So what do you do when you get the parrot of your dreams and it doesn't want anything to do with you? Well luckily Beaker and my husband had a mutual affection thing for each other but that left me birdless. So enter Poppy. Poppy is a Jardine's parrot. She is a little beauty. She can't say a fraction of the things Beaker says but she is a love and doesn't need to talk. She fulfills my need for love from a feathered being.
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Oh how I wanted an African Grey Parrot for so many years. Finally I was in the right place to get one. I found a breeder and bought a just weened baby Grey. She made these adorable little beeping noises that reminded me of the muppet Beaker on The Muppet Show. Thus the name.
Oh how I loved this bird. For reasons I'll never understand she decided she only loved my husband and wanted nothing to do with me. Well she was raised by a man who had facial hair and really never had contact with women before she came to my house so that probably had a lot to do with it. I still love her. She speaks in my voice and mimics me so that must be some form of love.
Beaker says so many things, far too many to list here. She sings and whistles Jingle Bells. She also whistles Deck the Halls, Sweet Georgia Brown, The Andy Griffiths theme, that song from Bridge Over the River Kwi and she is just learning When the Saints go Marching in.
She can mimic all sorts of sounds. The microwave, the alarm (not an alarm clock but the "someone done broke into your house" alarm), every phone ring she's ever heard. She calls out the names of all the other animals.
Now if you were to go to Beaker's cage you would never hear her make a squeak. She won't talk in front of strangers. If you are out of her sight and she can't hear you she might start to say some things. So she is not a performance bird.
There hasn't been a day where she hasn't made me laugh.
This is a little place to vent. I will most definitely be adding to it as necessary. Let me start off by saying that I don't believe in Hell but there are some people who do really stupid and inconsiderate things that really piss me off. There's some that we'd all agree on: Murders, Child Molesters, Animal Abusers.
There's a special place in Hell for:
People who drive with a ton of snow on top of their cars. If you're smart enough to drive a car you're smart enough to know what's going to happen to that snow once you get going fast enough. And this goes double for big vans and semis.
People who pee all over the seat in a public restroom. (Come on people! Didn't your Momma teach you better than that!?) RUDE! And these are women I'm talking about!
People who leave their pets in the car in the sun. This just makes me crazy. I want to leave those people locked in a boiling hot car and see how they like it.
If you are lucky, at least once in your life, you will have a pet to whom all other pets will be compared. A sort of magical creature who brings joy and happiness to every waking moment. When you look back on your time with this creature you will only remember the good times and any rough spots will be glossed over or forgotten.
I was given Mishca as a birthday gift in 1991. She was a tiny miniature Schnauzer with a big red bow around her neck. She was the cutest thing ever. I loved her instantly. She was such a quiet puppy almost too good to be true. I took her to her first vet check up and she was running a fever. The vet said that it seemed to him that she had had distemper some time before I got her. He recommended to contact the breeder to return her for a healthy puppy. He felt she wouldn't live a year and should be put down. Hello! I already love her and don't want her to be put down and given a new puppy. I took her to another vet and got the same thing but he agreed to help me do whatever was necessary to give her a chance to have a good life for what time she had. I'll admit it was rough in the beginning. She threw up a lot and I had to give her a bank breaking amount of medication.
Mishca moved with me three times to three different states. She stayed with my father after he had by-pass surgery. She could tell if people needed a playful puppy or a snuggly lap dog and she gave them what they needed. She wasn't barky. She never bit anyone. She never met a person she didn't like.
Small dogs were her friends, as long as they didn't get in her face. For some reason she she aways wanted to kick big dogs' butts. I'd be like, Mishca, that's a Doberman don't be crazy! But she'd be chasing it down the street. Luckily she never met a tough big dog. She loved cats and would roll around and play with them if they'd let her. She would back off from any cat that wasn't cool with dogs.
Mischa loved bananas. Should could hear a banana being peeled from a mile away. If you didn't give her a bite of your banana she would pout. Everyone in the house was required to give her some banana every morning. It didn't matter if it she was in her house or someone elses. I learned to always have bananas on hand even if it meant traveling with some. People who loved her (and there were many) always had bananas for her. She and Herkimer (the turtle) had the banana love in common. Herkimer was a sloooow eater. I would put him in a different room with the door closed so he could have a chance to eat. It drove Mishca crazy to know Herkimer was alone with a banana. Herkimer would also walk around with Mishcas rawhide bones in his mouth to get to her. Once or twice Mishca walked around with Herkimer in her mouth to get even, but she wasn't trying to hurt him, just let him know she was in control.
Mishca died on March 3, 2007. She was over 15 years old. It was fairly quick and painless. She acted like a puppy right up to the end. People can be wrong. Doctors can be wrong. Veterinarians can be wrong. 
The very first creature I was totally responsible was a three legged turtle named Herkimer. This was before digital pictures but if I am able to post a picture of him I will later.
I found Herkimer in my back yard in Ohio. He had had some sort of scuffle with maybe a dog or cat. One of his back legs was bleeding and missing from the knee (turtle knee that is) down. I took him to a vet and learned my first lesson in the cost of taking care of another living thing. The vet told me he wouldn't live long in captivity even if he survived long enough for his leg to heal and he wouldn't survive out in the wild with his injury. I insisted that I wanted to try to save him. After an $80 shot of antibiotics I took him home to see what would happen.
The vet had said that turtles are miserable living in a confined space. So I let Herkimer have the run of the house. Well not the whole house but the lower level. There he had carpet and tile to crawl on, furniture to go under and over, and stairs that he never gave up trying to climb.
Despite the vets prediction Herkimer healed and thrived.
He lived for 9 years. He was probably in his 20's when I found him. He was a great pet and very interesting. I have many fond memories of him. I hope that the time he spent with me was a happy time for him. I know that he never would have had bananas in the wild and he loved bananas.
It was a seemingly normal childhood. We aways had a dog, sometimes 2 (maybe 3 once?). There were the occasional snakes and unknown bug nests. Who knew that you could have a praying mantis nest in a jar for months and the one time you leave the lid off the little buggers would hatch and invade? So while I was never without some sort of nonhuman companion it wasn't like I was used to having a small zoo in the house.
So how is it that I have come to live with, and love, so many creatures? Hell, I don't know. This isn't psychotherapy.
All of the animals living here are interesting. They all contribute something to my life and I will attempt to give each of them a chance to tell their story here.
