During a dialogue on a computer bulletin
board for pet bird owners, an extremely astute gentleman commented that everyone on the
boards apparently owned parrots that were less than five years old. He had heard that
parrots could live a very long time, and wondered if there was anyone on the boards that
owned an "old" parrot, and if so, what was it like? When I responded that I had
an old blue and gold macaw, I was inundated with questions -- people with young parrots
are apparently fascinated with what it must be like, living with an old parrot.
I decided then to write about Sam, but it has taken me a very long time
to do so. After all, it is more important than usual that I express myself well, that I do
my best to capture the essence of what is different about her…but this is not easy to
do. To help in this endeavor, I drafted two of Sam's closest human friends -- who
fortunately happen to be friends of mine, too. Peggy and Dianne helped a lot with this
article.
Disclaimer: By no means is this article to be construed to
describe what all parrots will be like when they age – each parrot is an individual
who will grow and mature in it’s own fashion. This article is about Sam (alias
"The Blue Chicken") – the only old bird I really know.
Her History
First, the background information. I purchased Sam 23 years ago, from a couple who'd
owned her 12 years. They were not happy about selling her, but the wife was six months
pregnant and Sam lived in the second bedroom. Considering that they lived in a small
trailer and could not afford to move, they had no other options but to sell her. Sam was
an import, which is obvious since birds like her weren't routinely bred in captivity until
about 20 years ago.
So I know she is at least 35 years old, but she must be
considerably older than that – she was an adult when her previous caretakers got her.
My avian vet, Dr. Liza Clark, laughs and says Sam and I are the same age – 50 –
which really irritates me. If it’s true she is my age, I have valid reason to gripe
– she’s not only better looking, but she has a lot more energy, too.
She has had a slowly progressive bilateral feather loss over the last
ten years – possibly partly due to a slowed thyroid function and partly maybe similar
to male pattern baldness in humans. We know little about geriatric parrots because so few
have survived that long in captivity. (Don’t let me climb on THAT soap box!) Other
signs of aging would include her white facial skin, which is a bit thinner and more
wrinkled than with youngsters. To the best of my knowledge (and avian medicine’s),
she is otherwise in excellent health.
I don’t know her history prior to her previous owners. Whoever
tamed her did an excellent job -- she has always been extremely gentle (when she
feels like it). I have always assumed she was what they used to call
"cuddle-tame." As I understand it, these were birds who were captured as babies
and given to children in the South American villages to be raised by them. As the stories
went, these birds were mouth-fed a corn gruel by the children, so they were extremely
tame. I've always been amazed at the reputations of different species of parrots -- macaws
are not famous for being cuddlers like cockatoos, but Sam obviously hasn't read those
books. I have not met a 'too yet that outdid her -- except that 'toos (WHEN cuddly), are
usually cuddly with everyone -- strangers included. Sam is NOT cuddly to strangers, and
I'm glad. I'm not cuddly to strangers, either.
Sam is definitely a female, since she laid her first egg (that I
know of) about eight years ago. Her previous owners had also thought her to be a female,
but she laid no eggs in the time they had her. Why she waited until she was at least
twenty years old, I could not say. She refuses to answer my questions about it (or
anything else, for that matter). So far, she has always laid them from her highest perch,
so they fall about three feet. Humpty Dumpty eggs. Fitting, somehow.
Long Term Relationships
A long time relationship with a parrot is more like a marriage than anything else
– it is certainly NOT like a "pet-owner relationship." [See Phoebe
Linden’s excellent articles on "The Impermeable Bond" in PET BIRD REPORT
Issues #27 and 28 for more info on this subject.] It is also not, as far as I am
concerned, like a parent-child relationship. Sam is entirely too old and street-wise
(which I am not!) for me to ever consider myself to be her surrogate "mother."
Besides, she was an adult when I got her. She is too much of a friend and equal, in
her own way.
Like a marriage, it is not always good between us – there is an
ebb and flow. Sometimes the relationship is wonderful, and I enjoy her company to the
fullest. And sometimes I stand at her cage and wonder "Why the @#$% do I even HAVE
you?" Undoubtedly, there are times when she feels the same way. When push comes to
shove, I think I am more consistently difficult to live with than she is. (Please
don’t tell my husband I admitted that.)
Major Differences
So how is Sam different? She seems to be so wise, so worldly, so sure of herself.
This is no Spring Chicken, here. She is an excellent student of human behavior. She
should be. She has been watching us carefully for a long time. Unlike myself (I’m
usually totally oblivious), she pays attention to people. At times I feel she knows
me a good deal better than I know her.
For years, I didn’t realize that Sam was different. How could I
– I knew no other macaws with which to compare. Then baby parrots started appearing
on the pet market and I formed a friendship with a lady who had raised several baby blue
and golds. As a favor, Judy came in to care for Sam at my home for a week while I was out
of town. When I returned, she commented how different Sam was from the youngsters she had
at home. When I asked for clarification, she said she couldn’t fool Sam at all.
"Babies are gullible," she said. "Sam is NOT gullible."
She found she could put Sam back in her cage as many times as she
wished during her daily visit, and have no difficulties. But when it came time to put her
in before Judy left, the situation changed dramatically. No matter what Judy did to fool
her, Sam always knew when she wanted to leave. THEN, Judy would have a lot
of trouble!
No Accidental Slips
Sam KNOWS when she does something wrong. After all these years, she knows what the
rules are! When she chooses to break a rule, it seems like she has made a premeditated
decision to do so. She doesn’t just slip up. She knows the outcome (getting into
trouble) ahead of time, then decides to do IT anyway. Consequently, she is not contrite at
all when she gets caught. It’s more like she says, "Oh fooey, you caught
me… Oh well."
As Dianne put it: "She doesn't wait around being cute to get
attention (very often). She is far more likely to wander around looking for trouble
knowing full well that you're going to have to come stop her pretty soon. She knows you'll
grumble and scold, but she also seems to know just how far she can get [into trouble]
before she gets put back in her cage and she walks that line like the pro that she is.
Sam goes through life on her own terms. Most young domestic-bred birds
reared with nurturing dominance seem respond to commands almost automatically. You get the
feeling that they really aren't thinking it out, just responding out of habit or not
knowing how else to respond. [Like Sally says, they are patterned to respond in
that manner]. You say Up, they get up. Even when they don't respond properly it doesn't
feel like they really have the consequences figured out. Sam is different. You say Up and
she looks at you and you KNOW that she's decided OK, I know what that means and I'll do it
because I don't feel like dealing with the consequences of disobeying.
How can you tell all that from a bird? You haven't looked in her eyes
or you wouldn't ask! She looks at you and conveys the current phrase "Been there,
done that" and you KNOW that she is older, more mature and far wiser than you are.
You just can't get anything past her!"
Sam and "Boo".
Game playing with Sam is extremely sophisticated, and she definitely has a highly
evolved black sense of humor. She plays an evil little game with new people that I call
"Boo." When she is meeting a new person, she can be very out-going and friendly.
She sits on the person’s arm and does all those silly head-bobbing and figure-eight
weaving dances that are her normal greeting behaviors. She blushes prettily and says
"Hi!" in a very sweet, feminine voice, lulling that poor sucker into a false
sense of security. When the human is just starting to relax with her
(as in Hey, dealing with big parrots is really no big deal after all!), she instantly
changes. Moving so fast that she’s a blur, she will suddenly lunge directly at that
person’s face, throwing her wings out to their full three foot span, simultaneously
yelling Boo!
Inexperienced humans, possessing a normally functioning nervous system,
jump violently. They HAVE to jump. Obviously pleased with her success, Sam’s eyes
flash and she laughs – as in, "Ha, ha, GOTCHA, sucker!" Great game,
very funny.
I should add here that Sam has never bitten anyone while playing Boo.
Biting has nothing to do with this game. Being a tad slow on the uptake, it took me a
while to figure out what she was actually accomplishing with this. Then I realized that in
one split second she had established that the person was afraid. That meant Sam was in
control of the relationship.
What is interesting with Boo is that she will continue to play the game
for as long as a person jumps. I had a friend years ago that adored Sam and played with
her a lot. But no matter how hard she tried, Debbie simply could not control her
physical reaction when Sam lunged – even when she realized that Sam NEVER bites when
she’s playing Boo. So Sam kept lunging. When Debbie finally got control of her
sympathetic nervous system (the old Fight Or Flight Response), Sam stopped playing Boo. No
fun when the folks don’t jump.
Turnabout Is Fair Play
Then, one night a friend visited who bred Hyacinth macaws, and this lady was not about
to be cowed by a little ole’ blue and gold. I had warned her about the game of Boo,
so Dee apparently decided to head Sam off at the pass, as it were. Before Sam had an
opportunity to establish her superiority by lunging, Dee suddenly lunged at her,
threw up her arms and loudly yelled BOO!!!
Completely caught off guard, Sam jumped. (Actually, so did I!) Then the
old bird looked really startled and confused for a moment – like, Whaaat?? After all,
this was the first time anyone had ever turned the game on her. Then, exhibiting the
highly prized traits of a Good Loser, Sam laughed! From then on, she and Dee were the best
of friends… and Sam never did try to play Boo with her.
Hey, Who’s In Control Here?
Periodically, Sam will decide not to respond to commands -- especially during
nesting season, which for Sam is November to January – same as the wild macaws in
South America. During this time, she has an agenda that often doesn’t involve humans,
no matter how fond she might be of them. During nesting behavior, she MUST DESTROY.
House rules regarding Sam are simple – if you take her out of her
cage, you are responsible for her behavior. Last nesting season, Dianne was playing with
Sam on the living room floor when suddenly, Sam was apparently over-come with the need to
DESTROY something. Leaving Dianne, she made a bee line off across the floor, aimed in the
direction of the thing (probably a piece of clothing or furniture) that needed destroying.
Dianne knows the rules, and I watched with great amusement as she
reached down for the macaw, saying Up and offering her hand. Well, Sam had more important
things to do than to hassle with silly humans, so she ignored her completely and kept
right on going towards the destructible object of her choice.
Not wanting to lose control, Dianne said UP in a firmer voice and gave
Sam a nudge with the side of her hand. Sam was having none of it so Di nudged again –
and rather than stepping up, Sam simply rolled over onto her
back! Needless to say, Dianne (and I) cracked up. Sam, having apparently accomplished
precisely what she wished, flipped herself back upright and insolently sauntered away,
CHUCKLING (as if to say, "Eee gads, humans are SO EASY TO MANIPULATE!!) As
Dianne expressed later, "I had just been insulted by a bird!" (And we
call them birdbrains?)
Button Pushing
After all those years together, Sam is really good at pushing my buttons. For example,
she knows very well that she is not allowed in my office without invitation, and if I have
a client’s bird boarding in there, my office is off limits. So when she comes
strolling down the hall for a visit, I look up briefly from my keyboard and say No. She
stops, considers, then goes back down the hall just out of my sight. There she climbs the
molding next to the closet that holds the furnace. Reaching the top, she leans over to the
grating that vents the furnace and runs the tip of her beak down the grate with a
flourish. This makes an extremely aggravating sound like, gggGGGLIIING!! If
I’m not paying attention, I generally respond with an absentminded "SAM, STOP
IT." (So much for the Drama Reward, right?) That is exactly what she wants. She is
simply making a point. She chuckles softly to herself, climbs down, and strolls off.
When there isn’t a boarder and she is invited into my office,
there is another wonderful game to play. Her favorite perch is the high back of my office
chair. The back tapers to a small width at the top, and she has discovered that she can
sit there and flap her wings without hitting anything. And this is what she does, flapping
and flapping while the piles of paper on my desk start to blow around. This is the only
time she flaps her wings other than to actually fly, so I assume it’s a fun game. For
her, that is. Must be a riot to watch me as I lurch around, snatching at flying papers.
It’s especially fun if I lose my temper. (Seems to me that there are few
things that tickle macaws more than getting their humans mad enough to lose their
tempers.)
More than once, people have gotten very tardy callbacks from me,
because Sam blew all my little notes all over and I lost a message behind my desk.
Somehow, that doesn’t seem like a good excuse for a parrot behavior consultant to
use, though. Great game.
Living With A Fully Flighted Bird
Sam hasn’t had her wings clipped for about twenty years, and she is obviously a
very good flier. In each of the ten times we have moved together, she has flown around the
new space without hitting anything, windows or otherwise. This isn’t surprising when
you think about it. After all, when wild parrots fly through unfamiliar parts of a jungle,
it is hardly likely that they run into trees. Unlike young birds I have known, she uses
flight only for transportation, not for play. As she has gotten older, she flies only when
necessary. If offered the option, she will generally chose to walk. Makes sense to me
– flying takes a great deal more effort.
Her flight capability has one useful quirk attached – she simply cannot
fly without yelling. If I didn’t teach avian anatomy and know better, I would assume
there is some sort of wiring connection between the wings and the voice box of a parrot.
I was delighted to discover this, since it meant I could safely leave
her on her tree and go outside to play in the garden. After all, if she flew off the tree
I always knew it, because I heard her yell. However, in the last few years the pattern has
changed - either due to her advancing age and/or her wiliness… Now, rather than fly,
she holds onto the 2x4 and does a fireman’s slide to the floor -- silently.
Consequently, she can leave the tree and I don’t know it. NOT GOOD. I learned years
ago how meticulously destructive a macaw can be. When she got a hold of a watch of mine
(fortunately just a $10 Timex), it took only a couple of minutes for her to have it in
seven pieces – not counting the watch band. (She carefully removed the stem, then the
crystal, then the hands, then the numbers…. etc.!)
Serious Mind Games
My friend Peggy has taken care of Sam on a number of occasions when I’ve gone out
of town, and Sam loves to stay with her. First thing she does there is to quit
eating her pellets completely. Peggy, being a highly trained and experienced RN with lots
of common sense, immediately concludes that Sam will Starve To Death in the next five
minutes. She rushes off to the grocery store and comes home with lots of wonderful goodies
and Sam gets plied with all her favorite things (i.e., spaghetti) -- which is precisely
what she wants. Peggy wrings her hands and worries about weight loss.
At this stage, Peg’s highly-evolved brain has apparently shorted
out completely because she does not weigh the bird – despite owning a good
triple-beam balance scale. She just worries and Sam cashes in.
Sam invariably comes home from Peg’s one or two ounces heavier
than her normal one kilogram of weight. Guess that’s why Peg says that Sam is
"more human and can manipulate better than most humans."
Sam and who is -- and ISN’T -- Competition
Over the years, Sam has shown one talent over and over – the ability to tell
exactly who was, and wasn’t competition for someone she really liked. I have no idea
how she does this, but she has never been wrong. There have been multiple examples of
this, but probably the most dramatic one was years ago, when I was single and dating a
great guy named Billy. He’d never been around a parrot before, and he was fascinated
by Sam, but she was homicidal towards him, and attacked whenever he tried to approach.
Then I met David (my husband), and overnight (literally), Billy changed categories from
boyfriend to friend. When Billy came over the next day, the change in Sam’s behavior
was stunning. She rushed over to play with him, and they have been best buddies ever
since. How did she know that Billy was no longer competition for my attention? I have no
idea. (Does she like my husband, David? NO.)
Mutual Influences
How much of Sam’s personality is due to her being a wild-caught import and how
much is due to living with humans for so many years…? I have no way of knowing. She's
been dealing with people a very long time and she knows how to read us so well…
I realize that even after living with Sam all of these years –
almost half of my life – it is still difficult for me to capture her essence in an
article. I don’t know if anyone could, but I certainly haven’t. I guess all I
can say is that she is my oldest and dearest friend – we have shared so much over the
years. Sometimes she’s a crotchety old lady, sometimes a giggling girl. And when
I’m really upset about something, she is sweet and compassionate, whispering quietly
in my ear and nibbling the edge of my jaw, licking away my tears. There is absolutely no
price that I could put on her friendship.
This article was first printed in THE PET BIRD REPORT Issue #32