In which I get in trouble--twice!

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Now that I'm getting used to having my old cage outside, I'm really liking sitting out on the deck with Mom. In fact, I like it so much that I refused to come in on Wednesday evening when it was time for her to go over to her friend's for Scrabble. I finally did, but not until after I'd made her late, Dad had removed my food and water dishes and my perch, and my parronts had got in an argument about it.

Mom wouldn't leave for Scrabble with me outside, because she said it wasn't safe, and Dad wouldn't come sit out with me because he said it was too hot. He also said that if he sat out with me until I agreed to come in, then that was letting me win (true enough). Mom said that for a 180-lb man with a college degree--and a double-major, to boot--and a 25-year career in public service to get into a power struggle with a bird that weighs less than 16 ounces and has about the same number of IQ points (I beg your pardon!) was ridiculous. He wanted to towel me, and Mom said no, that's for emergencies. And so on and so forth, until finally he agreed to watch me and she left.

I'm still mad about that IQ crack.  I don't fully understand a lot of what they said, like, what is a double major? but I know when I've been insulted. That bit was not only uncalled for, it's not true. I'm at least as smart as the average human toddler.

Anyways, Mom said she wasn't taking me out any more when she has anywhere she absolutely, positively has to be before dark. Like now: It's a perfectly beautiful Sunday morning but here I am stuck inside because Mom has meditation class this afternoon.

I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not. I like it out there: I'm in dappled sunlight, I'm in kind of a corner so my cage isn't exposed on all sides, I've got a perch and a swing, food and water, some of my old plastic toys, and all the neighborhood birds for entertainment.

She took me out again yesterday, after she got home, and we sat while she meditated and Dad worked in the yard. I went in when she asked me to, but not until the second time, and I didn't really want to. It was simply hours until dark, plus Dad was still outside and quite naturally I prefer to be with him. But Mom thought it was too cool for us both, so in we went. She left me on top of my cage, though, and when I sit on the doors I can see through the sliding glass out to the deck and the back yard. And I could see Dad.

So eventually I decided I would climb down and go outside on my own. I don't know why Mom got so exercised about that: I said "Goodbye" on my way down. Except of course I don't know how to say that, so I stopped right by her head where she was reading in her favorite chair and said "Hello". I meant goodbye, so she should have known.

Unfortunately, once I was on the floor, I couldn't see Dad any more, because the dining room table was blocking my view. And because he had stopped working and was having something to drink, I couldn't hear him, either. I didn't dare call, as I was on the ground, so to speak, and wouldn't want to advertise to all the predators that I was available for a snack, now would I? So I got kind of mixed up and started walking around in circles on the kitchen linoleum between the bird room and the back deck, trying to figure out what to do next.

Mom said later that she heard my nails on the floor behind her, but thought it was the dog. She asked if I was ok, except of course she meant the dog, because the dog never paces like that. She even called me once, except of course she was calling the dog, so I didn't go back over to the bird room. She finally turned around and saw me down there and boy did she blow her lid!

She came over and tried to get me to step up for her, but I wouldn't at first because I really didn't believe her when she said she'd take me to see Dad. But finally I did, and she did, and I got to sit outside again on my t-perch for a few minutes. I couldn't really sit with Dad because he just reeked of gasoline and oil from using the lawnmower, though, and what's worse, when she picked me up, Mom discovered that my nails really need trimming.

So now I 'm on restriction and I'm going to have to go to the vets this week. Urgh. Mom says she's not going to let me sit on top of my cage any more when Dad's outside, and they're going to have to buy one of those pet doors that has an electronic key for Bane's collar. Mom doesn't think I can, but Dad's afraid I might get out through the pet door one day. So neither one of my parronts is too happy with me right now. Mom fussed at Larry a bit, too, asking him why he didn't say something. But Larry's a good little chap in his own way, and I know he would never rat me out like that.

From the proverbial dog house,

Riley, Éminence Grise

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Hello!

The big news this week is that my Dad moved my old cage--a custom job from Panama that he bought from a coworker back when I first moved to this house--outdoors! It's on the back deck now, where My Mom and I like to sit. I can sit out now and see more, because I'm not up under the deck umbrella, which means I can also get more direct sun. I still get shade from the trees in the yard, and now I don't have to worry about hawks!

We've tried it twice already this weekend, and will probably go out again today before the thunderstorms move in. It's better (less boring) than just sitting out on my t-perch because Mom hung my old swing in it, and Dad put a perch in there, and it has my old ceramic food/water dishes, too.

The Mourning Doves are calling now, and in the last couple of days I've started making my dove call sound, too. Unfortunately it's getting hot enough Mom had to close the windows and start the air conditioner this morning, which means I'll only be able to hear the other birds now if I'm outside. Mom and Larry say they'll really missing that, too. And like now, the wind is blowing, and we can't hear it. Unnatural, that.

It's also too bad we have to close the windows and run the air because for the first time in a while the humidity in my room has been over 60%, which is good of course for Larry, too. Now it will drop. Mom runs a humidifier in here all the time but it's not enough to do any good.

Riley

Éminence Grise

In which I get a misting

My goodness, so much excitement!

Image by minds-eye via Flickr

In the wee hours Saturday morning, there were Barred Owls chorusing outside our nestbox. Made me nervous, I don't mind telling you. I just kind of hunkered down in my cage, and reminded myself how safe it is in here.

Then of course I refused to go outside with Mom even after it got nice and warm yesterday. I was right, too: When she came in, she told Dad that while she was meditating she heard a hawk right behind her. By the time she turned around, it was gone--just a big, fat, white down feather floating in the air from where it had been. But still. I think she's probably not going to take me out on my perch any more: I'll have to have my travel cage for safety. From all the racket it made, she's pretty sure it was hunting within feet of the deck where we sit. And twice recently she's read about hawks taking prey very close to humans, and even dogs (she thinks I don't know about that, but I can tell when she's bent out of shape). If they're hungry enough, apparently, Bane's or my parronts' presence won't be any deterrent. Mom & Dad have been meaning to move my old cage out to the deck for the season--maybe they'll do that today.

As for last night, well, I made some of my own excitement. I wouldn't come down off the top of my cage to go in the living room and watch tv with my parronts, but then later I changed my mind and really wanted to sit with Dad.  So I climbed down off my cage and started walking across the floor. Dad decided to issue another invitation, and freaked when he couldn't find me in or on my cage! Mom says I could get stepped on, and Dad worries about the doggie door, so I guess they won't be leaving me out any more, even when they are in the next room. Dang.

Riley,

Éminence grise

Beach Towel

Mom's favorite chair is an original Morris chair we inherited from Dad's dad. I like to climb down from my cage via an open door and sit on the back of it. I do that when Mom's eating and I think I can cadge some of it, and I do it when my parronts are in the kitchen, so I can watch--in case I can cadge something.

It's starting to show some wear, and my parronts have been discussing getting a throw or a beach towel or something to cover it. Mom went on the internet this morning and Googled "parrot beach towel" and the very first hit she got was for Calypso Parrot gifts and stuff. And she ordered me this towel:

Cool, hunh? She's a little worried that these huge parrots might scare me, but I told her not to worry. I mean, after all, they're Greys, aren't they? Now if she got a towel with two-foot cats on it, or snakes or something, that might be different.

They had towels with lots of parrot species on them, and probably some of the others would have matched the room better but we wanted Greys.

I can't wait until it gets here.

Riley, 

Éminence Grise

Waitress? Waitress!

Gaah! There's a dog hair in my food dish!

Which is at least four feet from the floor. How the heck did that happen?

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It's been an interesting week. For one thing, it got warm enough one day that we could go outside for awhile. Mom checked her messages and returned phone calls from work, and I helped by saying "Hello?" every time she put the phone to her ear. I couldn't always tell when she was actually getting someone on the phone, or only listening to the next message, but I didn't want to miss my chance, so I kept saying it just in case.

Mom just spent a lot of kibble money getting her tooth fixed (I don't have teeth, so I don't have that problem), when she and Dad discovered the freezer isn't working. She's complaining now that replacing it is going to cost almost as much kibble money as her tooth. She says, "It's always something." Personally, I think it's because over the years Mom and Dad have been together, they've let this nest-box get too complicated. I mean, my food doesn't require refrigeration: Why should theirs? Just for example.

I have tried to show them that I know how to build a good nest. I could help. I chew, strip, and tear things right in front of them, all the time. But I'm not sure they get it.

Anyway, back to the dog. I groom myself. Mom would say I overgroom, but that's another post for another day. The dog does not. Except for licking a certain spot sometimes, and that's just gross. That's not grooming! But as I was saying, Mom bought her this thing called a Furminator that looks kind of like a little bitty rake and is supposed to remove Bane's undercoat. I really shouldn't call her Bane. We actually get along pretty well. Sometimes I even drop food for her. On the other hand, sometimes I drop. . . well, never mind

As I was saying, Mom bought this Furminator. She got a whole trash-bag of hair off the dog. Then today, the dog got a bath. It took both Mom and Dad to bathe her in Mom's tub, and Mom got hair all over her and had to take a shower, too. I got a shower myself on Thursday, and I have to say, I wasn't nearly that much trouble. Anyway, Mom was going to brush the dog tonight, too, but they got all involved in looking online for a new refrigerator, so I guess that's not gonna happen.

Still, with a little luck, the hair problem will be a bit better for awhile.

Oh. Yeah. Did I mention? The hot water heater's acting up, too.

 Riley,

Éminence grise

Where I've been

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I know I said I was going to post a lot--more than Mom, anyway--but I didn't count on not being able to get access to her laptop for weeks at a stretch.

First Dad got sick, and that meant Mom didn't have as much time to help me with my posts. I learned something new, though: Birds can catch people colds, but the vet says it's not likely as long as I don't kiss my Dad, and as long as he washes his hands a lot and stuff. I'm not much into kissing. I make a great kissy noise, but I really prefer rubbing noses when it's my Mom. With Dad, I like to sit on his chest and just kind of lean into his face while he pets me. I can do that for a lo-o-o-ong time!

But I digress. Mom actually brought work home from the office to do this weekend, and wound up spending two hours on Sunday doing one simple little thing! At least, she said it should have been simple. She did a lot of cussing, and Dad kept telling her, "Not in front of the bird!" (I don't know why not: I rarely repeat anything she says, never mind the dirty words.) In the first place, it kept asking for things she didn't have, like her Medicaid number. That's at the office. So in places she just made things up. Like she has her Medicare number memorized, so she just kept giving that to them, no matter what number they asked for. 

I've never been to an office. Larry used to live at Mom's office, but he lives here with us, now. I don't think I'd like living at an office: I'd be alone every night, and all weekend. This way, I have somebody around almost all the time.

Anyway, it's time to renew some of Mom's contracts with insurance companies. I don't fully understand that, but she says it's how she earns our kibble money. She says insurance companies are businesses that people pay into when they are well, and then when they are sick the insurance companies are supposed to help the people get medical care. They get sick, or upset or something, they come to Mom and talk, and the insurance company is supposed to pay her.

I do understand the kibble part: Every day when she leaves for work, she says, "Bye, bye, babies--time to go to work and earn kibble money!" That's good money, you ask me, but she seems to think it's not.

Anyway, Mom says that when people do get sick, the insurance companies turn themselves inside out (Is that like a hedgehog does when it disappears into its own skin?) figuring out ways not to help the very people who pay their salaries. Now why would people keep paying when that happens? I would stop the first time I didn't get my money's worth, I can tell you that. Mom and Dad have insurance, but they say it's actually pretty good. It only told them "no" once, and then it wound up paying out more for something that was more expensive than what Mom and Dad wanted in the first place. But it turned out for the best--Dad got really good care, and I think he's all well now.

But I've wandered off point again. Mom especially complains about insurance--all the time. And this application, which she says is for CAQH, really, really got her wound up. She says it stands for Affordable Quality Healthcare. She says the aitch should stand for "horsecrap." She's still working on the "a" and the "q". Their online form is supposed to "simplify" staying up to date with all her different contracts. But Mom says the form is a pain in the [behind] and we still don't have affordable, never mind quality, care. And in the meantime, the paperwork is about to drive her out of business (already has once, but that's another story for another day).

I don't understand any of it. I need care, Mom and Dad just put me in this little puppy crate with a handle on top and off we go to the vets. I like riding in the car! Mom always makes sure I am up high enough that I can see out. I love going fast! We use Loving Hands in Milton, and I get top-quality care there. Mom says it's expensive but they're worth it. I don't like going though: I growl, and my eyes run red, and sometimes I get bent out of shape and fall off the exam table. But that doesn't mean they're not good, just that I don't like going. I'd really hoped the bloody tears thing would freak Mom out the first time, make her feel guilty and pamper me, but she didn't bat an eye. Told the vet she'd read about it in a book already.

Riding in the car is barely compensation for what I have to go through, getting blood drawn and my nails trimmed and all.

Anyway, for today, I just wanted to let you know I'm still here. It's just that Mom has been hogging the laptop. The one night I got impatient and tried to blog on my own, I accidentally invoked eight help windows in Firefox. All at once. Bad idea, although it seemed a good one at the time. I mean, after all, I needed help, so I really bit down on the F1 key. Eight times. And still nobody came to help me blog!

So I'm waiting for Mom next time. But I'll get you a better post, one about parrots, not insurance, next weekend. I promise!

Riley,

Éminence grise