Pickles The Parrot Returns: My Continued Adventures with a Bird Brain (23 page)

We get wildlife traveling through our section
of town fairly often – moose, deer and bears. The bears mostly come
out at night but it’s not uncommon to see them during the day.

We had a large black bear lumbering along
outside the fence one early evening when we were all sitting
outside. Neil and I stayed quiet, hoping the bear wouldn’t notice
us but Pickles spotted him and decided to invite him in. He started
with the quick dog whistles, tried the kissy calling sounds then
went on to call “Come! Neeka come! Good Boy!” The bear just sort of
glanced in our general direction but carried on along the fence
line however, Pickles succeeded in attracting Neeka and once Neeka
came in his direction, he spotted the bear. Neeka commenced
barking, and so did Pickles. The bear stopped, turned, saw us and
sat back on his haunches to contemplate our group.

We weren’t overly concerned because bears
don’t
usually
attack people in town and we
don’t usually have bears climb our high fence but it’s certainly
possible for both to happen. And I’m thinking, we succeeded in
getting Neeka to stop barking but if Pickles doesn’t stop, and if
he attracts the bear into the yard, they move very fast and we
wouldn’t have time to get Pickles out of the aviary and safe in the
house. I don’t really think a bear would go after a bird but
perhaps a noisy one that was easy pickings in a flimsy (for a bear)
screened enclosure might be tempting for him. As it turned out, the
bear had little interest in us so he meandered on down the road
with Pickles yelling after him “Be right back!”

Because of our long winters, Pickles didn’t
get his first trip in the backpack until it was warm enough in mid
May this year. He was shivering in anticipation as he saw me
heading towards the backpack sitting on the kitchen table. He
hopped right in and sat patiently while I fastened Neeka with a
collar and leash, then up on my back and away we went.

It was a beautiful, sunny day and we just
strolled around the whole block, which goes in a circle back to our
house. Pickles barked the whole time, only pausing to call back to
the odd singing or chirping bird – echoing that particular bird’s
call, which he already knows.

We stopped to talk to a neighbor lady who was
cleaning her car interior and Pickles sat quietly with us on her
cement wall. Now and then he would ask for, or give a kiss but he
was happy to just look around and soak up some warm sunrays while
we chatted.

About fifteen minutes later, we headed back
home and Pickles was still in a great mood and enjoying the fresh
air so I decided to place him in the aviary while I checked the
yard for any fresh growth. Suddenly banging started from a house
across the street, which was undergoing renovations, and soon
after, the sound of a power saw pierced the air. Pickles likes loud
noises so he wasn’t particularly perturbed but at one point he
started yelling “What’s all that racket???” Pickles kept yelling
his question and the men couldn’t hear him over the noise but
someone passing by could. “Is that you or your bird saying that?”
they asked. “My bird” I sighed. “Amazing!” they said, then walked
on down the block.

A couple of minutes later, I was alerted to
the fact that Neil was returning home. He was a block away but
Pickles had spotted the car and was yelling “The Daddy’s home! Woo
hoo!” (Sometimes he calls him ‘The’ Daddy) Daddy stopped a minute
and talked to Pickles through the car window then drove past and
parked in the driveway. Pickles can no longer see him from the
aviary’s position and he’s yelling “Daaaddddeeee” while Neil goes
through the front door, through the house and pokes his head out
the side window to say “Hi Pickles”. Neil tells him he has to wash
up, that he’ll be right back and Pickles cheerfully replies “See
you out the window!” We always say that to Pickles if we’re going
outside to do something and we know he’ll be able to see us from
wherever he’s sitting at the time, but this is the first time we’ve
heard Pickles actually say it to us.

At the time of this writing, we’ve only been
out in with the backpack twice this year as it’s just now nearing
the end of May and we’ve been experiencing a lot of rain. The
second time, we went for a walk around the lake in town. The lake
(Logan Lake) is across the highway from the outdoor mall and has a
park at one end, a campsite at the far end (with a challenging
9-hole golf course behind that. We don’t golf though), paved
walkway with lanterns along the highway side and forested on the
far side with a hilly trail that connects all the way around so
that you walk through the park and campsite at the each end.

We stopped to rest at a picnic table in an
empty campsite along the lakeshore and I set Pickles’ backpack on
top of the table. It wasn’t long before Pickles attracted attention
with his chattering and a few people stopped to look at him and pet
Neeka. A black man, with his three young teenage children strolled
over and Pickles suddenly went quiet. The family stood in a circle
around him as Pickles gazed up into each and every one of their
faces. As he did, he remarked “huh” while slowly nodding his head.
It struck me that he’d never seen a black person before and this
was interesting to him. I was worried that this would keep him from
talking but he soon got over it and had them all in stitches.

The whole time, I was remembering a story my
mom often tells, about sitting in the doctors office when I was
four or five years old. I don’t remember the occasion but I too,
had never seen a black person, until then, and I just stood in the
middle of the waiting room, staring at him. Mom finally pulled me
aside, told me I was being rude and to stop it. I just pointed at
him and asked, loudly, “Mommy? Why is that man black like my
dolly?”

From an early age, my mom taught me to be
tolerant of other races. She bought me a black doll and I think I
remember my sister having a Chinese doll. By the way, I’ve always
hated the word tolerant in this instance. To me, tolerating
someone, or something, is just ‘putting up’ with it. I don’t know a
better word but regardless, she taught me well, and to appreciate
everyone the same.

Also, I’m sorry if I offended anyone with the
term ‘black’. I once asked a black friend what the correct term was
and he said “I call myself black, why don’t you?” I also received
the same response from a friend in the Kamloops Indian Band. He
said that they called themselves an ‘Indian’ Band and told me it
was politically correct to do the same. I looked on the internet
after that and indeed, there are dozens and dozens of ‘Indian’
Bands listed in the province. And yet, I’ve been chastised for
using the word ‘Indian’ and ‘black’. All I know is that I mean no
disrespect and I hope none is taken.

Back to the backpack. Late last summer, Neil
and I were driving through another town, on our way to a lake cabin
and we had Pickles with us. We don’t like leaving either Neeka or
Pickles in the car for fear they might be stolen but especially
Pickles. A parrot is just too tempting. Neil went to one store
while I went to another to pick up a campfire lighter and I figured
it would be okay to take Pickles in his backpack. They usually
accept it in our town so off we went while leaving Neeka in the car
– because it seems nobody likes dogs in a store.

Everything was fine as I walked down the
aisles in search of my lighter – until Pickles began mooing. He had
picked up cow mooing from when we were living and operating an RV
park in Kamloops one summer and there was a nearby field of cows. A
few people looked up and sort of just glanced around while I put my
head down and kept walking, hoping they wouldn’t pinpoint where the
noise was coming from.

I find the aisle I’m looking for and as I’m
looking through the camping equipment, a clerk walks by but is too
preoccupied to notice what’s in the backpack – until Pickles chimes
up with “Be right back!” after she passed by. She glanced back over
her shoulder and that’s when she noticed I had a parrot on my back.
“I’m sorry, you can’t have that bird in here” she told me. I asked
nicely if I could just find my item, pay and leave. The lady asked
me again to leave and I said, “Look, here it is! Can I just pay and
go?” Just then, Pickles asks in his sweet little voice “Wanna
kiss?” and then blew her one with a drawn out “mmmmwwwaaaa”. “Awww”
the lady said, “That’s so sweet! Okay, I’ll cash you out.”

I followed her to the till, paid for my
lighter and as I pulled the door open to leave, Pickles spouts “Bye
bye buggerbutt rat baby!” I glance over my shoulder to see the lady
standing wide eyed and drop jawed and eventually she laughs and
says to me, “Not so sweet after all, eh?”

Pickles is great at putting his own words
together. ‘Buggerbutt’ is a combination of words he’s been saying
for years – ‘Wooly Bugger’ (the name of a fishing fly) and ‘Baby
Butts’, his words for small, wild birds.

I highly recommend birdie backpacks. As long
as you have thick skin for embarrassing moments (and there WILL be
embarrassing moments), it’s a great adventure for domestic birds of
any kind. Just make sure it’s sturdy and not easily chewed up. I’ve
had three of them and the first two were destroyed by Pickles. I
was hiking down a trail one time and Pickles had started out happy
and chatty but after awhile he got really quiet. That’s not
unusual, sometimes he just likes to gaze at things, so I didn’t
think anything of it. When we finished our walk, I took the
backpack off and found that Pickles had chewed one corner and down
the front seam, leaving a gaping hole that he could easily have
squeezed through. I immediately bought the Flying South backpack,
which is a sturdy cage inside of a canvas cover that zips open on
all sides, providing as much or little exposure as required.

Don’t try to just plop your bird into it
though, because if you freak him out to start, it may take forever,
if ever, to get him to go in willingly. We started by setting it in
the corner of the couch and slowly playing with it, setting toys or
treats inside and allowing him to take his time until he went
inside to investigate. After he went in on his own a few times, we
would partly zipper it up then quickly unzipper until we could zip
it up completely and he was happy to sit in there. Then we would
pick it up off the couch and set it back down. Next, we’d walk a
little further with it each time until finally we were able to put
him on our backs. The whole process was easy for us because Pickles
was still very young (about a year old) and it only took two days
until he was willing to go for a walk outside in it.

“
Mom's sad because the old
Ponderosa tree across the street looks old and gnarled.  He's
dying cuz some Pine Beatles ate his guts and is killing him before
his time.  She sees death. I see new perches”

“
How do I call a
flower?  Why would I want to?  They'd have to grab
their knees & pull up their roots.  Can they even
walk?  Or do they just slither along the ground, messing up
their petals?  Then, they're gonna drag mud all over the
house & when they get to me to see what I called
them for, I'd be like - ummm, so how's it going?  And they'd
be like, - WTF, you called me for THAT?  And I’d be like ...
sorry little petunia, mom gave me some Callaflower for lunch and I
thought it was an order.”

“
I went to the mall to watch
bears and someone told me bears don't hang out in malls.  But
I stuck around anyway cuz that's the thing about bears - they
attack where and when you least expect it.”

“
There's some places
mom&dad don't like to go fishing or camping because they say
the mosquitoes are terrible.  Apparently our yard only has
nice ones.”

“
I love rain.  I love
the nice earthy smell from a good rainfall and the way everything
sparkles as it glistens with moisture.  I love the sound of
fresh, clean water raining down on the roof - the
sound reminds me of the time we went camping and Dad got drunk
and pissed on the tent.”

“
If you're a worm, I bet you
had no idea just how far your little body could stretch until that
Robin tried pulling you out of the ground.”

“
I was sitting in the
window, talking to the wild birds but they have a very short
attention span so telling whole stories is useless.”

“
I like games but I don't
like the games that bears play.  It starts out okay - I like
playing tag and getting chased, but it's kinda anti climatic when
it changes to playing dead.  It's okay for a while but then it
gets boring.  Next time a bear chases me, I will stop and
suggest Tiddly Winks instead.”

“
I perched on rock amid
waving cattails along the edge of the shore.  The sun beams
warmed my skin beneath my ruffled and open feathers as I gazed
across a lake so calm, it appeared as glass.  Here and
there the water rippled from brief gusts of winds, making thousands
of little diamonds dance on the surface.  Grassy hillsides the
color of butter surrounded the lake and the patches of forests
dressed in autumn colors of fiery reds and oranges reflected on the
water like a delicate quilt.  Butterflies danced in the air
while a Whisky Jack spread his wings to glide in lazy circles
without a care in the world.  A Dragonfly swept down from the
sky, landing on a partly submerged rock nearby to clean his face
and gossamer wings with dainty feet.  Suddenly a trout the
size of seal broke the surface and swallowed
the dragonfly.  I crapped myself right then and
there.”

“
Be kind to the earth.
Because, like me, it can come back to bite you in the
ass”

I was born and raised a city girl and grew
up in Burnaby, a suburb of Vancouver, surrounded by mountains,
lakes and ocean. I grew up in a ‘safe’ time, when children were
free to wander through the streets and parks on their own. Days
were spent playing games in the street and yards, and everybody was
expected home when the streetlights came on at night. There were
lots of parks nearby and plenty of ball diamonds for friendly games
of scrub. Swimming pools, playgrounds and creeks were everywhere
and all with in a few minutes walk in either direction. The ocean
was easily accessed by bus but we would sometimes walk the distance
and as teenagers, we hitchhiked.