Pickles The Parrot: A Humorous Look At Life With An African Grey (10 page)

“Sorry Pickles. What did you wanna say?” I
asked.

“I said hello,” Pickles answered.

Everybody said “Hello” back.

Then Pickles informed the closest guest to
him, “You got some on your beak”.

“What’s on my beak?” the guest asked.

“Piiiizzzzzaaaaaa” (pizza) informed Pickles,
and then added, “Wanna eat something to eat?”

Our stint at the RV Park was almost at an end
and I had been thinking about getting a dog. I searched around for
a Doberman Rescue and found one in a nearby town. One thing led to
the next and a couple of days before we packed up, I came home with
a large, red Dobie. He was about 4 years old and appeared as laid
back as the 2 Dobies I had owned in previous years. I brought him,
on a short leash, to introduce him to the bird but he immediately
lunged for Pickles. I thought, hmmmm, maybe he’s just excited to
see him and just wanted to sniff at Pickles. When I had first
brought a kitten home to another Doberman I had owned, this dog had
lunged at the kitten but only to sniff, lick and play. It had
scared me at first but that dog was nothing but gentle and caring
with that kitten from the moment they met.

I held on tight to the leash and slowly
brought the dog’s head closer to Pickles but his mouth opened and
his teeth snapped. That was it, back to the rescue centre. I was
sad—he was a nice dog and deserved a good home, but this wasn’t the
one for him. I would look for another dog.

Our time at the Park had been good for Neil
and Pickles. Before the Park, their relationship had been improving
day by day but over the summer, their bonding became complete. I
wasn’t around that much, having taken a full time job in Kamloops,
so the two of them spent a lot of time together. Neil stopped into
the RV often throughout the day to give Pickles snacks or to play
with him. The rest of the time, Pickles could watch Neil from the
windows as he went about his day. Neil could hear Pickles
chattering and singing from just about anywhere in the park and
from time to time Pickles would call out “Daddy home?” Neil call
back “Pretty soon” and Pickles would holler, “Woo hoo!” and go back
to whatever he was doing. It must have looked and sounded pretty
strange to anyone watching.

When I was home, and we were all in the RV,
Pickles would become antsy. Nothing would please him—snacks, games,
attention—he was miserable and we didn’t know how to make him
happy. At times, we couldn’t stand his demanding screeches so we’d
tell him ‘bye-bye’ and go sit out on the deck. The minute we said
‘good bye’ he would perk right up and hoot, holler and whistle. He
could hear us on the other side of the wall, he knew we were there,
and yet he continued with his happy sounds the whole time. To this
day, Pickles does the same thing any time we leave the house.

It was at the Park where Neil started taking
Pickles on “Snack Safaris”. When Pickles wasn’t looking, Neil would
hide the small bowl of pine nuts. Pickles would step up on his hand
while they went looking through rooms, closets, and cupboards until
they found the bowl. Pickles loves this game. He will show Neil
where to look by leaning so far out in the direction he wants to
go, that he almost falls off his hand. Each time that the pine nuts
aren’t in the spot Pickles chose, he’d fluff up in disappointment
and go “hmmmm” but quickly lean towards the next spot until finally
the bowl is discovered and he blurts, “THERE’S the snacks!” He’s
then rewarded with the opportunity to eat as many as he likes from
the bowl.

Our last day at the RV Park, a man came in to
the office to talk to me. I had warned Neil several times, “If you
are going to put an RV next to ours, make sure you warn the people.
Tell them about Pickles and all the noise he makes at 6:00 in the
morning when we get up.” Does he listen? No.

The man asks if I have a parrot. “Why yes I
do!” I replied, all proud like. “That’s what I thought,” Grumbled
the guy, “Sure wish you would have warned us.” “Huh?” I said,
suddenly feeling not so proud.

Turns out the wife had a bad dream that
morning. Something about an alien invasion in the RV Park. Why?
Because Pickles’ vocal menu this morning included cel phones,
sirens, whistles, ray guns and the beep beep beep of vehicles
backing up.

When the wife woke up, but still half asleep,
she was horrified to find the chaotic sounds were coming from right
outside her window. Believing that we were in a state of emergency
almost gave the old gal a coronary.

They were NOT happy campers. No sense of
humour.

Next time I saw Pickles, I gave him a piece
of my mind. Told him he was a brat and that he shouldn’t upset poor
old people like that. Told him he got me in trouble—AGAIN.

Pickles was on his play stand and lumbered up
slowly and thoughtfully, as close as possible to me. His stance and
facial expression projected deep thought and wisdom as he stared
deep into my eyes and profoundly replied, “Eat your beak.”

On that note, we left the RV Park and headed
back home.

Chapter 6

Pickles Gets a Dog

It was the end of September; we were finally
home and settling in for the winter. Winters can be long and harsh
in this high altitude town and I despise it. The snow can be
beautiful and I love the silence it brings with it, and the
sparkling clean look of trees laden with snow but once Christmas
passes, I have absolutely no use for it. Winter brings blubber.
Blubber’s supposed to be gained
before
winter, for warmth
and sustenance but I stack on the pounds
during
winter. We
don’t participate in winter sports; we just eat for lack of
anything better to do. I get bored and when I get bored, I’m
miserable. Poor Neil, I think it’s akin to throwing a bear in the
cabin and locking the doors. How that sweet, good-natured guy puts
up with me, I’ll never know.

I figure, let’s get a dog. He would be good
company, we could walk him for exercise and keep in shape. Yeah!
That’s the ticket! So, I contacted the Doberman Rescue centre again
and within a couple of days, we bonded with a sweet little black
and tan Dobie named Athena. She was good-natured and laid back, so
laid back that mostly she slept. She had lived in 4 homes by the
time she was 3, never abused but mostly neglected. We were assured
that she was not aggressive and it seemed her only baggage was
separation anxiety and fear of abandonment. Perfectly
understandable.

We brought her home and took her to meet
Pickles. Poor thing. She had no idea that she was about to become
Pickles personal plaything, or the equivalent of the tormented
little brother. We entered the living room and Pickles went
ballistic! He booted it, half running, half flying, tripping over
himself and falling off branches in his haste to get close to her.
Between flutters and tumbles, he cried out “Hello baby! Well hello
there! Wanna scratch? Wanna potato? Helllooooo!” Once to the bottom
of his stand and close to Athena, he couldn’t keep his eyes of her.
He talked and laughed, talked and laughed and kept it up for
hours.

Except for all the commotion when entering
the room, Athena barely looked at Pickles, she couldn’t care less.
She stayed that way and has never been a threat to him. We weren’t
stupid though—animals will be animals and we were careful never to
set them up for disaster.

The day after we got her, we all went to the
yard first thing in the morning for a spectacular, warm autumn’s
day. Pickles was in his aviary and Athena settled in the grass to
gnaw on a bone while we sipped our coffee. We sat next to the
aviary, admiring nature and marvelling at our happy new family.

Pickles was still infatuated with Athena and
did his very best to get her attention, stopping only long enough
to heckle neighbours and passer-bys. Athena finally heads in
Pickles’ direction so Pickles comes lower and closer to the aviary
screen. Athena squats to pee and Pickles cries out “Water! Gurgle
gurgle. Fresh water!” This is simply amazing to Pickles. He’s doing
circles and head bobs and shouting “Fresh Water! Fresh Water!”.

At some point, Athena spots a passing dog and
won’t stop barking at the intruder. Pickles is startled by the
first loud bark, loses his balance, flips upside down on his branch
and hangs there like a stunned bat. He regains his senses but
remains upside down, beating his wings and emitting that bone
chilling African Grey scream. Once upright, Pickles hollers to
Athena “Stop it! Just stop it!” and like a good dog, she did!

Pickles settles down and sits all tucked up
with his cute little puffy cheeks as Athena wanders next to him,
squats and produces a big pile of diahrea poop. Pickles whips his
head toward us as if to say “Did you see that!?” then looks back at
the steaming pile and asks “Pudding?” As I’m wiping the coffee I
just spit off the back of Neil’s head, Pickles carried on,
“Pudding? Want pudding! Mmmmm”.

The chilly autumn crept in and there were no
more yard days after that. Neil is off work for the winter while I
continue my job in Kamloops. If I could find a job that could
support us both, I’d gladly work while Neil stayed home and played
homemaker. He’s good at it and enjoys both cooking, baking and
cleaning. When I get home, the house is clean and supper’s on the
table. For desert, there’s usually homemade cake, cookies, pie or
something really fattening, and I don’t have to do a damn thing. I,
on the other hand, am a lousy wife and hate doing anything remotely
wifely.

While I was at work one day, Neil was
preparing dinner and I was expected home shortly. Neil’s in the
kitchen when he hears Pickles announce “Mamma’s home.” Athena leaps
from the couch and runs to the window barking while Neil follows.
They both stand at the window but there’s no car in the driveway
and Neil realizes he’s been duped. Athena’s still positive I am
arriving—the bird said so—and she continues to bark while Pickles
shouts “Stop it! Just stop it!” Athena’s barking and Pickles is
shouting until Neil settles everybody down and goes back to cooking
dinner.

Moments later, Pickles hollers “Mamma’s
home!” Athena jumps up barking, Neil runs to the living room and
both stand staring out the window. Psyche. Neil catches on but
Athena can’t believe a bird would lie so she keeps barking. “Go lay
down!” Pickles demands. “Stop it! Go lay down!” Athena barks a
couple of hesitant woofs then reluctantly goes back to the couch.
Neil goes back to the kitchen.

“MAMMA’S HOME!!!!!!!” Pickles screams.
Running…barking. Man and dog stare out the window. Bilked again.
Neil is feeling pretty sheepish, Athena’s not sure what to believe
and now she’s whining. Pickles whines right back at her, only he
takes it up a few notches. Neil goes back to dinner, Athena lies
down and stares at the bird confused and hurt.

“MAMMA’S HOME!!!!!!” Athena merely lifts her
head as Neil rushes past her to the window. I guess it’s true what
they say about old dogs and new tricks.

Winter goes on, we get fatter as our plans
for dog walking get blown out the window. There’s always a
reason—it’s too cold, too much snow or too icy but mainly, it’s
because Athena hates the cold. Good choice eh? A hairless Doberman
in a high altitude winter climate. We have a hard time walking on
ice but Athena is worse. Dobies simply don’t have the paws for
grabbing, she’s just slipping all over the place. But we get by and
somehow, Athena remains slim, even with the lack of exercise.

Spring finally arrives and I’m able to take
Athena for walks and runs. Her recall’s not great and we work at it
but I have to be careful about where I let her run. We were assured
she had no aggression but soon find out she will go after other
dogs. The moment she reached them, she would spin on her heels and
head back but we were afraid she’d do that to the wrong dog some
day and cause a fight.

Athena is still showing no interest in
Pickles but just to be safe, we had erected a sturdy screen door
between the living room and kitchen to separate bird and dog when
we’re not around. We were more afraid of Pickles approaching
Athena, than the other way around. Pickles is a little bugger and
he could saunter over and nip Athena, given half a chance.

Neil goes back to work in spring and this
year he’s managing Lac Le Jeune Provincial Park. I left my job in
Kamloops and went to work as the gatekeeper in the same park. There
are 144 campsites in the park and it’s situated on a lake with
excellent trout fishing. Wildlife is plentiful, including deer,
moose and the odd black bear.

Along the lakeshore, there’s a really nice
day-use/picnic area and one day I was sent to write tickets for any
vehicles without a parking pass. It was Canada Day, the beach was
packed and the parking lot contained many violators so I got busy
writing. As I approached a car, writing on my clipboard, I failed
to notice a pothole and everyone around me heard the crack as I
stepped into it and broke my ankle. As I was falling and trying to
right myself, I sprained the other one. As I lay sat on the ground,
unable to speak through the pain, many people came to assist but I
wouldn’t let them look because I hadn’t shaved my legs. I spent the
rest of the summer on cast and crutches. So much for walking the
dog.

With a broken ankle, the simplest things
became nearly impossible, like taking a shower. I had to wash my
hair in the bathroom sink so I’d have something to lean against
while my hands were busy. One day, I’m washing my hair while Athena
lounges on the bed. The whole while, Pickles is chirping and
whistling at the top of his lungs. “What a happy bird.” I’m
thinking, as I rinse my hair.

“Heyyyy, wait a minute” I think to myself,
“He’s a little
too
loud” and I turn off the water to hear
him better. He sounds closer than the living room so I wrapped my
head in a towel and hobbled to the living room to check it out.