My bird, My Trainer

I was working away in the kitchen, power packing my lunch, making breakfast, feeding the dog, washing the dishes, taking my vitamins.  My head was working diligently to keep track of everything I was trying to accomplish in the limited time I had before I headed out to work, and because I was mentally organizing my day, my voice had retreated inward and became loud thoughts that drowned out everything that was trying to enter my ears.

The background noise in my house consisted of some blues playing from my stereo, my dog growling at someone on the street, a car warming up in the cold morning, the outside birds fighting over the birdseed I'd just put out, and my indoor bird chattering away incoherently and, I presumed, happily in her cage.  I had tuned it all out to concentrate on my tasks, letting my inner narration get louder and louder until it drowned out the world.

Then I heard a distinct voice admonish me, "Answer me!"

I had to stop what I was doing to process it.  The cheery sounds my bird, Charlie, had been making in the other room just, I presumed, to entertain herself was actually an attempt to get my attention.  She had been trying to get me to socialize with her, and when I ignored her vocal attempts she pushed at my subconscious.  It worked.  To be clear - Charlie didn't actually say real words, she just created sounds that matched the vowels then poked at my brain to make it sound like real words.  Clever little bird.

I felt compelled to  answer her.  "I'm so sorry, I'm so busy, but I know you're there!  I'll be with you in a second."

On a normal morning I'd have had her out with me in the kitchen while I was working, which would've turned into a game of chasing her around the house to keep her from chewing on my furniture, but this morning my time was limited and I was in a hurry so I'd left her secure in her cage, waiting for her breakfast.  She was patient for a while, but I could tell she was getting irritated with me.  Charlie has a pretty short patience fuse, and she hates it when I retreat into my head, leaving her out of the conversation.

The calling out had sparked a recollection of my father trying to break the hypnotic hold the television had on me when I was a kid.  He'd call my name over and over until he was finally forced to create a totally unfamiliar sound to snap me out of my imagination.  For some reason calling me Dodie worked almost every time.  I applaud my father for realizing I wasn't ignoring him on purpose; I was actually lost in worlds of cartoons, stories, and talented acting.

I made sure I stayed present to Charlie's tweets and chatter from then on, returning her social interaction attempts by whistling and chattering back until I could join her in the living room with our breakfasts.  Charlie enjoys eating with friends.  She also enjoys being part of a conversation, especially when I'm on the phone or talking with my neighbors.  Her two cents matter to her.  This incident made me wonder if she could hear my inner voice chattering away.  Did she do what she did to join in?  Or was the fact I was ignoring her irritating her more?

It is astounding how we learn to tune out the outside world when we get interested in something.  Our brains take over our eardrums and turn down the volume of life to limit the distractions.  This happens more now in my adult life when I'm reading.  If the book is good enough to grab my full attention, the world outside my brain ceases to exist.  Children tune out their parents, husbands tune out their wives - an extension of learning to tune out their mothers - and even dogs will tune out their people when they focus on something new and exciting.

I have to hand it to Charlie for figuring out how to get my attention.

Birds are highly social animals.  Their flock mentality creates ample opportunities to live an emotionally rich life; in the wild they live in a complex social environment.  Like human children, birds are curious, creative, sensitive, energetic beings.  Parrots need to feel accepted, protected and secure in their environment, and important as part of the family.  When you bring a bird home, you become responsible for their mental and emotional well being.  It's all too easy to hide them in the corner of the room and forget about them as members of the family. 

Unless you have a bird like Charlie.

Even though I do my best to give her free range time and quality time with me every day, Charlie has no qualms about letting me know when I've disappointed or disrespected her.  She's trained me to worry about pleasing her, if I've overstepped her boundaries, or give her less attention than she feels she deserves.  If Charlie wants a bath, she gets a bath.  She yells at me and throws her dishes around the cage to get my attention when I get busy elsewhere.  If she wants to chew on something, I better give her something to chew on or she'll pick something irreplaceable to destroy.  She's even guilted me into letting her out of her cage at regular intervals by holding on to her bowels until I do.  I get images of an exploding bird in my head after 18 hours of cage time, something that happens when I have an irregular work schedule, and I feel bad when I have to keep her locked up until I'm ready.  And I have to be ready.

I'm literally hen-pecked into submission.  I have the scars to prove it.

And now I have proof she can talk to me.  It's only a matter of time before she learns how to cuss at me.