My husband and I have very good friends who are a lovely, loving couple. They live in a mansion by the sea with a dog, 9 parrots, two parakeets, and a canary. They don’t travel much, but when they do leave for brief sojourns to the outside world, I house-sit for them.
The Babies
This summer was a joyous occasion in the home because the two outdoor-caged resident macaws successfully hatched three eggs. When the hatchlings were a month old, they were taken from their parents (apparently with some difficulty) and brought into the house to be nurtured, which involved round-the-clock feedings, every two hours. By the time they were two months old, they weighed two pounds each and had most of their fine blue and green feathers. It was then that my services were called upon as our dear friends were called away.
The Entertainment
I’ve always enjoyed my time at the house, catching up on things, besides, there is always unexpected entertainment. Sometimes this comes from a couple of parrots in the upstairs cage that I call Abbot and Costello. The Aussie grey occasionally shouts out phrases such as “Hi honey, how are ya?” which is always heartwarming, or “Somebody get the door,” a phrase that might make me a bit nervous at night. The two apparently like classical music, which plays on the TV in their room all day. Yes, they have their own room. Thinking they might like a change of pace, today I turned on rock and roll and danced around a bit. My efforts were greeted with silence, which I took as not a bad thing as they remained frozen on their perches.
Chow Time
In the past, my only duties were taking the dog out to pee twice a day and checking that their helper completed his jobs around the house, garden, and aviary. This time, however, feeding the three hatchlings, whom I shall call the three amigos, twice a day at 7 p.m. and 7 a.m. was an addition.
It took me half an hour to prepare their mushy mix, which had to be delivered at a certain temperature, like Goldilocks, not too hot or it could burn their little throats, and not too cold or they wouldn’t eat it. A thermometer calculated the correct temperature for the food which was delivered by syringe. When my friend demonstrated the feeding, it looked quite easy. It was not.
Cooing “Birdie num-nums”, I approached the first bird cautiously. Whether it was just happy to be fed or just annoyed that I kept spraying the mush over its beak and onto its feathers, it suddenly leapt up and flapped mid-syringe. The syringe flew into the air, dropping part of its contents in my hair, while the fluffy green head I was trying to feed got covered with the rest of the soggy stuff. Undaunted, I pressed on. By the time I was finished shooting the mess past three beaks and down their throats, most of the area looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. I wiped up the amigos as best I could, put them back in the plastic hold-all box that was their home, took them upstairs to the master closet, turned off the light, and closed the door. Sleepy time. For them, not for the dog who I found cowering under a desk. It was now pee time, and out we went into the dark night. He went left, I went right, and just as I stumbled onto the lawn, the irrigation system sprang to life.
Nighty-Night
Sodden, I returned to the house, whereupon it occurred to me that I forgot to turn off the rock and roll for Abbott and Costello. It might have been my imagination, but I do now believe there is such a thing as Angry Birds. When I opened the door to their room, they hunched forward on their perches, and their beady little eyes reflected the TV light menacingly. “We’ve been forced to endure this shit for hours,” was the message I read.
To cap the evening, I raided the fridge and discovered a half-empty bottle of champagne. That, paired with Orville Redenbacher’s heavy-on-the-butter popcorn, capped my sticky evening. Just another day in paradise.
Gee, just one sleep and I get to do this all over again!