Posts Tagged ‘Pratchett’

Once a week or so Jack throws himself in his water bowl and has a lovely time making a big mess:

Since Pratchett was a mere hatchling I’ve struggled to get him to clean up his act. He’s never tried to clean himself in his bowl, as far as I know. I’ve taken him in the shower and bought misters, both of which made him scream like it was acid he was being spritzed with.

But I accidentally came up with a way to trick him into cleaning himself (a little) the other day. His current bit of bamboo was gnawed into bits and it was time for another, but it’s practically been monsoon season and everything’s soaked. I cut a stalk bigger than any he’s ever had before…but I put it on top of the cage instead of inside:

He even opened his wings a little and shook himself so maybe his little ‘pits got a little damp. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

I finally got around to moving the boy’s perch into the kitchen- it hadn’t been any kind of priority because they haven’t shown any interest in it whatsoever, but I spent a bunch of money on this thing and I’m determined to get them interested.

Well, Pratch got interested, alright- but not in the big contraption:

He just likes getting up high, and standing on top of the hanger was pretty cool…until he started worrying about how he was going to get down:

He did finally manage it. And, although these were taken about a month and a half ago and he’s had plenty of time to explore the exciting options the perch offers him (everything moves! jingles! twirlly fun!) he still prefers the stupid hanger.

He seems just like a kid who prefers the box to the toy inside. Sigh.

Well, that’s the birds’ interpretation, anyway.

The yearly vet visit is a little different for the birds than the dogs. Puppies get leashed, widdle a little on the doc’s floor and get over it. They know there’s a treat at the end and the bonus of a car ride, so they go along with the program without much fuss.

Birds? Oh boy. Typically Jack’s the troublemaker, but he went without much of a production. Pratchett led me on a not-so-merry, squawking, growling, 20 minute long miserable chase around the kitchen. You would have thought I was trying to kill him.

Never heard a CAG growl? Oh, how you’ve been missing out…






I think Linda Blair took acting lessons from these birds, and Pratch did it for several hours straight.

Check out these fluffled up feathers and glare:

So he had to be toweled twice in one day, once just to get him in the crate, once for his exam, and it was not pretty. I thought the wing clip was going to give him a heart attack, and let’s not even talk about the nail clipping…

Note that Jack is way over in his crate, trying to see what the hell could be so different over in Pratchett’s world to cause all that noise…

The whole time all I could think about what the prediction of a “very active” hurricane season and what a barrel of laughs it’ll be if we actually have to evacuate with our own growling, freaked out and above all LOUD parrot soundtrack.

Pratchett’s decided he’s a fan of peanut butter. He recognizes the jar, and his eyes start pinning in anticipation. Even though we’re talking about the low fat/sugarfree variety he can’t have very much, so I’ve been trying to make a little go a long way.

Smearing a thin layer over a measuring spoon keeps him happily occupied for a surprisingly long time:

As a rule he’s not a nippy boy, but I’ve learned to only let him play with it if there’s enough time to let him have at it til he’s done, because he will defend his noms. He’s not interested in so much as looking up until he’s dropped the spoon to the ground and gotten every last scrap off his beak and talons.

Last year it was only Pratchett in the kitchen and he felt his life was good. To Pratch’s dismay, I brought Jack in this year, too, and set up their various toys in the gap. Yesterday was the first day they really got to explore, and they were both so excited they forgot about each other and just played. I thought it was progress…

(cue ominous music)

Pratch was happily ringing every bell in the place when he remembered the ones on the far side of Jack’s cage. He used the net to navigate over, and Jack spotted him like a shadow passing over the sun.

At the last moment, the boy sensed something was wrong…

But it was too late… Jack attack!

All Jack really got was a beak full of red tail feathers. Pratch was fine…well, everything but his ego. He was quite grouchy for a little while, but a few almonds smoothed his feathers.

Still, I’m determined to have a peaceable kingdom. Eventually.

He really wants those little balls OUT of the rattle but can’t manage to break it open.

For those of you who aren’t crazy parrot people, I’ll mention that the fluffing up at the end is something birds do when they’re aggrevated.

Ol’ Jack’s been having himself a fine time lately. He’s started really playing with toys all over the place, and suddenly he’s started talking. Senegal parrots aren’t especially known for their ability to speak, but I think this one’s gonna be a firecracker.

One of Pratch’s favorite things to say is “Peek-a-boo! I seeeeeee you….” About a week ago, I got worried about the boy- I thought he had a horrible case of the hiccups, but then I realized he was saying “peeka! peeka! peeka!” over and over… he’s working on adding the “boo” now. He’s been saying ‘hello’ for awhile, and the newest vocabulary word is Pratchett’s own “Pew!”

He’s generally just feeling his oats and stealing whatever he can get his beak on. In his mind he’s about 6 feet tall, large and in charge.
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Last week Sammy, big lummox that she is, let loose with some really horrible gas. Honestly, I’ve never seen (or thankfully, smelled) another dog like this one. It’s not her diet, we’ve tried everything. It’s just her. She can take the most innocent kibble and turn it into toxic waste.

So Sammy lets one go, and I jokingly say to her “Sammy! Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Pew Pew pew!”

And, you guessed it. Pratchett LOVES the sound. So now, even when the dog’s not doing it, the parrot’s sounding the alarm.

I’ve been trying to get a video of Pratchett doing this so, of course, he stops as soon as the camera’s out, which is why it’s so far back and showing off my beautiful vacuum and the Halloween Harlot which has yet to get put away.

When I was closer, all he wanted to do was show me just how much noise he could make:

He’s got a real talent, as you can see. My favorite move is when he hangs on the outside of the cage with his beak and one foot and searches around with the other foot, trying to find something to bang around. I took this video first, before stepping back to get the longer one, and I even tried to get him to echo me, but he wasn’t having it.

I know you’ve got to be careful what you say, around parrots, but it’s kind of maddening how they’ll ignore the hundred things you’d like them to say and pick up on the one thing you said in a random moment. I’ve been trying to get him to say “WHO DAT!” for weeks and he couldn’t be less interested, but the dog farts and now I’ll be hearing about it for the rest of my life.

Sorry, couldn’t resist.

Pratchett stole a Saints clapper and went to town on it pre-game on Sunday. I can’t say he gives a damn about football, but he’s a big fan of anything that makes noise. After the Herculean task of hauling the thing up to his veranda, he got pissy. He thought it worked like a bell and when he couldn’t get it to work he decided to break it instead.

Still. How ’bout dem 6-0 Saints!?

They’re well known for breaking our hearts, but the feeling around here is optimistic. Half the city’s hoarse from screaming on Sunday, and it’s only going to get more intense.

Ali came home with roomie Elizabeth for LSU’s Fall Holiday, which ran from Wednesday afternoon through the weekend. All of which would’ve been much more fun if they weren’t both totally sick- Ali with a sinus infection/cold, Elizabeth with allergies/cold and needing a little TLC.

Which, in this case, consisted of a combination of being taken out to eat, home cooked meals, and sleep. Upon their arrival, she used what little voice she had to croak out a pitiful plea for Craig and Kimmie’s food. While there she took out her prescription, and I just couldn’t stop laughing:

I mean, really. Even the freaking pill bottles are in the school colors? I’ll have to check with my cousin Carolyn- a foamingly rabid UGA alum who was not exactly thrilled at Alison’s school choice- to see if this sort of detailed brainwashing is SOP for these southern schools.

At any rate, several requests were made for food to be brought back to LSU- Charlie’s special chicken, a tray of fancy-schmancy mac n’ cheese and chocolate chip cookies.

The ‘homemade’ part was stressed. Repeatedly. So how do you resist that one? You don’t. In the midst of preparations I discovered that Pratchett loves cheese.

Loves? Adores. Worships. To get his greedy talons on some, he will actually ‘fly’ over from his cage (poor lad. It’s more like semi-controlled falling, but he didn’t seem to care if there was the potential for some cheesy goodness to ease his rough landing).

Unfortunately, I also discovered that I have my grandmother’s hoarding/feeding/stockpiling genes. Every time I visited her while I was in school she sent me home with food, which I appreciated, but also started to wonder if she thought the only grocery store in existence was the one in her neighborhood. In the end, the girls were packed up with loads of food- cold cuts, chips, Special K bars, boxes of tissues, juice, only slightly parrot-nibbled mac n’ cheese, etc, and sent off after one last meal out, at Cafe Atchafalaya.

I do despair of ever getting a normal photo of them together. Here they are, ‘sizzling’ in Atchafalaya’s huge frying pan.

Then they were off, with a stop at The House of Shock. I was a little worried about that one- two years running Alison went with friends who were got scared just by the freakshow outside that they were sobbing and quit before they even got inside the building.

For the uninitatied, here’s the House of Shock, named by the Travel Channel as the most extreme Haunted House in the US:

(If you don’t have the patience to sit through it, skip to the 3:58 mark and you’ll know everything you need to about why I was worried.)

Needless to say, Alison loves it and can’t wait to go every year, but Elizabeth is a sweet, semi-sheltered religious sort of girl. In fact, they were leaving a day early so she could go home to practice for a play her church is putting on- you can see why I just wasn’t sure how this would go over.

I have yet to hear just how it went, but hey,they’re still coming for Voodoo Fest later this month, so it couldn’t have scared her off too much, right?