Hi, Pet Buddies!
In my quest to become a Dog of the World and expand my horizons, I come across some very interesting fellow-pets. And I’m learning to appreciate different points of view.
For example, a couple of weeks back, my assistant told me I’d be interviewing a Monk Quaker Parrot. Wow, a first, I thought. And to tell you the truth, I was nervous. Although my ancestors were retrievers and had some association with birds, it was as prey, not as an interview subject, and the birds were usually running, well flying, for their lives … or they were already, well, you know …
Anyhow, the thought crossed my mind that my instincts as a hunter might kick in at some point in the interview – sort of a Jekyll and Hyde kind of thing – which would be beyond embarrassing. But then I thought, “Come on, Bonzo, get a grip! That’s not who you are. You are The Bonz! Dog About Town! Refined! Civilized! A journalist, for Lassie’s Sake.”
So I approached the interview with courage, confidence – and an extra Greenie in my briefcase. I was greeted by the humans, Bill and Mary Price, and escorted into the living room to meet Pete Price II.
He was on top of a nice roomy cage, side-stepping back and forth. I think he was nervous like me.
“This is Pete,” said Bill, walking to the cage. Pete was smaller than I expected, but he had great posture. Right away he said in a throaty but firm voice, “Good morning, Mr. Bonz. I am so very honored to welcome you to our home.”
“My pleasure,” I replied formally, following his lead. Pete was a handsome dude, neat and mostly bright green, with cool blue tips on his wings. He was a little chirp, not quite a foot long, and weighing about 4 or 5 ounces. Snack size. (Did I say that out loud?)
I took a deep breath. “Tell me a little about yourself.” Bill extended his hand, fingers sort of curled, and Pete hopped aboard.
“Sure. My species got its name – Monk Quaker – because of the nice little bibs on our chests that apparently look like Quaker outfits or because the green on our heads sort of looks like a monk’s hood – if you have a good imagination. My human parents named me Pete after another bird buddy they had for 25 years. His name was Pete the First and he was a cockatiel. He’s gone to that Big Bird Cage in the Sky, and they miss him a lot. But I’m trying to follow in his footsteps. Except for the eating the furniture part.”
“How’s that?” I asked.
“Yes, it’s true. Pete the First liked to eat the furniture. Well,” he said, behind his wing, “he did come from a big box pet shop and apparently didn’t acquire any manners.”
Suddenly he jumped back onto the top of his cage and started quick-stepping all over it. And he let out a loud – a very loud – squawk. Then four or five more. Did I mention they were loud?
“Whoa, dude,” I blurted, pulling my ears tight against my head.
As quick as it had started, it stopped. He ruffled his feathers till he looked like he had exploded, then smoothed them down and calmly hopped back onto Bob’s finger.
“Sorry. That’s just – what we do. Now where were we?”
Feeling grateful for whoever designed my long, fluffy ears, I said, “I’ve noticed you stick pretty close to your human dad. What about your mom?
Before he could answer, his mom, Mary, who was sitting waaay over on the other side of the table, said, “Yes, about that. I’m VERY disappointed. He’s a One-Man Bird. I thought he’d sit on my finger and we’d be pals, but no-oooo. If I stick my hand near him – he bites me. Yes, VERRRY disappointed.” She sighed. “We USED to have a cat.”
“Oops,” I thought to myself, “Fox Paw. Shouldn’t have gone there.”
“So, what do you like to eat?” I said, skillfully changing the subject.
“I enjoy seeds, millet, oats – oooooh, and lima beans, peas and corn. And my dad gives me a cuttle bone so I get my minerals.”
“Yum,” I said to myself.
“And, for fun?”
“Well, Mom got me a hangy-downy toy with a bell, and I bop that around a lot. And when we have company, I love to show off and yell stuff humans get a kick out of like OK! HELLO! and PRETTY BOY! But my FAV thing to do is – I have two little food bowls in my cage, one on each side, see?” He pointed with his very nice blue-tipped wing.
“And, Dad puts my food in one of them, and I pick out the stuff I really, really like and move it over to the other bowl. I could just do that all day long. Cool, huh?”
“I’m speechless,” I said.
“And then, at night, they put a soft blanket over my cage. I poke holes in it. Then I snuggle up on my newspaper carpet and go to sleep.”
“Thanks for the interview, Pete! You really are a Pretty Boy!” He was preening as I walked out the door.
