Introducing Cah'ya and Bayu. But without pictures. 'Cos my camera doesn't work yet.
I can’t believe I haven’t posted about this yet, but I have two birds now. They’re both eclectus, like Zoe was. The girl is an Aru and the boy is a Vosmaeri, both subspecies being from Indonesian islands, so I gave them both Indonesian names: the girl is Cah’ya, which means “light”, and the boy is “Bayu”, which means “wind”. Very elemental. Several months ago I posted about getting a baby girl with constricted toe syndrome. Well, she was finally weaned and ready to come home right around the time I finished my 10-week run of housesitting. I can’t remember whether or not I blogged about him, but back in late June I also ended up rescuing an 11-year-old male eclectus. It was kind of sudden and unexpected, but for some reason seemed extraordinarily right, even if it was somewhat impulsive. As it turns out, it was the best thing I could have done-not just for him, but for me, too.
See, I worked in an aviary for five years, hand-raising parrots for pets. I had nothing but positive results with this: all my babies were gentle, sweet, cuddly, and well-socialized-especially the military macaw I kept until his death in 2002. The breeder I got Cah’ya from is also known for his very sweet and well-socialized babies, so I expected to bring home a female even more sweet and pliable than Zoe was. I was thrilled to be able to do a favor for the breeder by taking a handicapped bird off his hands while gaining for myself an easy, laid back little girl. And when I adopted Bayu, I was told that he could be a “vicious biter”, and he also was a “terrible plucker”. In fact, he had plucked himself terribly. When I picked him up, he was bald as a dressed chicken around his neck, over his crop and part of his keel, and over most of his back. He had also done a lot of damage to the rest of his feathers, so even the ones that were still technically intact were barbered and quite pathetic. But I didn’t mind. I kind of enjoy having a “project” bird to work on. There’s something intensely satisfying about taking an animal that has had a hard life, replete with physical and emotional problems, and watching them flourish in their new, healthier environment. Ruining, breaking, destroying is easy; it’s the healing, the repairing, the creation of trust and communication where there was only fear and misunderstanding that’s the real challenge, and it thrills me. So, I was going to have the cuddly, easy baby and the older, damaged project bird, one of each. It was a good pairing, I thought.
As it turns out, Cah’ya is not the cuddly, easy baby I expected. She came home frightened of everything, including and especially human hands. At first, I thought nothing of it; it’s natural for a baby bird to be freaked out for the first few days after leaving the nursery. But gradually I began to realize that this was not the normal “adjustment” anxiety. Every little thing was a traumatic event that sent her into a little ekkie tizzy: grackles in the tree outside, Kody coming up to say hello, children playing downstairs, an unsuccessful landing onto a window sill or behind some furniture-anything and everything that a normal baby bird would experience in her new home was terrifying beyond her abilities to cope. Every time I had my hands near her to clean her cage or put food in her bowl, she would growl and strike at them. I did everything for her that I would do for any of my rescues, but her fear only intensified instead of abating. After the first couple of weeks, it became clear that I was going to have to start from the beginning and interact with her as I do only the most fearful and/or abused birds. She, in fact, is a project bird. I honestly don’t know how she got to be this way; I have seen enough of this breeder’s birds to know that this is not standard for him. My only guess is that most of her early interactions with humans were unpleasant because of the four painful toes that required attention in her first few months of life, and that her socialization was limited because of her handicap. Beyond that, it could be partially a personality thing and partially some mystery that I may never uncover. Regardless, I have had to shift my expectations and love her as a wild and fragile thing instead of the hearty, eager baby I anticipated.
Bayu, on the other hand, was not quite the train wreck he was made out to be. In the two months since I adopted him a good diet, adequate full-spectrum lighting, regular baths, lots of toys, and plenty of attention has reduced his plucking to practically nothing, and new feather growth is sprouting all over his body. His back and keel are covered in a healthy, full down, which is also slowly but surely creeping up his neck, although that is still bald for the most part. Even more encouraging is the sprinkling of pinfeathers all over his body. So far, he has left the sheaths alone, so they have been allowed to grow into beautiful, healthy feathers. Time will tell whether he will fully regrow everything or whether he has damaged some follicles beyond repair and will have permanent bald spots. And whether he’ll leave the newly grown feathers alone remains to be seen. But so far, things are looking very promising in the feather-plucking department. And as for his tendency towards “vicious biting”, there isn’t a vicious bone in his body. He is just one of millions of birds who has been mishandled and misunderstood his whole life, and was inadvertently taught by his previous owners that biting human flesh is great fun. His favorite word in the whole word is “OW!”, said loudly and with great enthusiasm. And like most birds, he uses his beak like we use our hands: to explore, to grasp, to steady ourselves… In his early beaksplorations, I’m willing to bet that he accidentally applied too much pressure, and his human responded by jerking their hand away and yelling, “OW!” It wouldn’t take many repetitions of that scenario to reinforce in his little birdie mind that biting is a great game that makes humans put on a quite an amusing performance and say his very favorite word in the whole wide world. And it didn’t take many repetitions to teach him that, in fact, biting is quite boring and produces no results whatsoever except that he loses his opportunity to eat his favorite treats. He’s a quick study, that one. He hasn’t tried to bite me once since he learned that lesson, and is instead the cuddliest, sweetest little duck you ever did see. He also has a keen sense of humor. He picks up new phrases with alarming frequency and uses them in impeccable context. For instance, when a friend of mine was crying, he asked her, “Are you ok?” When Cah’ya fell down, he said, “Uh oh! Ooooh no.” When he wanted to come out of his cage he said, “Step up?” And when I replied, “No, not now, Bayu. I have to go,” he replied, “Awwww!” Every day he delights me in new and different ways, and has become my cuddly, loving baby I thought Cah’ya would be (and could still be yet, in time).
So, it’s been a role reversal. And still I have one of each. And every day is an adventure worth having. But don’t worry: I’ll keep most of these adventures to myself. I’m not going to be one of those obnoxious parronts who constantly talks about her little charges and expects everyone else in the world to be as interested in them as she is. Although, occasionally, I might not be able to help it. ;)