I was eight years old when I met a macaw for the first time.
My eldest sister had just got a job at The Village Cantina, a quaint little Mexican restaurant with a very volatile poltergeist, a truly amazing guacamole, and two beautiful, enormous parrots. I didn’t know at the time what they were called, so I asked my sister, who told me that they were a scarlet macaw, and a blue and gold macaw.
That was all it took. I was obsessed.
At eight I was already madly in love with animals, my favourite pastimes including watching The Crocodile Hunter and pretending that I was a vulture, but that was when I really became drawn to macaws. Seeing those two gigantic, vibrant birds, being charmed by their sweet voices, was the beginning of a lifelong goal:
One day, I would have a blue and gold macaw of my own.
Back then the internet was still in its baby stages of dial-up screeching awfulness, days of yore in which Google was still young, so I pored over every book I could find. I sat barely breathing watching nature documentaries, hoping for a glimpse of them.
As I got older, and learned more about birds, I sobered up; macaws were big, macaws were loud, macaws were needy little toddlers with garden shears on their faces and knives on their feet, and I was too young.
I decided that I would wait, wait until I was all grown up with a stable job and my own house, wait until I was finally ready, whenever that would be. My love for my future blue and gold never dulled, but it became more distant, a one-day dream that may never actually come true.
And then, fate hit me like a freight train.
On one of my many, many trips onto Kijiji to check out the animals looking to be rehomed, I came across the most miserable, heart-shattering ad I’d ever seen. A blue and gold macaw, crouched over in a filthy, rusted cage, eating sunflower seeds out of a rotting bowl.
He was $1500, and I had maybe $20, but I was determined to save him. I saved every cent I earned, not even allowing myself to buy groceries, until I had enough to bring him home. I got my friend to drive me out in her truck, in order to transport his nasty cage (I didn’t have enough yet to buy him a new one, but I couldn’t just leave him there with those people), and that day, I brought home a feisty, raggedy, attention-starved ragamuffin of a macaw named Taco.
It was just a rescue, I promised myself. I was just getting him out of that awful, cruel environment; I would find him the perfect forever home, and let him go in high spirits.
But Taco had other ideas.
One year ago today, I brought home one of the best friends I’ve ever had.
And I’ve never regretted a second.
HAPPY FIRST GOTCHA DAY, TACO TUESDAY!!
My eldest sister had just got a job at The Village Cantina, a quaint little Mexican restaurant with a very volatile poltergeist, a truly amazing guacamole, and two beautiful, enormous parrots. I didn’t know at the time what they were called, so I asked my sister, who told me that they were a scarlet macaw, and a blue and gold macaw.
That was all it took. I was obsessed.
At eight I was already madly in love with animals, my favourite pastimes including watching The Crocodile Hunter and pretending that I was a vulture, but that was when I really became drawn to macaws. Seeing those two gigantic, vibrant birds, being charmed by their sweet voices, was the beginning of a lifelong goal:
One day, I would have a blue and gold macaw of my own.
Back then the internet was still in its baby stages of dial-up screeching awfulness, days of yore in which Google was still young, so I pored over every book I could find. I sat barely breathing watching nature documentaries, hoping for a glimpse of them.
As I got older, and learned more about birds, I sobered up; macaws were big, macaws were loud, macaws were needy little toddlers with garden shears on their faces and knives on their feet, and I was too young.
I decided that I would wait, wait until I was all grown up with a stable job and my own house, wait until I was finally ready, whenever that would be. My love for my future blue and gold never dulled, but it became more distant, a one-day dream that may never actually come true.
And then, fate hit me like a freight train.
On one of my many, many trips onto Kijiji to check out the animals looking to be rehomed, I came across the most miserable, heart-shattering ad I’d ever seen. A blue and gold macaw, crouched over in a filthy, rusted cage, eating sunflower seeds out of a rotting bowl.
He was $1500, and I had maybe $20, but I was determined to save him. I saved every cent I earned, not even allowing myself to buy groceries, until I had enough to bring him home. I got my friend to drive me out in her truck, in order to transport his nasty cage (I didn’t have enough yet to buy him a new one, but I couldn’t just leave him there with those people), and that day, I brought home a feisty, raggedy, attention-starved ragamuffin of a macaw named Taco.
It was just a rescue, I promised myself. I was just getting him out of that awful, cruel environment; I would find him the perfect forever home, and let him go in high spirits.
But Taco had other ideas.
One year ago today, I brought home one of the best friends I’ve ever had.
And I’ve never regretted a second.
HAPPY FIRST GOTCHA DAY, TACO TUESDAY!!
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arty1: ON!!
Mr Tuesday! 
Happy Gotcha Day Taco!! 
