Winston is my "rescued" African Grey Parrot.
I've never written about her, so I thought it's about time you met.
Friends of mine have birds. I had no intention of getting one. They poop, flip feathers everywhere, chew and tear up everything, did I mention the poop? If I wanted to see a bird, I could go to my friends home and see theirs.
Then came the phone call. "Would you please take the bird......he's (didn't know then he was a she) not doing well......please?" A guy I worked with had purchased the bird shortly after it was weaned. He had her for awhile, then met a girl who didn't like the bird, they married, long story short the bird ended up at his parents home. His mother was the primary care giver, she died, his father did not like the bird, didn't care for it properly, I get the call, I take the bird.
The day they dropped him off (gender still unknown), my bird friend had already set up an appointment with our local avian vet for the same day. Very good idea. This bird looked like it was knocking on death's door, or screeching, as the case may be. It had plucked itself naked (except for it's head), and was very undernourished. The vet took him in the back, screeching all the way, and I was certain this was a dead bird. I was shocked when he brought him back, said he was a he, and sent us home with vitamins, medicine, and a very good prognosis.
Once home, we were alone. The bird in the cage, me trying to figure out what to do with him. He wouldn't let me touch him without biting me - very painful - so I had no way to bond with him. We just stared at each other. A couple of days of staring and he made a noise. Up to now, there had been only silence (outside of all the screeching at the vets). A few days later, more noises. A few more days and I was able to open the cage, put food in the crock, and close the cage without getting my face ripped off.
The more he heard my voice, the more he appeared to listen, so I started reading my son's children's books to him. This worked wonders. I had changed his name to "Winston" and was using that name all the time. It was really easy for him to pick up on the name.
As time passed, Winston was healing, and we were bonding. His vocabulary, however, was something else entirely. Apparently, he was fond of swearing. Once he started, it was hard to get him to stop. Ignoring it worked really well, but he still thought it was really funny to drop an obscenity when my mother was around. Try explaining a swearing bird to an ultra-conservative, never-swore-in-her-life-and-smacked-us-if-we-ever-came-close, mother. She eventually learned to ignore the language, and eventually Winston stopped, except for one word - "Bulls***". When Winston gets aggravated with something I've said or done, you can hear the word said very quietly, in a low voice, but very clearly.
The day Winston turned from a "he" to a "she" was really pretty funny. Now. At the time, I completely freaked. I had told everyone many, many times to never, never, NEVER put anything into the bird cage, including fingers. On this particular morning, I was changing the water, and noticed something in the bottom of the cage. I gathered everyone together and proceeded to give a lecture on why I said don't put anything in the cage when my son said, "Mom, we didn't put anything in the cage - those look like eggs." I looked closer, and it was then that I noticed Winston had made a little nest, and was rolling these small marshmallow looking things into it. Not one to panic (HAH), I grabbed the phone, called the vet, and was screaming into the phone, "My bird laid an egg, my bird laid an egg!" The vet tech on the other end was trying to get me to calm down by reminding me that birds DO lay eggs, but she didn't understand that this was a boy bird. "My boy bird laid an egg, my bird is a boy and he laid an egg" I screamed. "Ma'am, male birds DON'T lay eggs, only females", she tried to explain. Then I tried to explain that the vet told me this bird was a boy and now it laid an egg. This poor tech didn't realize how dense I was, "Ma'am, only females lay eggs, your bird MUST be a female." "No, no, no, he's a boy", I continued to protest. I also noticed the bird's "vent" looked like it was turned inside out. (The vent is the small slit in the body, towards the tail, where they poo and where the eggs come out) I told the tech, "His vent looks like it's turned inside out." By this time I was sure my boy bird was dying or something was very wrong. She said, "Ma'am, have you ever had a baby?" "Yes", I responded. "And afterwards did you feel like you were turned inside out?" she said. "Well, um, yeah", I said. "Well, SHE feels the same way, your BOY bird is a GIRL bird and she laid an egg. Bye!" - and hung up. Oh, I guess my bird is a girl. I must have missed that part of the "birds and bees" lecture in sixth grade. Winston went on to lay a couple more eggs, and, after a few days, they broke. She ate them. What a sneaky way to get out of raising a teenager.
A few years have passed since those days. Winston is now 21, and she knows she's my baby. I have her cage in my craft room/office, so I can spend more time with her. When the little TV I have in there is to loud, she yells at me, "HEY". When she wants my attention, she gives me a "cat call" whistle or swings around on her chain that hangs in the cage. She gives me so many laughs, she's good therapy for a bad day. I don't regret adding her to my family - she's just a joy. Winston's the little bird that kept on going in spite of all odds against her.
There will be more Winston stories to come.
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