the receptionist on the line and we begin our conversation. Part way through, the receptionist asks what kind of dog I have. I start to wonder why she would ask that then suddenly realize Pickles is barking in the background.

  “Oh” I answer, “That’s just my bird.”

  “You have a barking bird?” she asks.

  “Yes.” I sigh.

  Pickles switches to crow calls and begins cawing.

  “Oh!” She exclaims, “You have a CROW! That’s pretty cool”

  “No, no, he’s a parrot—an African Grey.” I explain.

  “Really? Does he talk too?” She asks.

  “Oh God, yes.” I tell her.

  “Can you make him talk for me??” She asks, all excited.

  “Probably.” I respond and take the phone receiver over to Pickles.

  “Talk to the lady Pickles.” I say.

  “Now?” Pickles asks.

  “Yes please.” Say I, “Say hello.”

  Pickles goes “Hoo, hoo hoo, hoo.” (An owl)

  “No, speak Pickles.”

  “Chicka dee dee dee.” Goes Pickles.

  “Aw, c’mon Pickles.” I say.

  Pickles responds with a loon call.

  I glare at him; he looks innocently back at me then makes a fart sound.

  Okay, that’s it. I take the phone back and tell the lady that Pickles doesn’t feel like talking right now.

  “Hmmmm.” she says, “Was that a fart I heard?”

  “Yeah, he makes that sound.” I admitted.

  “Wonder where he learned THAT.” She responds, a little snidely.

  I’m thinking, listen lady, I just want to make my appointment and get the heck off this phone so I change the subject.

  Finally, the receptionist is saying “Okay Mrs. Abbott, your appointment is set for Tuesday, December…” and Pickles lets go with a loud police siren.

  “No way that was your bird!” She exclaims. “How does he learn these things?”

  “We live in a bad neighborhood.” I lie. “See you in a couple of weeks.”

  As I hang up, Pickles beeps his own hanging up sound while saying ‘bye-bye’ and immediately begins to chat it up with actual words and phrases.

  “Oh, so NOW you wanna talk.”

  “Now.” He says, in agreement.

  Cleaning time around the house is especially entertaining for Pickles. He loves to converse while we’re doing housework and that’s usually when we have our best conversations. It makes a chore, which I consider worse than working in the salt mines, a little more bearable. All the activity, especially if both Neil and I are involved, gets Pickles quite animated. He’ll yak at us while hanging upside down on a perch or boing or lie in wait for a head to absentmindedly wander close enough for a bop on the head. It provides him the chance to yell ‘Score!” and have a good snicker. The best opportunities come from cleaning the cage though because it’s the best place to trap a head while you perch on the cage door. If you don’t get it going in, there’s only one escape and it’s ambushed on the way out when it’s eyes are on the wrong side. It’s good-natured enough but jeez, sometimes he really nails us.

  The cage is the first order of business in the living room. No point cleaning a cage if you’ve already vacuumed because food and dried poop ends up all over the floor, especially when Pickles is helping to dispose of it by ripping the paper. Neil always announces his intentions by telling Pickles “Daddy clean the cage now” and Pickles will scramble like a spider to help, whooping it up the whole way.

  We’re not the most consistent housecleaners so poop sometimes accumulates on the base of Pickles’ play stand. We pull out the scraper and sweep it into little piles that are as tempting as piles of leaves to children. Piles of stuff require jumping right in the middle and scattering it as fast as you can with your feet and beak.

  Pickles loves the vacuum cleaner with all its noise and he competes with it to be heard. One day I pulled out the vacuum and the belt was broken so I used our tough little hand-held. I set it on the floor between Pickles at the bottom of his play stand and Neeka on the edge of the couch then went to plug it in. I returned, got on my hands and knees and turned it on. Neither of them had expected it. They both startled with a shot as one flew into the wall and the other into a window. I wasn’t expecting the kerfuffle and in my shock, I knocked over my tea which startled them even further. Neeka took off running down the hall and Pickles followed, figuring Neeka had a good escape plan, which only terrified Neeka further to have bird fast on his tail.

  I arrived in the bedroom at the end of the hall to find Neeka trapped in the corner by Pickles on the bed. I rescued Neeka by picking up Pickles and taking him to the laundry room where I was doing a load of wash. Pickles had completely regained his composure and was happy to be set down on the chest freezer while Neeka was just happy to be away from both bird and vacuum. Just then, the washing machine went into it’s rinse cycle, a noisy affair from the spinning old relic, and Pickles, who’d never experienced it before, went stone still with wide eyes. I didn’t want another panic on my hands so I immediately started to whoop it up, acting like it was a party with music. Pickles wasn’t sure he should trust me at first but quickly realized, THIS was better than the vibrations from the freezer! The whole room shook, causing everything and everybody to convulse, and this was truly wonderful to Pickles.

  I had a hard time getting him to step up off the freezer that day. Laundry had become the best household chore ever!

  I have no idea why Pickles likes to be left alone but frankly, it’s a little insulting. He can be miserable as hell but as soon as he knows we’re leaving the house, he’s happy as a lark. When we cover him up at night, as far as he’s concerned, we’re gone and he prefers his own company to ours so he has a great time with himself. The fun and conversations he has by himself are far better than when he’s with us. Sometimes we turn off the TV to listen and we’d swear he has split personalities, just from all the sensible questions and answers.

  Earlier on, we had started leaving the room when he was cranky and demanding but it’s
come to the point that when we do it now, we think he’s done it on purpose so he can be alone! He’s cranky, we say “Bye-bye cranky bird”, he perks right up, says “Bye-bye. Be gone long time” and he’s off somewhere to amuse himself. Now we’re stuck in another room with nothing to do and if we return, he gets cranky again. Sheesh.

  I have to leave the house one day and give Pickles some Cheerios on the way out. He grabs one in his talon, waves it in the air and calls, “Go bye-bye” then chows down on it. In between bites, he whistles and chirps, happy to see me go. I don’t put him in his cage; I just close the screen door between the living room and kitchen.

  Later, when I returned home and drove into the driveway, I spotted a little grey head peeking over the top of the couch in front of the window. Or at least I thought I did, it was there then gone in a flash. I parked and stared at the window. Just as I was beginning to think I’d imagined it, up pops a head again but a split second later, it’s gone again. I sat. He popped up then down again. The little jack-in-the-box antics continued several more times. Was he hiding? Did he think I couldn’t see him if he was quick enough? Was this a game? He was obviously clinging to the backrest of the couch and I wondered if he was doing his usual snickering head bobs each time he ducked back down.

  Eventually I went in the house but when I arrived in the living room, there was no bird on the couch. Oh great, up to his vanishing acts again. But I glanced at his cage and there he was, perched inside with one leg tucked up as if he’d been sitting there innocently the whole time.

  “I saw you in the window Pickles” I accused.

  “Where Daddy?” he responds, changing the subject.

  “At work.” I answered.

  “Hasta make some money?” Pickles asked.

  “That’s right Pickles,” I said as I turned to put the groceries away.

  “Want some supper” Pickles called out. I told him it was too early for supper but then glanced at the clock to find it was 5:00 on the button. That bird has a built in time clock.

  I brought him his supper, telling him it was a good supper tonight “It’s a berry supper Pickle Boy—you’re favorite birdie bread”.

  Pickles doesn’t miss a beat, “mmmmmm! A berry good supper!” he quipped.

  How clever.

  Now, some readers might think that it’s irresponsible of us to leave Pickles alone in the living room but you have to know Pickles, and you have to know us. Pickles’ good nature stems from his sense of independence and the ability to make his own decisions. The more freedom he has, the happier he is. We could force him into his cage when we leave but it would make him angry and he’d be frustrated the whole time he was contained. Neil and I have been blessed with careers that allow us to either take him with us, work at home, or work different shifts so that Pickles is seldom left alone for long. However, sometimes circumstances change for brief periods of time and we’re not home much. This would be hard for a parrot like Pickles because he’s so use to company and freedom from the cage that we just can’t bring ourselves to force him into it. Are there dangers associated with allowing him to stay out of his cage and alone in the living room? Of course. Pickles stays aloft 99.9 percent of the time and even when he does come to the ground or the couch, he’s not comfortable there for long so he scrambles back up his cage but yes, there’s a tiny chance that he might decide to explore but the house is fairly well bird proofed. Fortunately, he’s not particularly destructive or much of an explorer.

  Neil and I haven't taken a vacation in 8 years. We don't like to leave him alone for more than one night and a babysitter is out of the question because we're the only real bird people we know. I can't imagine a non-bird person trying to get along with Pickles for any amount of time BUT my mom volunteered. Stupid, stupid woman.

  She's probably spent more time around Pickles than anybody else we know. She comes to stay with us for a week or two, a couple of times a year. She's fascinated with Pickles, has fun bantering with him and Pickles likes her but she never handles him—there just never seemed to be a need. Pickles isn't a warm and fuzzy bird who wants to sit on you. He'd rather sit next to you on the couch arm, or run across the back of the couch and look out the window. Sure, sometimes he gets cuddly but if someone isn't used to the way he demands to be handled, there just might be a little bit of blood.

  But mom has offered. We figure there's no real need for handling, Pickles would be okay in the living room with his cage, play stand and toys. He goes to bed on his own and lets you know when to cover and lock him in. There might be the odd, startled fluttering down to the floor but if you ignore him long enough, he'll climb back up his cage. So, everything's set. Yeah, right.

  The first day was fine. The minute we landed at our destination, I checked my email. Some emails were to us but sometimes it was just a 'cc' of what she was reporting to her friends—most of them are Pickles fans. Mom reports…

  “So far, the animals have survived. Pickles has asked for “snacks”, “juice”, “grapes”, “fresh water” and at 5:00pm, “supper”. He wants it at 5:00, or else. He’s also asked me if I “wanna go home”, “wanna party”, “want some music?”, “wanna sing a song, woo hoo” then informed me he’d “be right back” and marched off to the other end of his play station. About 8:00pm he told me “lights off” a couple of times, as I didn’t turn them off right away. After fooling around a bit with some of his musical toys, he went into his cage and climbed into his sleeping tent. ”

  So far, so good.

  As time went on, emails would pop up now and then…

  “Just in case you open any email, everything is fine. Pickles just asked me if I wanted “some breakfast cakes”. It’s 6:45pm and it appears that there is a major party going on and I think he may have made a few long distance phone calls while I was on the computer. Neeka is quite content. I also have not heard one word about daddy going bye-bye, be right back. ”

  We had been afraid Pickles would whine non-stop about Daddy going bye-bye and asking if Daddy would be right back. Nice that he’s not driving her crazy with that.

  We had been worried that Pickles would miss us and possibly start pining. Well, apparently not…

  “Pickles is hungry today and seems to be eating everything in sight. Yesterday he just picked at his peas and I found most of his birdie bread thrown on the bottom of the cage. He ate his Pom Pom and nut with no problem and, of course, snacks. Today, he’s right into everything, including his seeds. Maybe he was missing you yesterday. All that seems to have been forgotten now. He’s happily chatting away. When I opened the cage this morning, he grabbed hold of the door and kept pulling it shut. Don’t know if he was trying to ride out on it, or didn’t want it open. Anyway, all is good. ”

  How cute, Pickles is playing games with mom.

  “Well, today we are apparently under attack by aliens or terrorists, I’m not sure which. Pickles has taken over the command center. I’m not sure which side he’s on. There have been scud missiles (incoming and outgoing), sirens, bombs, explosions, bells ringing, water gurgling and numerous secret phone calls with muttering and a lot of ‘huh?s” and “OK, bye” followed by beeps and whistles. God knows what will happen tomorrow. I’m almost afraid to go to bed in case there’s a midnight attack. This is Zoe, reporting from the war zone. ”

  He does have quite the repertoire.

  “The war is over, time for celebration. After a hard day in the trenches yesterday, Pickles has called a cease-fire and is now organizing a Celebration, asking “Wanna Party? Woo hoo!” Early this morning, he informed me he was “going to go get some fresh water”. Probably for the troops. Again today with the phone calls, although there was a lot of “wanna party” while making calls. I believe the menu includes (besides fresh water) juice, pom pom, grapes, potato, snacks (incidentally, snacks are only obtained after you ‘poop on paper’) and music. The music program includes the songs ‘Banana Phone, boop boop a doop’, ‘Good Morning, life’s sweet with orowheat’ and ‘
Home, Home on the Range’. His list is short. Of course, anyone auditioning that doesn’t measure up to his standards will be told, “Sing a GOOD song!” Talk about a tough director. I’ll let you know how this all turns out. Reporting from the mess hall behind the trenches…”

  Next day. The novelty’s wearing off?

  “Day 5 of incarceration. Something has been going on in the cage ever since lock down and lights out. I don’t know what it is and I’m sure not going to check. There have been no recognizable words so I must assume that it is all in code. I am beginning to get a little tired of “My Favorite Things”, both whistled and played on his music machine, over and over and over and over. Other than that, all has been clear on the Northern Front today. This is Zoe, reporting from under the bedcovers with a flashlight” .

  The day after…

  “Pickles is starting to get frustrated with the new idiot. Pickles decided that he wanted to sleep in his log cabin on top of the cage tonight. He went in and beat up the ball that hangs on it and then was verrrrry quiet for about 45 minutes. Then he popped his head out to see if I was watching, and popped it back in for another 15 minutes. I guess he got bored then because he came out and went to bed. Silly bird. PS—It doesn’t help that Pickles keeps telling Neeka that “Daddy’s home” .

  That bird. He loves to torment the dog and in 2 years, Neeka still hasn’t caught on.

  “Hello. Just sat down to send you a note. I heard a noise coming from the living room but Neeka was playing with his toys so I didn’t get up right away. After a minute, I turned around and guess what? There was Pickles toddling into the computer room to see what was going on. Guess he wanted to tell you “Hi”. He seemed a bit put out that I would turn off his lights and then leave the room. It was like he was telling me it was bedtime because when I took him back, he went right into his cage and into his tent.”