Happy New Year!

Hank wishes everyone a Happy New Year! Today he's on tv!

Just kidding. Hank really goes for the pun-based humour.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Hank says Happy Thanksgiving!

He's super glad he's not a turkey.

Hank Eats Blanket

Remember how Hank hates that blanket I put over his cage? He yells at it, and he shrinks away from it when I pull it on or off the cage. Never before have I seen a bird with so much hate for an object that is meant to keep him warm and shield him from too much light.

Now it has come to this: he has started eating holes in the blanket.

I mean, I know he hates this thing, but I never thought it would go this far.

The thing is, do I wait until he eats more of it to give him a new one? Will he eat the new one too? Should I be worried about his vitamin intake or something?

Hank: Weather Predictor

Here in Philadelphia, we don't do well with extremes in the environment. The slightest bit of snow throws us into chaos (not to mention the fact that the city has $0 set aside for snow removal), thunderstorms and heavy rain predictions send us franticly to the grocery store for food we usually don't need, and when an earthquake comes, like today, we freak out.


I was sitting at my desk reading and finishing my lunch when I felt my chair start to roll a bit. Yes, it has wheels, but I wasn't trying to move it. I looked around, and the papers that I've tacked to the walls of my cubicle were starting to shudder. Then the lights, suspended from the ceiling, began to sway. A little at first and then a bit more. My friend, Argylesockgirl, rushed over, and I think that as freaked out as we were, it was a bit nice to know that neither of us were going crazy. Another of the girls came out of her office and said, "Is the building shaking?" So we grabbed our things and ran (8 flights) down the stairs and across the street. Turns out what we were feeling was a 5.9 or so magnitude earthquake that was taking place in Virginia; seems it was felt all the way to New England.


The thing that struck me was how my first thought was "has someone driven a truck into the building? Is this a bomb?" 15 years ago I probably would've thought "earthquake" first and "terrorist bombing" never.


Anyway, after talking to a friend of mine who has a few dogs and a parrot, I began to wonder if Hank had a feeling that this disruption was coming. My friend's bird hid under some paper towels in fear, the dogs barked, my sisters ducks sat in a circle, and Hank hung on to the side of his cage (the side he only clings to when he's upset or sad) and hissed at me when I wished him a good morning. I thought he was just cranky like he always is when I separate him from his old friend, my parents' cockatiel Byrd. But maybe this time it was something different? My grandmother always used to say that when the cows laid down, it was because they knew it was going to rain. Do the animals really know something that we don't? Somehow, I think they do, and it's actually a very comforting idea to me.

Hank Update

Hank has learned to tap dance. No, you didn't read that wrong. And if you doubt it, then I shake my head in disbelief at you. I know he's just a bird, but he's in that cage all day long. He has to come up with some way to pass the time, right? 


Well, while I was in the UK a couple of months ago, Hank crashed (no pun intended) at my parents' house and hung out with their cockatiel Byrd. They spent most of their time in the spare room singing and chirping at each other; or, in reality, Hank drove Byrd nuts because Byrd is elderly, and Hank is loud. For most of the visit, Byrd's cage was sitting on a small side table, and Hank's was on the floor below it. In order to sufficiently chat with his friend, Hank had to climb up on top of his extra water dish; this made him level with the bottom of Byrd's cage. 


While he was on this water dish, his claws (or should I say "talons" to make him sound more masculine and imposing?) tap-tap-tap on the water dish shield. He seemed to like this, and even though I thought he would stop when I brought him home, he still does it. When Hank needs extra attention, he just hops up there and gives a few taps. 


Makes me wonder what he does when I'm not home....

(His foot is poised to move)

(Fred Astaire might be proud)

Maybe I could put him on one of those Star Search for pets programs....I think Hank craves the limelight.

Wham! Bam!Thank you, Ma'am!

Today, Hank had an accident. Lately, he likes to hang out on the curtain rod, and I'm always afraid he's going to crap on my curtains. So I let him sit up there for a few minutes, but then he's got to come down. I choose the feather duster for this task as I am not tall enough to grab him, and the duster is much less threatening than the broom or the snow shovel.

But this time, even though I only put the duster next to him (in case he wants to climb on), he freaked out and wouldn't land. He flew around the apartment like he was being chased by one of my neighbour's cats. It was intense; I literally had to duck and cover. Until...

SMACK! 

(The mark on the mirror)

(A closer look...note the outline of his lower torso and a leg)

Hank slams right into the mirror above my couch. He recovered without falling onto the couch (I was impressed) and landed tentatively on the top of the door frame.

When he took off again, he smacked into the tiny kitchen window. I can only assume that the reason he hid among my African violets was from shame. And possible fear of glass.

(Can you find Hank in this picture?)

Hank and the Piano

I know what you're thinking. "Is this going to be like Hank vs Bedsheet (here and here)?" No, I can assure you that Hank has more respect for things that make music than he does for things that cover his cage. Could it be that, since Hank likes to make music, he identifies properly with musical instruments? Perhaps.

One Saturday morning, I let Hank out whilst I was playing the piano. He flew around the apartment several times and eventually landed on the edge of the piano. He seemed so intrigued by the music; I was surprised he liked it so much even though he listens to the radio all day.

Eventually, he settled for just controlling the sound.

Fighting with Hank

How sad is it that I'm currently having a fight with my pet cockatiel...and that I feel bad for punishing him? And by punishing him, I mean keeping his cage (mostly) covered and not talking to him for 24 hours. He has been so awful lately. He screams bloody murder every time I uncover the cage or try to let him out. And every time I peek into his cage to make sure he has water/food/is still alive, he hisses at me.

Then, the other night he did a pretty gross thing. I finally coaxed him out, and he sat there on top of his cage looking around. Quietly, he edged over to the side of the cage. I thought he might take off and fly around the apartment, so I started taking my clean clothes off of the drying rack and folding them up so they wouldn't get feathers on them. Hank stared at me the entire time, malice in his beady little bird eyes.

Until....

He puffed himself up really big, and then let the biggest poo drop directly onto the carpet. And he held my gaze the whole time as if to say, "This is what I think of you, lady!" It was disgusting...I had no idea such a big turd could come out of a little bird. 

I couldn't get to the bottle of carpet cleaner fast enough. 

So uncool, Hank.

I don't know if he just wants to hibernate the winter months away, if he is going through the terrible twos, or if he has decided to reinvent himself as Emo Bird. But I hope he snaps out of it soon.

2011?

Happy New Year!! 

(Hank celebrates by flying across the room)

So it's 2011 now...where's my hoverboard?

The Dog of My Dreams

Growing up I always had a black lab. They're a little hyper when they're younger, but they're extremely loyal and sweet. Our first black lab never bit or scared my brother and me; even when we'd chase her around the house. She used to drag my brother (who was three at the time) around on the floor by holding the end of a tea towel. He would hold on to the other end and slide along on his diapered bottom. She was a good guard dog and also respected my parents' decree that she not be allowed on the carpet. But whenever there was a thunderstorm, she raced upstairs and curled up on my bed. I liked that.

A few years ago, my sister and I were watching the hound portion of the Westminster dog show. Suddenly, there he was...an Irish wolfhound. Impossibly tall, shaggy as anything, and a dusty gray color; I loved him immediately (and he won for his group). This is the kind of dog I plan on getting someday. 

Someday being when I have a house and a yard/farm large enough to accommodate a 7 foot tall dog. Or maybe we should call him a small horse as opposed to just a dog.... Either way, how lovely would it be to curl up next to such a tame beast?

Currently I will stick to Hank. He's space efficient and is currently sitting on top of his cage, curled up into a sleeping puffball.

Hank v. Bedsheet, Part Deux

Tonight Hank staged another attack on the sheet that (sometimes) covers his cage. He was sitting on the top of the cage happily chirping and squeaking away. I turned my head away to focus on my studying, and BAM! He lunged toward the sheet and started screeching and biting at it. This happened several times over the next hour. And every time he acted like it was the sheet that started it.

(The attack in progress)

Of course, Hank got wise to me pulling out the camera every time he attacked the sheet. He'd suddenly act like everything was fine; he doesn't attack under pressure.

(An uneasy truce)

Hank vs. Bedsheet

Hank does not seem to like the television. The other night I didn't watch tv; I was studying and listening to records, and Hank just sat on top of his cage quiet as a mouse. He climbed around a little bit, but when he did make a noise, it was at a pretty reasonable level. The possible exception to Hank's dislike for the tube would be the show Royal Pains. He LOVES it, but I think that's only because the main character is also named Hank.

Last night, however, I interrupted my studying for 30 minutes of tv, and Hank sang and whistled at the top of his (tiny) lungs for at least 15 of those 30 minutes. I know you're looking at him thinking, "That little guy? He can't possibly make any loud noises." Oh but he can. When he really starts screeching, he stands up straight and belts out the most ear-splitting noises. It's cute for half a second. Because he is a baby, he can't really control his volume.

I'm trying to teach him that the louder noise is bad. First, I just scolded him, then I yelled at him, next I made a louder noise to get his attention (but that backfired because he just got louder to drown out my noise). Finally I moved on to covering up his cage with a sheet when he gets loud, and uncovering it when he tones it down a bit. I think that's starting to get the point across to him, but it's really making him hate the sheet on his cage.

I mean straight up hate.

Whenever I pull the sheet over the cage or take it off, he looks at it murderously and hisses. If I take it outside to shake it out, he stares at it and hisses angrily until it's gone. Sometimes he attacks it by biting and screeching at the sheet. The other day I saw him contemplating how to possibly get his tiny talons involved. The thing is that the sheet is just so much bigger than Hank.And I don't think he really knows what to make of it. But he is definitely planning something...he does have a good deal of time on his hands (wings?).

If this is war, then the sheet is winning.

Leaves and Cats

All the leaves are falling, and it makes me sad. Fall is nice, but then winter always has to follow. I am not a fan of winter. Or of cleaning out my closet and putting away the summer clothes....

Because there have been so many cool nights/mornings, I've been leaving my windows open. Late last night, I was working on a paper, and I kept hearing the leaves crunch by the kitchen. Every time I hear these footsteps, it startles me. I think, "Someone is in the yard at 11pm...are they trying to see into my (tiny) kitchen window?" This morning I heard the stalking while I was washing dishes. I looked up, expecting to see a person (possibly Upstairs Neighbour), but instead there sat three cats just staring at me. Upstairs Neighbour has quite a few cats, and when he lets them out into the yard, they run and jump over the dried up twigs and leaves...the culprits of the crunchy footsteps.

So I'm being stalked by cats. I wonder if they realize that I have a bird?

The Return

I haven't looked at this blog for ages. I blame this on grad school, but it's probably also a bit of laziness. I do think it's interesting that my last post was based on the feeling that I needed to move...because just a few months later, I did move. After that car accident last August, I came to hate driving more than  used to, and I finally found a place that was close to a (different) train line. I only drive when I want to now (or when I need to buy food). I have my own bit of a house back in olde Pennsylvania, and I quite like it.

This is my new roommate, Hank. He's more like a wee baby who screeches a lot and occasionally poops on the floor. But at least I can put him in a cage...I'm pretty sure such a thing is frowned upon when it comes to an actual child.

I'm trying to teach him how to talk....we'll see how that goes, and if I regret it at a later date. For now he just whistles and toddles around at times.