A little house wren has become our morning singer this summer. I hear the wren at 5:30 AM when I take Johnny out for his morning wee (Clare sleeps in until David wakes up) and later when I am reading my morning paper and having coffee I hear him at a different window.
House Wren (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Last fall, we placed nest boxes at every corner of the house and several of them show tell-tale signs of occupation. I don’t know much about wrens, except they eat their weight in insects every day, so I welcome them.
After the early morning songfest, our entertainer hangs out at the corner window where I work on my computer and continues his warbling. Baby the Senegal parrot’s cage is next to this window, but I keep the curtain drawn lest the wrens fly away from their nest box.
Sometimes my parrots try to make wren sounds, but mostly they squawk like parrots or listen to the music outside. The only parrot I had who could sing, was a male Cockatiel named Remy I rehomed from a previous owner. Not liking Remy’s song, Baby killed him, but not before my Quaker parrot Jesse, who can imitate any sound, learned the Cockatiel song. For months after Remy died, I would hear him singing. Jesse seldom sings these days, preferring to squawk with the other parrots.
I bought most of the parrots around the time I had a stroke. I blame the “insanity” of filling my house with parrots on the stroke. I like parrots, but I went a little nuts for a while. Thank goodness I came to my senses before I bought one of the really large parrots. Mostly, I concentrated on small and medium-sized parrots. At one time I had 22 birds and parrots, but I was raising them then. The lady who ran the pet store where I sold my baby birds on consignment retired and moved away after a nasty encounter with PETA. These days, I am the “mother” of 7 parrots, 5 medium and 2 small ones.
Don’t get me wrong. I love these parrots, some of them are very cuddly. Some are not. Baby the Cockatiel killer is the only one that bites me anymore and he does it accidentally. Parrots use their beaks like we use our fingers, so sometimes when he grabs hold of me he is merely trying to keep from falling. At least this is what he claims when he bites my nipple. He’s the only parrot that does that, so I tell him, “I know you were a dirty old man in your last life.”
I read a very funny short story about a husband who died and came back as a parrot, so I am really careful about animals. You never know who they were in a previous life.
Monk Parakeet or Quaker Parrot (Myiopsitta monachus). Two parrots perching on a shower rail. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)