Lovebirds

My father could be described as many things: Hard-working; logical; intelligent; determined… The list could go on for quite some time. One descriptor that could NEVER be found on the list, however, is that of adorer-of-birds. At least not the domesticated version. While he has a healthy appreciation for most species of wild avian life forms (aside from the ones that are caught building their nests in absurd spaces or harassing other birds), he considers pet birds to be far more trouble than they are worth.

He does have a point, in some respects. Birds are indisputably some of the messiest creatures around, especially when kept in cages within one’s home. They have a tendency to amuse themselves with games like “How Far Can I Throw My Bird Food” and “Watch Me Take a Bath and Drench Every Object within Ten Feet of My Cage.” While one can see a bit of the appeal of these pastimes, a modicum of restraint on the bird’s part is desired. Unfortunately, restraint is one thing that birds SUCK at. They throw themselves enthusiastically into every part of their little bird lives. Take, for example, Percy and Priscilla, two conures that I (very) generously gifted to my parents a few years ago, under the guise of “can you keep them for a while?” (My father – to this day – threatens to remove me from the will when the birds are acting particularly vile.) The two are bonded, which essentially means that everything that they do is double the fun, double the mess, double the noise, etc.

Percy and Priscilla embrace life with a passion that one can’t help but envy. Every morning, they eagerly anticipate the arrival of the sun and greet it with a loud cacophony of unearthly squawks. This cheerful greeting can go on for extended periods of time – on really good days it can go on for hours. Once the morning salutation is complete, the pair will generally move on to a lengthy examination and discussion of the contents of their food dish. This requires quite a lot of enthusiasm and dedication to do properly, as does every other activity that is undertaken during the day. If either Percy or Priscilla begins to feel slightly neglected, they take matters into their own wings by “causing a scene.” This most likely means either flying wildly around the house, swooping close to humans to increase the excitement factor, or flinging one’s bird self unto the floor. The status of “wing clipping” is the determining factor in this situation. The benefit of both of these scenarios lies in the attention that it draws from the humans of the home.

Still, despite the loud nature and messiness of The Two, my father has more tolerance for them than he does for the other avian member of the household – Ozzie. Ozzie is a small parrot, and her biggest fault is that she absolutely, positively adores my father. Her entire bird world revolves around his comings and goings. She loves him with a pathetic desperation, and it irritates him to no end. He is never left in peace if Ozzie is around; if he is within ten feet of her cage she cannot keep herself from attempting to get on him by whatever means are necessary. This is a problem. She often launches herself toward him with a shriek, only to fall short and land on the floor. Undeterred, she beelines in his direction at a fast waddle, pupils dilated in excitement.

Ozzie monitors the whereabouts of my father at all times. When he goes to work, she grows despondent and spends the rest of the day anticipating his return. As his truck pulls into the driveway, she emits a shriek of ear-destroying capacity and lunges forward into her “anxiety pose;’ the stress of the impending arrival nearly too much to bear. With eagerness, she watches his vehicle until it is out of sight, then immediately swivels to face the door. When it finally opens, and my father steps through, order is restored to her world. With dilated pupils, she clacks her beak in homage. Oblivious, my father tends to walk right past her cage and go about his business.

Ozzie spends all of her waking hours listening for or to my father, and/or admiring him with her head tilted to the side and her feathers fluffed in delight. The highlight of her entire day occurs at the very end when – before being put “to bed” – she is placed on my father’s knee by my mother. There she finally receives what she has been longing for all day long – attention from The Loved One. With no small amount of disgust, my father concedes to pet her head for a few minutes before sending her back to her cage. The irony of this situation is that Ozzie’s affection is so misplaced. Were she to take advantage of my mother’s affection, she would be showered with attention and petting all day long.

The irony does not end there. Not only does Ozzie adore my father, but Petula – The Mean Green Attacking Machine – loves him as well. In her eyes, he is second only to me. While she regularly attacks people who offer her attention, she actively seeks it from my father despite a track record of consistent refusal. There have been many times that I have found her at the very edge of her cage, as close to my father’s recliner as she can possibly get, hunched into a pitiful position and peeping softly to herself as she watches him with longing. The times that my father does choose to indulge her with a spot of attention only lead to desperate acts. Sometimes, unable to restrain herself as he walks by, Petula throws herself off the top of her cage, aiming for my father’s shoulder as she hurtles through the air while issuing a series of panicked-sounding peeps.

My mother and I have often speculated on this bizarre relationship that my father has with these birds. The best theory that we have been able to arrive at is that these birds have – like so many women – chosen to waste their affections on a man who refuses to love them in return. This seems to be supported by the fact that Keats – a male bird – shows little interest in my Dad and that Percy and Priscilla – who have each other – regard him as more of a source of entertainment than a love object. The misplaced love that these two female birds feel for my father - the “man of their dreams” – is disturbingly similar to the same emotions that I have witnessed in females of the human variety. Perhaps – I am now thinking – the term “bird-brain” is associated with women for a very good reason…