Zhaba Zhournal
Wednesday, November 10, 2004 
Polly wanna Web site? 
The bird and I had a big breakthrough tonight: after a week of getting her used to being moved around the house in her carrying cage, I was able to take her up to the office and have her spend about half an hour contentedly at my desk, perched on my wrist or shoulder while I typed. She started getting antsy after that, and I took her back downstairs to her regular cage, but it's an embarrassingly big deal that I know I can spend time in the office without feeling guilty for abandoning her. (We leave her alone when we're at work all day, so I want to spend as much time as possible together when I'm home; parakeets are very social, and J. and I are her entire flock.) One of the main reasons I don't blog on the weekends, or more often on weeknights, is that I spend my non-working waking hours in the living room with her. (There are plenty of things to do there—it probably contains more bookcases than any other 14' x 40' rowhouse in South Philly, plus the TV and DVD player—so I'm not just sitting there staring at the bird all night; I'm not quite that bird-whipped.)

Anyway. The horizons of the house have suddenly opened: I can be in the office and with the bird! I can blog and keep her entertained! (She was curious about keyboarding; I think she'll turn into a real terror if she figures out she can move the keys herself.) And if I want to spend all day Saturday reading in bed, I could bring her into the bedroom, too. Ooohhhh, the possibilities are mindless. I mean endless.*

We really need a sign on the front door saying "This house is operated solely for the convenience of the bird"—she rules the roost, and I think she knows it. I can't walk past a novelty shop or toy store without getting her something: today it was a miniature Fisher-Price xylophone keychain. She's also got her own shatterproof cactus-stem margarita glass, to keep her out of my wineglass, and her own espresso cup and saucer, to keep her out of my coffee mug, and every little bouncing ball I ever got out of a supermarket vending machine is in, around, or under her cage. Election, shmelection; our house is governed by a blue-and-yellow fluffball who weighs less than eleven pennies. (I for one welcome our new psittacine overlords!)

*That's a frequent J.-ism; I said it to myself in my head as I was typing, thought "no, don't type that!", then re-thought "oh, c'mon, it's stream-of-consciousness," so I'm sticking with it.

[ at 11:35 PM • by Abby • permalink  ]

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