Sunday Edition

Sponsored by Bean Cuisine, from L'Avian Plus (because by now it's nearly friggin' lunch time).

I see from Mom's counter thingy that two of you have already checked in today: I didn't have a post up in time for you because Mom has been hogging the laptop for hours. She says she had to work this morning, sorry and all that. Hmph. Apologies, aschmologies, I want my breakfast: Do you know she hasn't even fed us yet? She says she had an emergency at her job. Personally, I can't imagine what kind of "emergency" could take precedence over my breakfast, but there you go.

Anyway, here's what I wanted to tell you about this week. While she's fixing my breakfast, hint, hint.

I've been saying "Good bird!" for awhile, but these people are so slow sometimes. I just could not get them to understand me! Then they get all excited this week when they finally figure out that's what I'm saying, like they're the ones, not me, who have accomplished something.

So now they're competing to see who gets credit for teaching it to me. Dad claims he says "good bird" to me all the time, but that's not exactly true, because Mom constantly has to remind him to praise me when I do something he wants like Step Up. Mom says, "Pretty bird, Riley bird, pretty Riley bird!" because my first mom told her I liked to hear my name. But she doesn't usually say, "good bird" so she did not teach it to me either, at least not directly, anyway.

You want to know where I really heard it? Mom says it to Larry. I taught it to myself! So there.

You know I've told you before that Larry's wild, for all practical purposes. Mom tries to pet him every day, and sometimes he'll let her, but only on the belly so far. That poor dumb bird has never had a head skritch! Can you imagine? He has no idea what he's missing. Head skritches feel so good, especially when I'm molting. Mom's chair is right by my cage, and I used to come down and stand at the bottom near her so she could skritch my head, but lately I've been saving those for Dad. I'll let her pet my back but head-skritches are reserved for Dad.

As for belly skritches, I have mixed feelings about those. I'll let Mom give me one if I happen to be hanging on the front bars of my cage when she comes by, but I kind of freeze and give her the evil eye. I don't pin--like I said, mixed feelings--but I make sure she knows I'm just tolerating this and that she could get bitten at any time. Oops! I see I'm getting off on a bit of a tangent here. I should probably write a whole post on nothing but skritches some time.

Back to Larry. Mom tries to get him to step up on her finger, too, and sometimes he'll do it, although it's usually only with one foot, and only for a second. Whereupon she says, "Good bird!!" like he was just doing something too cool for school. Hmph. I've been stepping up for years. There's nothing to it. But he acts like he's stepping off a precipice, and she praises him to the skies. I repeat, hmph.

Riley,

Éminence grise of the Wood household

Bon Appetit!

Image via Wikipedia

Hosted by Super Nintendo.

Ooh! This morning Mom made us Cream of Tweet, by Beak Appétit. And we got to go outdoors again! It's the last time for awhile, per Mom, as it's supposed to get cold again this week. We won't get much more Cream of Tweet, either, as the company went out of business, and we're down to our last bag. Larry Bird doesn't care--he won't eat hardly anything besides seed--but I do. I like Cream of Tweet.

But what I really wanted to tell you about today is the Breath of Fire. It's this new thing Mom learned at meditation class today. She huffs and puffs and sucks her belly in real hard and fast and then pooches it out again and claims it removes toxins from the body and will give her more energy. She takes it pretty seriously: She got kind of offended when I told her it was also the name of a video game for kids.

I worry about her, sometimes. I mean, if I breathed like that I'd fall over in a dead faint! Not to mention, it's totally not dignified.

Riley,

Éminence grise

Here Comes the Sun, Little Darlin', Here Comes The Sun It's All Right

Image via Wikipedia

Hosted by Tiger Woods.

  



Mom spent quite the while updating her website today, so I told her while she was at it she needed to let me post on my blog.

It's been a good day, and I really wanted to tell you all about it. Besides being Saturday, which I really like, because my parents are usually here and I get to be out of my cage all day, it was sunny and warm (relatively speaking) and Mom took me outside today for the first time in months! I know, that's a bit of a run-on sentence, but I'm excited.

Now I have no idea why this is, but Zemanta (Mom got me the application so I could get cool pictures and stuff to go with my posts) just this minute spit up about 147 pictures of Tiger Woods's house. Mom says she's tired of hearing about Tiger Woods. She would rather have a picture of Paul McCartney or The Beatles. I don't know who they are. I know that song, though, about the sun, because Mom sings it to me all the time. I mean, all. the. time. As in every single morning at sunrise. And again during the day, like if it's cloudy and the sun comes out. I guess it was kinda cute the first 1,000 times or so, but jeez.

Do you guess she's hoping I'll learn to sing it? Fat chance.

But I digress. We did all (me, Mom, and Bane, that is) go out and sit on the deck together. Mom says she used to take Larry out at the old office, but his cage is too big to fit through the sliding glass door here because Bane's doggie door makes it so narrow. So he didn't go out with us. If he was finger-trained, he could go out in my travel cage I guess, but Mom says he's "wilder 'n a ditch cat". I don't know what a ditch cat is. A cat that lives in ditches, maybe?

Anyway, to get back to my story, when we all got outside, Mom went down into the yard and tried to get the dog to chase a ball, but that was strictly a no go. Bane's supposed to be at least part retriever but you couldn't prove it by me. So Mom gave up on her after a few minutes and came back up on the deck and sat with me.

She turned her face up to the sun and shut her eyes, and I thought she was doing that meditating thing again so I started saying "Om!" to help her, but she said this wasn't formal meditation. She was just "practicing mindfulness," whatever that means exactly. Like I said last week, parrots are naturally mindful, so I don't really get what Mom needs to practice. Especially outdoors: If I'm not mindful, a hawk might sneak up on us or something. So I'm nothing if not mindful. Especially outdoors. You know, in case of hawks?

I really like sitting outside. Today the sun was so bright it had that almost blue quality like it did when it snowed a couple of weeks ago. Except if I closed my eyes it looked red inside my eyelids. Isn't that strange? Blue, red, blue, red. Either color, it felt warm on the skin on my chest, where I've plucked. Mom said it made kind of a halo shining through the short feathers on my head. I could see how it was doing something like that in the fur on this squirrel's tail. That was kind of cool. Mom kept telling me I was a Pretty Bird, which is kind of sweet, especially since my chest really doesn't look so hot. Maybe I should be nicer to her, since she says nice things to me like that all the time.

Or not.

We saw and heard some other birds today. A Tufted Titmouse perched really close to us and kept doing that "Peter, Peter, Pete!" thing. I thought maybe that was its mate's name, but Mom says not, that they're all called titmice. Now what sense does that make, for everybody to all have the same name? And why would they keep calling "Peter, Peter, Pete!" if that's not anybody's name at all? I don't understand. Especially since Mom would whistle "Peter, Peter, Pete!" back at it, and it would answer her. Why would it do that if that wasn't its name? I was really interested in that. Mom would whistle, and it would whistle. And I would tilt my head almost all the way around and listen hard. But I couldn't figure it out. So I didn't whistle. I think Mom was kind of hoping I would.

And a Mourning Dove came too. I used to could mimic their calls, but this one wasn't saying anything so I didn't either. We heard this one bird that sounded like one of the dog's squeaky toys: Mom said that was a Brown-headed Nuthatch. And something was scratching around in the dead leaves by the fence, but with the sun in our eyes we couldn't tell what it was. Mom kept naming birds for me if they called or came by: I don't know why she does that. I don't need to know their names. It's not even their real names, anyway--just what humans call us.

Anyways, we heard a woodpecker drumming, a cardinal, a goldfinch, and a Pine Warbler, and we saw robins and a Ruby-crowned Kinglet. We did not see (or hear) a Scarlet Robin, but I've noticed that every time I post here, no matter what I'm writing about, Zemanta kicks up a picture of one. Mom says we don't even have those here. Zemanta is weird. She says its thinking is "loose". That's some kind of psychological term, I guess. I don't know what it means, but it sounds about right.

Mom likes all the songbirds that come into the yard. And I've seen her get really excited about owls and hawks, too, even thought they might eat me. I kind of resent that. But she always tells me it's okay, they're outside and can't get to me through the glass. I know she would never take me out if there were hawks out there, and if one came she'd bring me right in. And in between, she never leaves me alone. Ever. Not even for a minute. But still. I wish she wouldn't get so excited about birds of prey.

Now the songbirds I kind of like: Not having a real flock of my own to hang out with, I find them kind of interesting. And they're littler than me, so I don't get scared of them. But I don't get as excited about them as Mom does.

Mom tried to get me to sit with her when we got outside, but I wouldn't. I prefer my Dad, and he was inside napping. Usually when I won't step up for her, she just lets it go, but today she told me we could just pretend to sit together, and she took my t-perch off the picnic table and put it in her lap! We were like nose to nose then. I can't believe she did that. That was tricky.

I usually won't let her pet me, either. I really do prefer my Dad! But she got the bright idea today of petting me with both of her hands at the same time. With one hand on one side of me, and one on the other, I didn't know which to bite, and I sure couldn't bite them both at the same time. So there I was, sitting on her lap on my t-perch, getting petted, and me not even trying to bite. She even scritched me under my good wing! I can't believe she did that. Tricky.

And dang, I didn't want to admit it, but it was actually kind of nice. She knew it too, because I wasn't pinning. She looked right pleased with herself. In fact, she kept smiling, which was kind of uncomfortable for me, all those teeth so close to my face, and then she'd keep remembering and covering her teeth with her lips until she'd start feeling pleased and smiling again. At least she remembered to close one eye. Most of the time.

There was this little breeze that ruffled her hair and my feathers and the dead leaves in a little scrub oak outside the fence. And I guess I must have been kind of vibrating, because Mom asked me if I was cold, or just excited. I wish she spoke parrotese better, so I could make her understand I was just really, really happy to be outdoors. But she said we had to come in after about half an hour because she was afraid her face would burn, and maybe the bare spots on my chest, too. And she wasn't sure if it was too cool for me.

Wow! This has turned into a long post! I'm tired but happy now, and I think I'll go sit on top of my cage where I can look out the window and preen, and grind my beak and maybe even take a little nap.

Tomorrow's Sunday, Hot Cereal Day. Maybe I'll post something about that tomorrow.

Om

It snowed here this weekend. In fact, Mom says there's snow on the ground in 49 states! (I'm not entirely sure what that means, but it sounds impressive.) I know I've never seen this much snow before.

This is what it looked like outside our back door yesterday morning.

It was pretty, before the sun got on it, but it's kind of disturbing, the way it changes the light. I've been kind of agitated in the mornings since it fell, and so has Larry Bird been.

But what I wanted to tell you about today isn't really about snow: Mom has taken up meditating again. She did it once before, for a good couple of months, about two years ago then she kind of fell out of the habit. She says she's been doing this on-again, off-again thing with it since she was in college. I don't really understand "college" but I do get that she's old (she'd be really old if she were a Grey!) and she's been doing the meditation thing since she was only a little older than me. But she signed up for a class last week, and now she's at it again.

It's been so long since the last time that she can't find her mala beads so she's just focusing on her breathing. I think it's crossed her mind that I may have done something with her beads. I would if I could, too, because not only do they look tempting to eat, but also they're on a really pretty red string. But I didn't. I mean, how could I? I'd have to get hold of them first, and she's never given me the opportunity.

But I digress. Mom says when she meditates she's trying to clear her mind and stay "present." Like a lot of things about humans, that strikes me as odd. I mean, I'm always in the present moment: Where else could you be? And we birds never think about our breathing unless there's a problem, like when we don't feel good or something. But she has problems sometimes, because she's allergic to Bane, so maybe that's it. Anyway, she sat down and tried to meditate yesterday morning late, and boy did everything in the house seem to conspire against it!

In the first place, as I said, Larry and I were both kind of agitated yesterday morning, what with all that bright light streaming into our room. I tried to help Mom by saying "Ommmmm!" once in a while, but Larry was doing his "Eek! Eek!" thing. Usually he's kind of quiet. If he "talks" at all, it's this really rapid thing Mom calls "chirtling." He goes so fast I can't understand him at all, really. But there's nothing difficult to understand about "Eek!" and it's so piercingly loud you can't get away from it either. He was not, as Mom would say, a happy camper. I kept pinning at him but it didn't do any good. And I could see Mom flinch every time he did it.

Plus, it was windy and it was getting warm outside, and snow kept falling off the trees and landing on the roof. Everytime the roof went "Thunk!" I could see her flinch at that, too. Then the phone rang. She'd remembered to turn off the ringer, but forgot to turn off the message reminder. So now we have "Thunk! Eek! Beep!" going on constantly while she's trying to meditate.

I kept trying to help her out by pinning at Larry and saying "Ommm!" every once in awhile, but as I said, I don't think it helped much, because it wasn't too much longer before she got up and went in the back of our nestbox and took a nap. Naps, now, that I understand.

Riley 

Éminence grise

Bane of My Existence

I was telling my Mom this morning that she should share with you all what That Dumb Dog (Mom and Dad call her that sometimes--everybody in this house has multiple names, and let me tell you it can get confusing) did yesterday, and you know what she said? "I'm too tired. Besides, I wasn't even here for that. Why don't you do it?"

Well all righty then. I think I will. In fact, I could tell you lots of stories if Mom likes this one, and she'll let me. I don't think Mom posts nearly often enough. I mean, we've  shared this nestbox for a couple of years now and she's managed to eke out a measly 62 posts in all that time. I bet I could tell 62 stories in a matter of months.

My first one will be about the dog. Bane of my existence, that dog.

Mom doesn't usually come home from work on Wednesdays. She picks up dinner for herself somewhere and goes straight to her friend's for Scrabble. I really don't understand that game. "Peekaboo!" I understand, but Scrabble? I mean, I've watched Mom play it with my big brother, and on Facebook, but I still don't really get it. People are big on words, aren't they? I really prefer beeps and whistles. And they aren't even saying these words, like they keep trying to get me to do, they're just moving little wooden squares with letters and numbers around on them. Beeps and whistles sound better than "2,3,7 times 2 makes 14" and stuff like that they keep saying when they're playing. Plus, beeps and whistles carry further through the forest, you know?

And those little squares (my Mom calls them "tiles," but they're not tile like on the bathroom floor, so I don't know why she calls them that) look like they'd be put to better use as foot toys for me. I bet I could chew me up some of those squares!

But I digress. Usually once Mom comes home, she's in for the night. Yesterday, she only came home for a few minutes because she'd left the house in the morning without her coat, and it was cold, and I think that must have confused the dog. I don't understand coats. I wear the same thing all the time, but people are not only born naked, they stay that way, and then instead of covering themselves in the same colors all the time like we do so a body can reliably tell which subspecies they are, they go and change that stuff they use instead of feathers or fur several times a day! I mean, Mom was wearing blue when she got up, black when she left for work and came home the first time, white when she left and returned the second time, and blue again before she went to bed. Whereas I'm red and black and gray and white in exactly the same pattern 24/7 and have been for over 12 years. I've never seen anything like it. Evolution takes a funny turn, sometimes, doesn't it? Naked apes. Go figure.

Anyway, back to my story. Mom came home to get her coat. And this guy from the nestbox across the street wanted to borrow something so Mom let him come into the garage to get it. And that's when the dog went nuts. She's always like that to some extent when people come over, but this time was nothing short of spectacular. The whole time the guy was here, That Dumb Dog barked her fool head off. I thought I was back in my first house with those kids my other parents kept bringing home. Only this barking business bounces off the walls and ceilings in a way two noisy little boys never could. Oh, my head! We parrots have a very acute sense of hearing you know.

And here's the thing: The neighbor went back to his nestbox, and Mom got in her car and went to her friend's, and the dog just barked louder! My Dad says she thought Mom had got kidnapped by that man. I don't know how he knew that, because the dog talks even less than I do, but that's what he said. I thought he was joking: our neighbor's such a shrimp that Mom could squash him like a bug. Besides which, he seems nice. Like, before the dog, he used to come over and do stuff like fix the electricity for Dad.

I don't know how long That Damn Dog (that's what Dad calls her sometimes, like last night he called her that a lot--I just call her Bane) barked, but Dad says it was at least an hour and a half. I don't know how long that is, but it was a long time. He kept explaining to her that Mom was okay, but she didn't quiet down until he lay down on the floor with her.

So undignified, and dignity is so important. Dad says I'm a silly bird, but he's wrong. I'm not the one lying on the floor! I'm not the one all hysterical over Mom leaving the house for a little game of Scrabble. I mean, I'll do my locator call for a few minutes when Mom or Dad leave, but only for a few minutes.

In fact, I'm nothing if not dignified. I should have a more dignified name. "Riley" isn't very dignified. It's pretty, and I like to hear people say it. I'll even say it myself once in a while. But it's not befitting of my natural dignity. Bane, on the other hand, is named after a goddess, and sometimes Mom and Dad call her that name, too. It gets confusing. Mom says the goddess Bane is named after wandered around Crete (is that near Cameroon? That's where my kind are from--one of the places we're from, anyway) disguised as a heifer 'cause she was hiding from another goddess whose husband cheated on her with the one the dog's named after. (Are you still with me? I know that was complicated.)

Psittacus Erithacus (that's me) mate for life, and I'm very proud of us for that. Because we do, I don't really understand this cheating business. It sounds undignified to me, especially if another hen was to catch me at it. The heifer business, now, that's definitely undignified. I've seen them on the television. They can be sort of cute, but I wouldn't say they are dignified. Still, I think I should be named after a goddess, too. It isn't fair.

Oh, dang, I'm off on another tangent, aren't I?

The funny thing is, when Mom came home, the dumb dog didn't even act as excited as she does when Mom comes home from an ordinary errand. Like she'd already forgotten the whole thing, or something. I don't understand that: When Dad stays gone too long, I make sure he knows how I feel. I won't come out of my cage, won't step up (or if I do, I make sure to bite him first) and generally sulk until I think he's suffered long enough.

But that's the dog. Bane of my existence.

Posted by Riley,

éminence grise of the Wood household
(Doesn't that sound dignified?)

These are those same parrots, now in a quarantine enclosure at the wildlife center where they will be rehabilitated before they can be returned to the wild. If you click on it, you can embiggen so you can see what 1,000 stolen parrots looks like. Sickening.

This shot is from a crate of parrots seized in Cameroon before they could be illegally exported for sale.

You want my opinion? Don't effing buy an imported bird. And after seeing some of the photos of released birds at the Trust's website, and video of flocks in the wild, I'm beginning to think it's cruel to breed a parrot to live singly in a cage all its life as a pet.