Saturday, February 11, 2012

Sid, Avian Companion

NICKNAMES: Weet, Siddy
HOBBIES: Admiring reflection in the mirror, screaming, crapping, destroying things with beak
TALENTS:  Whistling, singing, dancing, landing on tall objects
DISLIKES: loud noises, strangers, black nail polish, large objects
FRIENDS: Snoop, Angie, Zack, Randy, Al
HANGOUTS: The shower, indoor bird mansion, outdoor bird cottage, window
FAVORITE FOODS: Millet, rice, pasta, grape nuts, cheerios, spinach, broccoli, celery, tortilla chips, peanuts, lettuce

The latter half of this blog's name represents the two winged creatures who inhabit my space.  The needier and noisier of the two is Sid. Behold his colorful beauty but do not be fooled; He is a pain in the ass. Now, don't get me wrong, having an avian companion is an absolute joy.  If you develop a bond with a bird, it is intense and special and unlike any other. Aside from his good looks, Sid has many good qualities. He is an extremely talented dancer and whistler. On special occasions, he will perform a live DJ Tiel mix for me. We sing in the shower together. He loves to cuddle. He never cares if I'm having a bad hair day. (But he will occasionally hiss at an obtrusive outfit). In general, he lives to enjoy my company. And therein lies one of the downsides of cohabiting with a bird.  It is like living with a toddler forever. As I type, and despite the fact that I just rubbed his little birdie head for five minutes, Sid is squawking and pacing in an attempt to regain his rightful spot on my shoulder. Or wait, maybe it's because he's bored and wants me to shuttle him to one of his other hangouts. Or could it be that he's eaten his fresh spinach and now he'd like something more satisfying, such as rice or pasta or whatever it is that I'm eating. Quite possibly it's time for another massage. I might be there sooner if I weren't cleaning up bird crap and sweeping up molted feathers and far-flung seed near their bird mansion. Don't worry, all of this hard work is rewarded when Sid bites me, smears food on my shirt, and craps on me. Ahhhhhhh, the joys of avian parenting. Truly, I jest. All these small sacrifices are worth the beak-to-cheek joy of owning a cockatiel. Sometimes.

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