The Lovebird Diary|
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|Sunday, September 27th, 2009|
I am given to understand that over the years there has been some speculation as to my gender. Lovebirds don't tell, you see.
I may have added fuel to the fire by wolf-whistling girls, and falling in love with tall boys like R.
After eight years, I feel the time is finally right. I have a lot of food, I have water, I have a nest under a food bowl (see? easy location), so I laid an egg.
There you go, I'm certainly a girl. As if it's that hard to figure out. So, I never got the hang of carrying paper in my tail feathers. I don't see that woman tearing paper to shreds and stuffing it down the back of her trousers, now do I?
Now, I must nest. I've found a nice spot, and I will sit here until the egg hatches. Unfortunately, the egg is on the other side of the cage. Bugger. Oh, well, it's the sitting that is the important part.
|Wednesday, March 14th, 2007|
My whistling calls all the blackbirds to the yard,
Damn right it's better than yours,
I'd show you how, but I'd have to charge.
In other news, we seem to have migrated to the jungle. Yay! There are a lot of birds around, including grass parrots, who are about my size. Hey, guys, I have millet!
I didn't expect the madwoman to manage a migrate to a jungle, especially since we first migrated to another apartment, but she got it right!
Now, if you'll excuse me, I must call more birds to the yard.
|Tuesday, January 9th, 2007|
|Something's happening here
That woman has put all her yarn in boxes. She never does that. She usually takes it out of boxes and puts it on the bookshelves and refuses to let me eat it.
Actually, she did put all her yarn in boxes once. Then we migrated. I suspect that the madwoman is getting ready to migrate.
Last time, we made an excellent start on migrating south for the summer, so I hope now we'll finish the job and I'll get a mate.
|Wednesday, August 23rd, 2006|
I've been thinking. I can't remember there being millet before R. joined the flock. I can remember millet after the madwoman adopted me into the flock. Possibly, R. isn't responsible for millet. Maybe it's the madwoman who causes millet.
The madwoman is deathly ill. She lies on the floor, waving her legs around and grunting. She says it's physio, but being a lovebird, I've got no idea what she's on about. I think she's dieing.
If the madwoman dies, there will be no more millet. Get well, madwoman!
|Saturday, August 12th, 2006|
|That woman obeys.
The madwoman came home from work yesterday with a new Mr Velvet, and three types of millet. Yay. Obviously, R. told her to do it, so yay for R.!
|Thursday, June 15th, 2006|
|O RLY? NO WAI!
Right. That woman has stolen my beloved from me (he's the tallest, therefore the alpha bird, therefore mine.) She has given me fruit to eat. (Wrong, all wrong. I like seeds and lamb. Not fruit! Does she think I'm a fruit eating budgie?)
She moved the flock last year, ok, yes, migration. To a place with owls. No shit, actual owls. I was in the nest, and on the gym, watching R. make dinner (For her! Not me!) And an owl was swooping by the window, trying to get in to eat me. It ended up swooping into the glass, repeatedly, so she got worried and put me in the cage.
Unfair as! A giant bird-eating monster tries to break in and eat me, and I get put in the cage. With fruit!
|Monday, March 27th, 2006|
The madwoman has been cooking. Strange things with cream and cheese. And recently, she made something. I don't know what, as I was not allowed in the kitched while she was making it.
But when she served it, it looked like a bird. I shall bite her while she sleeps.
She also interfers with my relationship with R. I shred my cage, so he spends time with me, fixing it. And he's a better cook, anyway.
Last week, he made toast. With butter. It was great.
|Friday, December 9th, 2005|
It's lovely and hot. Obviously, it's breeding season, as it is hot, and I have just migrated.
I rather like the crow that comes by at sunrise for a chat. We like the ones with their black feathers on, we do. I've learnt that from mama.
|Friday, November 25th, 2005|
I have millet.
I have a seed bell.
I have the heart of a capsicum.
I have bread.
I have seed.
I have corn.
I have pellets. (These are toys, not food.)
I have fresh water.
I have a noodle.
Hey! Where the heck am I! What is this place? Who changed the room? Own up!
|Friday, August 26th, 2005|
|Like a bird on a wire, like a drunk in a midnight choir
Well, I'm obviously the bird on a wird, and well, there's only one member of the household that comes home drunk, after midnight and giggles a lot.
I've been worried about my human. I'm not sure if it is a boy human or a girl human. It's so hard to tell with humans. My human swears a lot. An awful lot. It never nests. Making a good nest is a girl human trait. I've shown it how, I promise. I think it likes boy humans, in particular Mr J. Depp, but that means so little in this day and age. It is drab in colur usually, therefore a girl, but changes its face to be colourful, so it could be a boy.
Recently, it got a phone call, and it is a good thing I'm too stupid to learn to say human words, as it said a lot of swears. (Yes, I cannot talk human, only type it. And my typing style is "hunt and peck.") Then it started nesting. Cleaning, carrying stuff around, all that good stuff! My human is a girl!
|Wednesday, July 20th, 2005|
|When there's no place else to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.
I'm a jungle birdy. I like the heat, I like it humid, I like it all hot and steamy.
What the bloody hell is this weather doing? It's freezing. There are icicles in my water bath. Oh, wait, no, that's some millet I didn't fancy.
It's freezing. And that woman - that evil, bad woman - just puts on more clothes. Or, more typically, says "Night, night, Chook" and goes out. Out! Into the freezing cold. The woman is mad.
(And then, she comes back at three in the am. I ask you. Three in the am. And turns on light, and wakes me. I am merely being helpful whenI shriek at 6 in the am, I need to make sure she gets up and goes to work in order to pay my rent and feed me millet.)
I was in dire risk of actual death the other morning, so I opened my cage and got out. Just for a cuddle, you understand. just to go to the warm places of the house. The bitch didn't like being woken by a beak in the face, and has cable tied my house shut! Cable ties! I hate the taste of PVC (and the monomer causes all sorts of bad things to happen.)
Please send millet. Please let the mad-woman turn on the heater.
|Monday, May 9th, 2005|
|Bring it on, girly girl.
I understand that Mama thinks she's trained me to wolf-whistle her in the morning. She thinks I'll perform for a bit of toast. (She's got a point.)
But this morning, I sat and stared at her until she showed me the toast. Then I looked at it, and wolf-whistled.
Catch her telling people that she's got me trained.
|Thursday, May 5th, 2005|
I have finally trained the mad-woman.
When she wakes up, she stumbles to the coffee-machine and toaster. I like toast. I particulary like buttered toast.
The poor dear looks like death. Pre-dawn is not kind to her, I must tell you.
After 2 years of training, I can communicate with her. I make a wolf-whistle, and I get toast. Obviously, to humans, a wolf whistle means "Hey baby, wanna have toast"
|Monday, April 11th, 2005|
|Time passes by
The days are getting shorter. The nights are getting cold.
Mating season is done for another year. I did not get a mate this year.
Mama says I am a mutated peachface lovebird. This is not true. I am an unrequited lovebird.
But! It's not too late, ladies! Sign up now for the next mating season.deense
You've given me food! You've given me nesting material in attractive colours. Obviously, you are a fine potential mate. And I understand you're about to go to summer. Take me with you : we can mate!kees_meeows
What do you mean, you're not allowed out? I'm not allowed to eat antique watercolours and bite papa. That still happens.frankdog
Life in Oz didn't make you a bitch, that happened already. Feed me millet!misshavisham
This door is giving me a challenge. They never open it, when I'm out. It's like they think I'll escape to get a mate.
|Sunday, January 30th, 2005|
Mama has all the fibres in the world. Cashmere, and mohair, and camel, and angora and merino and bunny and silk. All the fibres. She also has a mate.
Therefore, the ownership of fibres leads to having a mate.
I thought I'd try out this theory. But she won't share her alpaca, the big meanie, so I was forced to get creative in my efforts of creating a fibre hoard.
So in my nesting box, I have a little pile of frank's chest hair. Don't ask what I had to go through to get this.
So, laaaaaadies. I have millet. (Or had.) I have food. I have a comfy nesting box, lined with paper, and feathers and human chest hair. I'm bound to be irrestible to a mate.
I love you. You fed me capsicum and beans. Yummo! Obviously you'll be an excellent provider for our hatchlings, come on over, again!
I love you - so much fur!
|Monday, January 3rd, 2005|
|It's been bad, all bad.
What is it with this time of year? I ask you.
It's been two years since I got moved here, and I got to meet Mama. Yay, Mama, alpha bird of the flock. Source of all millet and good stuff. About a year after I moved in, Papa moved in. He's all over my alpha bird, but he's younger than me (he arrived after me. Therefore younger. Therefore inferior.) Mama makes him feed me, so obviously my sub.
Anyway, Papa had to go out into the night a few days ago. And Mama retired for a sleep at a very civilised hour. All is good. I had a nap. Then there was a loud "boom" noise. So not my fault. And another boom. And bright bloody lights. I shrieked at it - a good combat shriek - but the booms and lights continued. Then Mama woke up. And told me to be quiet, it was just fireworks.
Then she went out, muttering something about kissing Papa at midnight. Kissing an omega member of the flock? the woman is mad. Then they came home at 5 in the bloody am. And woke me. I swear I heard Mama mutter "Serves you right, you little alarm clock. Wake me at 5:30 in the bloody am."
So I did. Good loud combat shrieks.
P.S. Kees? I love you and only you. Come here and be my furry love beast.
I love you and only you. Come here and model that scarf and let our love shine. I'll lay the eggs. Promise.
P.P.P.S Any other potential mates? I love you and only you. Egg laying duties negotiable. Must have own millet.
|Wednesday, December 8th, 2004|
Right. That madwoman has a new acquistion. She calls it a spinning wheel, and is ignoring both myself and Papa to sit by it. Now, it is right and proper that she ignores papa, but me? I need millet! I need constant nuturing or I will forget how to be a good member of the flock. (One bite is hello).
Anyway. The spinning wheel is made of wood. Perches are made of wood. Trees are made of wood. Antique frames on emotionally significant watercolours are made of wood. Things made of wood are either places for me to sit, or things for me to eat.
So I tried. Also, I figured I should get in on that spinning action, as Mama often mutters about "Feathers yarn". I've got feathers. Maybe lovebird coloured yarn will be the next big thing. I tried to sit on the big wheel. It was spinning! Who would have thought! I had to run to keep up.
Then I tried to sit on the bobbin full of yarn. It was spinning too! And a thing tried to whallop me!
We do not approve of this new hobby. We war not impressed. I think Mama should go back to civilised hobbies, and stop turning nesting material into yarn. I reckon an alpaca nest should lure in some young girlies.
|Wednesday, December 1st, 2004|
|The temperature's rising!
It's getting hot in here.
I'm a jungle bird. When it's hot, it's time to breed. Oh, yeah. Unfortunately, my gender is undetermined, but it's a modern world.
I am starting the day at 5:30am with a spot of singing to attract members of the opposite gender (whatever that is). Mama generally stumbles out of bed and mutters at me to do several obscene things. I'm trying, Mama!
Then, it's time to eat, to get my strength up for when I might meet a member of the opposite gender. Then, I must sing for a while. Someone might show up.
Mama, who is an unco-operative cow, always shuts the windows when I am allowed out. This is no good. How is another birdy meant to get into the house?
In revenge, I've taken to hiding in the nesting box whenever Mama lets me out for exercise. It's 40°C, all the windows are shut, then I hide in a dark space instead of exercising. Mama seems to feel that this is unreasonable.
They have given me an entire ear of fresh corn. So, young lovebirds, call me, call me now. I'm a good nest builder, building my nest from premium aged bamboo and novels and frames of watercolour paintings, I have food for the babies and we can negociate who gets the laying eggs duty.
|Wednesday, November 3rd, 2004|
Last week, Mama found me chewing on an antique watercolour that she seems to treasure. I can see why, it is delicous.
She said "Stop that, or I'll send you away."
How shocked was I! She meant it! She shoved me in the cage, and took me somewhere miles away. And told me that these people would look after me. And then she told them that I bite, and they shouldn't put their hands in my cage. (Lies, I tell you.)
And then both Mama and Papa went away. Forever. And ever, and ever. A whole week. I was so stressed that I shredded Mr Velvet to death.
Finally, Mama and Papa came to get me, and bought me home. After an entire week in the cage, the first thing I did was go and sit in the nesting box. Mmmmmmm, shredded aged bamboo.
I think that they weren't punishing me, that they went on holiday. All the alpaca wool in the entire world is on the kitchen table. And I'm pretty sure she's not going to knit me a mate. Maybe I should knit one myself.
|Monday, October 4th, 2004|
|Why I should be in middle management, by Chook. Aged 1 and 10 months.
I should so be a manager. I hear mama talking about them, and I could do it.
Here is an obvious demonstration of my skill in people management:
Mama was cleaning my cage, giving me fresh food, water, millet, corn, veggies, a bit of bread and shell grit. She was taking too long, so I assisted her motivation by biting her hands. Then, she put my bells on a shelf, so I'd bite them and leave her alone. I pushed the bells, and bit them and screamed at them and jumped up and down on them. The bells fell off the shelf and would not return despite my scolding.
See? Natural born management talent.