Introducing Kizuri!

Or one big(1) reason I have not written reviews in the last few weeks. Kizuri is a pied lovebird whom I fell totally and completely in love with on spotting her peering out at the world, watching everything curiously and cautiously.

She's four months old and not hand-fed(2), so hand taming her is a bit time-consuming.

She's also super smart. I often get the feeling that I'm being very carefully evaluated. She knows she's an intelligent, reasoning being and wants to be sure I am as well before she'll trust me.

So it's all a matter of patience on my part.  Really, she's amazingly confident and outgoing. She spent the entire ride home from the store coming to the front of the box and, sometimes, trying the support of the wire mesh to see if she couldn't get out (I'm glad it was a short ride), and started exploring her cage within minutes of being in there.

Also, while she's still quite cautious about hands, those nasty, grabby things, she's getting to be fairly content about sitting on my shoulder--in fact, she's currently sitting and burbling quite contentedly in parakeet(3), making this the longest stretch of typing I've managed since getting her.

This is actually two-handed typing, as well. Since I am trying to get her used to hands as well as shoulders, I hold her on my finger for as long as she'll sit there. This makes for a lot of one-handed typing. Not at all suitable for reviews. She actually almost consented to eat out of my hand yesterday, as well, so I do think we're making  progress.

I'll try to get some short reviews(4)  up soon, but if there aren't any for a while, you'll know why.

I'm besotted by a lovebird.

(1)Five and a half ounces, at most. On the other hand, as someone once posted in a list I can no longer find "Nothing is bigger than a lovebird. Ask one." Kizuri, while distinctly an individual with her own quirks, shares this belief.


(2) The rule of thumb: Hand-fed lovebirds think "Humans=food. Food=good. Humans=good." Birds raised by other birds think "What is that monster coming toward me?!" Guess which is easier to make friends with? On the other hand, a hand-fed bird wouldn't be Kizuri, and, as I mentioned, it was a case of love at first sight for me. And I have done this before. Sixteen years ago, but I have done it. Actually, Kizuri has only bitten me twice, so far, which is far less than  Malaika did when I first got him. I'm not sure if this is a difference between birds or a difference in my handling; I can't remember the initial training with Malaika or Rafiki very well, but I did learn a few things. 

(3) I like parakeet burbles. They're soft, pleasant little sounds. She wasn't in the store very long, from what they said, but it was long enough for her to pick those up. They have a lovebird accent, but are different from any sound I ever heard Rafiki or Malaika make.  I hope she doesn't lose them!  

(4)And we all know how good I am at short, right?

Malaika

I have even fewer pictures of Malaika than I do of Cinder.

This is because Malaika was nearly always right with me—perching on my hand and putting his head between my fingers and the keyboard, coming down and helping himself to my rice, checking to see if the drink in my cup was more interesting than the water in his dish, or just sitting cuddled up contentedly on my shoulder.

He was bossy, opinionated, adventurous, curious, and careful. If it was new, he wanted to examine it—but only after he’d scouted it out carefully to make sure it wasn’t going to attack. If it was paper, he wanted to shred it—I have books with notch marks on the back covers, thanks to his attention (Only one library book ended up so treated, fortunately. The librarians laughed at the cause, but they also wanted the book replaced).

If it was mine, it was his. We had several discussions about popcorn before he finally realized that, no, I wouldn’t let him sit in the middle of the bowl and hog the whole thing, but I would give him a dish of his own.

If it was loud—so was he.

He spent a lot of time exploring and a lot of time resting (“Lovebirds have two settings,” someone once warned me “Turbo on, and off”). He liked trying to figure out new routes to the bookshelves, but once that was done, he’d go sit on the windowsill in the sunshine, feathers ruffled and relaxed. Or, he’d come sit in my shoulder and cuddle up under my hair.

He was sure that if I was home, his cage door should be open and he should be out. Mostly, I agreed with him, though watching movies with a parrot can be an interesting experience. Malaika was never listening to the same dialog I was, and a surprising number of movies have “background” birdsong.

He was my friend for sixteen years
.

I miss him.

___


Edit: I don't know how this will show in feeds, so a short explanation of the back-dated post. Cinder & Malaika died in the same week. Both were old, both were beloved, and it was devastating. I wrote this for Malaika right away, but I didn't feel like posting it here.


Now I want it here, as part of the record.

Of Plotting Parrots and Potted Plants

Today, I put some new houseplants in my room, carefully vetting them first to make sure they were non-toxic to birds, and then putting them out of Malaika's reach anyway because he loves to shred plants.

So, things were set up and more or less tidy, and I got Malaika out and put him on his desk to play.

He instantly spotted the change in the room, climbed the blinds to reach the top of the book case and used that as a launch-pad so he could glide across the room to the dresser where the plants are.

A bowl of cornflakes and a new box to shred have distracted him for the moment, but I have a feeling that I may be spending quite a lot of time separating bird from plants.

Coffee

Malaika enjoys his morning coffee.

And, yes, he does own the desk. Why do you ask?

Too Short a Time

Recently, I have been forced to acknowledge that I own two very old animals.

I don't like it.

Rafiki's death made me aware again of just how old he was, and how old Malaika is. Birds don't age visibly, so there are no outer markings to give warning.

On the other hand, there are plenty of signs a dog can give. Cinder's muzzle is now almost completely white. She's got noticeable cataracts. She's going deaf. She still dances and jumps around at walk time, but... Last week, she took a four mile round trip walk with my father and sister. Used to be that was a lark for her, and even last month it was no big deal. This time she was demanding rest stops on the way back.

I don't like it.

I don't like it at all.

Malaika

Still seems to be doing ok.

He doesn't seem to be pining, and he doesn't seem to be ill.

He is still bossy, still wants to shred all the paper in sight (especially if it's books), and still loves to have his head scratched.

May he stay that way!

Sadness

One of my birds just died.

Rafiki.

He was fine this morning when I took them out of their cage to clean it.

He seemed fine.

I've not spent as much time with them as I should lately--it's hard when I also have a dog now--but I'm sure I would have noticed.

But then this afternoon, he just sat there. And there wasn't even really time to think of a vet, much less take him to one.

I'm not sure if it would have made a difference.

He was thirteen, fairly old for a lovebird.

But it was so sudden. And I don't know what happened. He can't have eaten anything--there's nothing in here, I'm very careful about that.

And Malaika is calling for him.