Lauraratinga
Checking out the neighborhood
- Joined
- 7/1/19
- Messages
- 4
First, I would like to express my admiration for those you who share their lives with rescued/adopted cockatoos. Anyone who opens their heart and embraces such a complex being, perseveres through the thick and thin, deserves recognition. Keeping any species of this genus successfully requires a special type of "extra". Fly-by-nighters need not apply.
My appreciation for these majestic birds began in the 90's. I was a young, gleeful teen who would regularly visit the local pet store. One day, I was interrogating the shop owner when I heard a gut wrenching cry coming from the back of the store. The owner ignored the noise, and continued our conversation. I patiently waited until he was distracted with a phone call before I made my move to investigate. There, in the back of the room surrounded by stacked crates and product boxes was an 18" cage covered with a blanket. As I lifted the blanket, a long grey toe with a curled black nail grasped my finger. I was astonished to reveal a full sized umbrella cockatoo stuffed into that tiny cage and I stood there gobsmacked. We stared at each other. Those dark eyes penetrated into my soul. I couldn't leave without that bird. The shop owner agreed to hold him/her for me and I went home none the wiser. I absorbed every piece of literature pertaining to cockatoo ownership that I could find, which at the time was very limited, sourced out a large cage and felt I was ready for my new feathered partner in crime. My parents agreed to finance my decision, although they failed to provide the reality check I so desperately needed.
When I finally returned to the store I was greeted by another type of noise. This time the cockatoo was in mid screaming fit and nothing that I had read prepared me for this. Strike one. I figured he was throwing a tantrum given his living conditions (he wouldn't behave like that in MY loving home) so I proceeded to the back of the shop. He was uncovered, perched on top of his cage located in a different spot and instantly solicited a head scratch as I approached. He climbed onto my arm and we cuddled for what seemed like an eternity. I placed him back onto his cage and noticed a large greyish white mark on my shirt. Strike two. After discussing diet, enrichment, and my expectations with the shop owner I was finally ready. When the owner went to collect my bird, whom I had already named Fred, in a split second Fred went from sweet and cuddly to terrifying and demonic. He bit the shop keeper's arm, grinding and refusing to release, leaving a considerable bloody gash that likely required sutures. Strike three. I quickly retracted my desire to purchase Fred and fled the shop as if it were ablaze.
Later that evening as I dismantled his would-be cage I realized that I was not cut out for life with a cockatoo. I lacked that "extra". Thankfully my epiphany occurred prior to bringing Fred into my life, and who knows, perhaps it would have worked out, but I doubt it. Please keep in mind the "strikes" are of no fault of the bird. What I considered deal breakers back then are part and parcel to living with birds. Hindsight is 20/20 and looking back I was young, naive and had the world by the tail. It was arrogant to assume that Fred would integrate into my home with the same fluidity as other domesticated pets or birds and we'd all live harmoniously singing Kumbaya. I was selfish and impractical, despite my good intentions.
I have since learned a lot about birds, psittacines in particular. My passion for them will never wane, and I share my life with several, but to quote the OLG, I "know my limit and play within it". So for those of you who heroically adopt a cockatoo in need, I applaud you, because those intermittent "ugly" times are for life.
My appreciation for these majestic birds began in the 90's. I was a young, gleeful teen who would regularly visit the local pet store. One day, I was interrogating the shop owner when I heard a gut wrenching cry coming from the back of the store. The owner ignored the noise, and continued our conversation. I patiently waited until he was distracted with a phone call before I made my move to investigate. There, in the back of the room surrounded by stacked crates and product boxes was an 18" cage covered with a blanket. As I lifted the blanket, a long grey toe with a curled black nail grasped my finger. I was astonished to reveal a full sized umbrella cockatoo stuffed into that tiny cage and I stood there gobsmacked. We stared at each other. Those dark eyes penetrated into my soul. I couldn't leave without that bird. The shop owner agreed to hold him/her for me and I went home none the wiser. I absorbed every piece of literature pertaining to cockatoo ownership that I could find, which at the time was very limited, sourced out a large cage and felt I was ready for my new feathered partner in crime. My parents agreed to finance my decision, although they failed to provide the reality check I so desperately needed.
When I finally returned to the store I was greeted by another type of noise. This time the cockatoo was in mid screaming fit and nothing that I had read prepared me for this. Strike one. I figured he was throwing a tantrum given his living conditions (he wouldn't behave like that in MY loving home) so I proceeded to the back of the shop. He was uncovered, perched on top of his cage located in a different spot and instantly solicited a head scratch as I approached. He climbed onto my arm and we cuddled for what seemed like an eternity. I placed him back onto his cage and noticed a large greyish white mark on my shirt. Strike two. After discussing diet, enrichment, and my expectations with the shop owner I was finally ready. When the owner went to collect my bird, whom I had already named Fred, in a split second Fred went from sweet and cuddly to terrifying and demonic. He bit the shop keeper's arm, grinding and refusing to release, leaving a considerable bloody gash that likely required sutures. Strike three. I quickly retracted my desire to purchase Fred and fled the shop as if it were ablaze.
Later that evening as I dismantled his would-be cage I realized that I was not cut out for life with a cockatoo. I lacked that "extra". Thankfully my epiphany occurred prior to bringing Fred into my life, and who knows, perhaps it would have worked out, but I doubt it. Please keep in mind the "strikes" are of no fault of the bird. What I considered deal breakers back then are part and parcel to living with birds. Hindsight is 20/20 and looking back I was young, naive and had the world by the tail. It was arrogant to assume that Fred would integrate into my home with the same fluidity as other domesticated pets or birds and we'd all live harmoniously singing Kumbaya. I was selfish and impractical, despite my good intentions.
I have since learned a lot about birds, psittacines in particular. My passion for them will never wane, and I share my life with several, but to quote the OLG, I "know my limit and play within it". So for those of you who heroically adopt a cockatoo in need, I applaud you, because those intermittent "ugly" times are for life.
