As usual, I had fifteen things I wanted to write and they all flew away as soon as I sat down. I’m starting this post about an hour before I take Arabella, my macaw, for her ‘every five weeks’ beak trim, she having been born with a birth defect, probably from in-breeding. I had the dogs groomed on Thursday and I will have Nash, my hair stylist cut what’s left of my hair next Tuesday.
My daughter and granddaughters were Nash’s clients before I was. Connie was blonde in those days (before she remarried). But this year, having reached grandmotherhood and the august age of 55 she let her dark hair go white…..the new blonde in case you hadn’t noticed.
Above, youngest grandson Sean at bat in San Diego.
For some reason, I was thinking about baseball this morning. Once upon a time, I was crazy about the game. I collected all the baseball cards, and wept when I read the poem Casey at the Bat. Saturdays, Dad and I watched the games together. I relentlessly followed the team and player rankings in the American League.
Like my hero, Thumping Theodore of the BoSox, I played left field for my school team and hit a mean ball, which helped win many a game the year I was a Junior. We lost our grand championship game to the Freshmen team. However, as the girls sports writer for the school newspaper, I had to write the article about the game. Of course it was totally unbiased.
Okay we are back from the Avian vet’s office. Next week my little Pom Clare, who just turned 12 goes for her annual exam.
At the Avian vet’s office two vet techs met our car and helped us into the office, opening doors, lending us a shoulder to lean on, carrying Arabella’s carrier, and directing us to a parking space next to the back door. Leaving we had the reverse experience with the car close to the exit.
I shared with the vet techs that next week I will rehome, Dory, one of my parrots. Dory is an African Redbelly Poicephalus and these parrots live to age 35 or older. I don’t think I am going to live 25 more years. Well, I might, but I probably won’t be able to take care of all these parrots when I am 101 years old.
My cleaner’s son Genesis has agreed to rehome Dory. Dory is a great parrot, kind of like a Jack Russell Terrier, very intelligent and high energy (smarter than my dogs) and I simply don’t have the time to spend with her, so she gets the short end. I think Genesis will do a great job because, for several years, he worked at the DC animal shelter rehabilitating animals. Later he worked at the Arlington Career Center teaching people how to care for parrots.
Arabella excepted, Dory is my youngest parrot. The others range in age from 14 to 12. I’ve had them all since they were babies. Youngest granddaughter Joy named Dory after she saw that movie about a fish back when she was eight years old. Dory was a girl fish in the movie and named for Neptune’s daughter.
It’s awfully difficult to give up a parrot or any animal you love, but as both David and I are having so many issues, and more of the household stuff is falling on me, I need to plan ahead. As Nash says, “It is what it is!”