Wednesday, August 22, 2007

She's Gonna Blow

She's gonna blow captain, head for cover!

Sound like a line from some movie you've seen anytime in your past? Yeah, well...those old time flicks are not what I am referring to. NOPE... that is what my two daughters were saying to each other just yesterday as my ears got red, my face flushed, and beads of sweats dripping from my brow. Oh boy... I haven't had a melt down like that in FOREVER. The sad part of it all is I can't remember what it was that sparked my, although infrequent, time bomb-like temper yesterday. Maybe it was the impetuous nagging of my six year old to "train her new bird". Yes, I said bird. Our adorable, highly intelligent, little cup of sugar and spice and everything nice convinced us that the ONLY thing she wanted for her birthday was a Parakeet.




Cute, little, feathery NUISANCE. In any case... allow me explain what training her bird, which will be referred to as "Willie" hence forth, entails. Upon the opening of the cage the ear-drum shaking, high pitch screeching of this little - bundle of joy - begins. He wants to come out, but is too scared to do anything about it so he sits on his perch and SCREAMS at you to pick him up, which he won't let you do anyway. If you stick your finger in to bring him out, he bites you. See, "Willie" is a hand raised bird from birth which is wonderful (in theory), but the sad truth of the matter is this...to a six year old little GIRL (the new owner), hand raised is only good enough if it means perfect. With high hopes and only so much birthday money to spend she tells the lady in the pet store which bird she wants and the transaction takes place. What you weren't betting on was the cashier telling you that you owe twice as much of your birthday money for the bird as you thought it was going to cost (because he's hand raised). OK, paid. Get him home with high hopes of your new feathery friend riding around on your shoulder, sitting on the edge of your plate sharing pancakes on Saturday morning, and watching episodes of Little House on the Prairie together snuggled with your favorite pillow..... is all blown to smithereens when your bird bites your fingers, faces the wall, and won't exit his new home/cage. Sure the bird was hand raised, but he was raised by ANOTHER PERSON (please take note here - interested in birds for your kids - don't be taken by the whole they're more expensive because I've hand raised them - it's a scam, I suggest if your local pet store owner has to charge more for the birds he/she loves enough to interact with it might be the wrong business for him/her - ever heard of a petting zoo, lady?). In any case he, your bird, doesn't care about his hand training, all he cares about is that his 'real' owner is not there. Anyway - back to our six-year-old's training of her bird. We open they cage and invite the bird to come out. When he doesn't respond the owner gently puts her finger in the cage in hopes that he will be interested in hopping onto her finger. Instead he just bites her finger, which is caustic in a little girl's world. So then we must evaluate the bite, which I'm sure hurt, but all it did was leave an indention. Back to the bathroom we go for first-aid salve and a band aid. This is more for the emotional effect rather than physical. With a pep talk and some encouragement it's back to the cage and try again. In goes the hand and out FLIES "Willie". Then you have to move chairs, tables, 50 pound bags of wheat, shoes, etc... in order to get to the bird and attempt to get him on your finger. Once on your finger and you are standing upright, there he goes again. In the living room this time, behind the piano, in the furnace closet. FINALLY, you get him on your finger and head back to his cage (swiftly) because you are so exhausted from chasing him around that you don't want that bird out anymore. Once he fashions sight of his cage he flies again, only he didn't make it into his cage because the bird doesn't realize that he can't fly long distances. So you have to fight getting him on your hand AGAIN. Around the cage you go... first one way... and then the other. Finally, after MOM gets the bird in his cage and the adorable, highly intelligent, cup of sugar and spice and everything nice (who conveniently disappeared into the other room to play with Littlest Petshop) asks you... can I train my bird now mommy. I'm sure you heard about the earthquake just recently, right? Well, that wasn't really an earthquake, that was me tell her NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!! Yeah, it registered on the graph. In any case, "thar she blew" - in a nut shell.

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