Breaking and Exiting

Odie again gets the spotlight in this one. Ever since we got him we've known that he needed a job. We didn't know that he would find one for himself.

For quite a while Odie has bee playing with the spring on one of the doors on his cage. He'll slide it up and then let it drop down, bite the bars to hear them ping, and then resume sliding the spring up and down the bar. When we got the cage for him I wired all the doors shut except the front one so I wasn't terrible worried about his constant fiddling with the door on the right side of the cage.

I was, therefore, quite surprised when I came into the kitchen a few days ago glanced toward the bird cages and did a double-take. There was Odie looking pleased a punch sitting on top of his cage. I didn't let him out. Richard didn't let him out because he wasn't home at the time ,and the front door of the cage was shut. When I looked a bit more closely I saw that Odie had managed to break the weld on one of the wires holding the side door so hat it was now hanging by one corner, the one I had wired. There was a nice little triangle of space just enough for Odie to slip through.

First problem: how to get Odie away from the cage so I could figure out how to patch it. Next problem, how to patch the cage. I couldn't exactly weld it back together and I didn't want to use anything that would be harmful to Odie. I called the vet and asked what kind of wire would be safe around birds. Answer: stainless steel. We didn't happen to have any of that in our possession so I decided that I could do a temporary patch. I talked very sweetly to Odie who was still on top of the cage. I asked his permission to put up the wooden perch we sometimes use as a bridge so he can go from his cage to the back of one of the dining room chairs to his bird gym. I moved slowly and he behaved himself and just watched instead of rushing and lunging for my hand.

I got the perch set up and opened the door; then I sat down at the table to wait and see what he would do. Eventually he climbed off the top of the cage, walked across the perch and started playing with the toys on his gym. I disconnected the perch from the cage. I didn't want some little green parrot with a sharp beak running up and attacking me while I was trying to fix the cage. I decided that I could take a piece of wood and simply tie it to the cage with cotton string. I knew that wouldn't last long but it only had to last until I could get out to get some wire to make a more permanent patch.

I managed to slip into the shop, find a suitable piece of softwood and drill holes to secure it to the cage. All the while I kept an eye on what Odie was doing on his gym. I hoped he wouldn't get it into his little bird brain to flap down to the floor because I sure wasn't in any mood to try to pick him up either with my hands or a perch. He stayed put and I got the wood tied onto the cage. Then I put the perch back, put an almond in his cage where he could see it and waited. It didn't take him very long to make his way back to the cage to get the almond. I shut the door and crossed my fingers that he wouldn't chew through the string too fast.

The next day I was out in the morning and was a bit nervous about what I might find in the way of destruction when I came home. All was well so I decided to leave things alone. Part way through the evening I came out into the kitchen and there was Odie on the top of his cage once more. He had, predictably, chewed through the strings and some of the wood and escaped again. This time Richard was home so he was able to babysit Odie while I fashioned a more durable patch.

That patch is still holding up. Every day Odie chews a bit more wood off it but, so far, he hasn't been able to break any of the wires. When he does, or when he manages to chew through the wood, I have a special wooden sandwich planned for him. I'll put a piece of maple or poplar on the inside of the cage and bolt it to a piece of softwood on the outside of he cage. I stocked up on stainless steel nuts, bolts and washers for the purpose. Each day I check the patch especially if I'm going to be out for a while. I want him to be busy with this arrangement as long as possible but I don't want him actually getting out.

Little did I know when I wished for a bird that was a bit more entertaining than the cockatiel and the budgie just how entertaining Odie would be!

Life with Odie: the first year

We got Odie, the African Senegal parrot, on December 27, 2009. I thought I had done my homework quite well. The breed is supposed to be easy-going, quiet (as parrots go), fun-loving and friendly. I talked to our avian vet about Senegals and I talked to people who had parrots. I wanted an interactive parrot, one I could work with, maybe train to do a few tricks and, yes, I wanted a parrot I could handle. Having willingly moved from cats to birds because of my husband's allergy, I still want a pet I can ... pet. I have great memories of my Quaker parrot, Koko sitting with me for long periods of time while I preened her head. She would shut her eyes and move her head around until I got exactly the right spot.

Ever since Koko died I've been watching the Kijiji ads for birds, just to see what's out there. The ad for Odie would appear and then would disappear for a few months and then appear again. I watched this with increasing interest. Odie was young but not a baby. He liked head-scratches from anyone and, clearly, the owner wanted the right home for him and was willing to wait until the right people came along. After talking it over with Richard, I called the number in the ad. We arranged to go over and meet Odie. I felt a bit like I was going on a blind date. His owners were very nice and they let him out of his cage and showed us how he played and how he liked to have his head scratched. Odie stepped up on my finger when I asked him to and when I went to put him back into his cage he set his beak on my finger. He didn't bite. He was just letting me know that maybe I had moved a bit fast for him.

We went home and thought about it some more. These parrots can live for 40 years so we'd have to make provision for him in our will. I emailed the owner and asked if he would allow us to take Odie to our vet and get a health check done on him. The owner agreed and met us at the vet's. He then took off for coffee and Odie got his first look at the vet's office. The vet was quite impressed with him. He seemed gentle enough. She said he had a number of chances to bite her but didn't. We also had him DNA sexed. Living with a broody female cockatiel convinced us that a male was what we wanted. Odie's test results came back saying that he was a fairly healthy male. We agreed to take Odie after Christmas. His wings weren't clipped and his owner said he could have the wings clipped before we picked Odie up.

With one thing and another the owner wasn't able to get Odie clipped by the time we were to go and get him. We waited and eventually said that we would take him to our vet to get his wings done. Because of the delay the owners delivered Odie to us at around 9:00 on December 27. We didn't have a chance to do much more than put him to bed that night. Over the next few days he amused us by lying on his back in our hands, speaking in long sentences, none of which we understood and generally checking out the house. He was a bit nippy but we figured he'd settle in. We specifically asked the owners if there had been any problems with biting and they said there hadn't.

About the third night Odie was with us the phone rang. He was out on the top of his cage where he had been when the phone had rung before. For some reason this time it spooked him and he took off. The appointment to get his wings clipped was the next day. He flew into the dining room and landed on the top of a halogen light. He didn't stay there long. I offered him my hand to step onto but he took off and flew right into the transom window between the dining room and the shop. I heard the thump and went rushing down the stairs to where Odie sat hunched up on the floor. I scooped him up and put him back into his cage while my husband called the vet. I unceremoniously dumped the person whose call caused the flight. The vet's office had just closed although they still answered the phone. They told us to take Odie to the animal emergency clinic. I got Odie to step up onto my hand from his cage and was able to put him into his carrier. He did clamp down on my hand but let go when I put him in the carrier.

Odie had a bump on his head and probably a headache. We came home with pain medication for him and life resumed. I noticed that Odie wouldn't always step up on my hand when it came time for me to put him back into his cage. When I tried to get him to step up he sometimes bit me. I've done a lot of reading on training parrots and all of it emphasizes how important it is to have a well-socialized bird i.e. one that doesn't bite. Most of the literature says that it's important to teach your parrot to step up reliably so that you can use that request to calm him down or to get him out of danger if need be. Most of the training info I read used food rewards along with a signal to make the wanted behaviour so that the bird would learn that if he repeated the behaviour he'd get a treat.

Sometimes when I offered Odie food he would take it gently. Sometimes he would bite me and when he bit he meant business. I cleaned blood of the kitchen floor on a number of occasions and found myself wishing I owned shares in a band-aid company. I read more books; we filled out a behavioural questionnaire for the vet and had a couple of consultations. She said I really needed to get Odie stepping up. She suggested that I use wooden perches so that he wouldn't bite my hands. On the few occasions I had tried a wooden perch Odie stepped on it and rushed down toward my hand. I asked her if I could wear gloves while holding the perches. She said I could wear oven mitts if I wanted.

One afternoon I decided it was time to try out the new procedure. I got a couple of pieces of dowel and put on the oven mitts. I let Odie out of his cage, approached him with one of the dowels and asked him to step up. He stepped on the dowel and immediately stepped down. I asked him to step up again and he ran around the side of it. I tried a third time and he flapped off the top of his cage and landed on the floor. I followed him from the dining room to the kitchen and into the living room offering the dowel for him to step on. He went around the side. He hopped over it. He hopped on it and flapped off. Then he turned around and headed back into the kitchen and into a corner. I wasn't going to crowd him in the corner so I stood back and glanced up at the clock wondering what to do next. When I looked back, he was gone. I knew he couldn't have gotten past me. I went over to the corner where a built in cabinet met the wall and discovered that there was a space between the side of the cabinet and the wall. This space was covered with a false front and there was an opening at the bottom that Odie had gotten into.

I got down on the floor and talked to Odie. He growled. I called the vet. She told me at our previous consultation if there was anything I needed I should call. I needed to get this bird out of the space between the cabinet and the wall! The vet suggested that I try to get a perch in there so he could step on that and I could take him out. She also suggested that I try to entice him out with his favourite treats. I hung up and put some grapes at the opening. More growling.

I waited for an hour and a half hoping the bird would come out. I had visions of him dying of starvation in there. About this time Richard came home and I greeted him with, "Your bird is in there!" We were supposed to go to my father-in-law's for dinner. It was his birthday. We called to say we would be late for supper and Richard tried to coax Odie out. No dice. Finally we decided to take the cabinet apart. We took the doors off, removed some of the contents and then went to work with a small pry bar. When we got the strip off Richard looked down at a very dusty, growling bird. I stayed out of the way while Richard talked softly to Odie and eventually got him to step up onto one of his rope perches. Once back in his cage Odie was somewhat subdued for a couple of days.

Even though it probably wasn't the right thing to do, I stopped trying to handle Odie. If I don't get my fingers anywhere near him he can't bite me. Richard is the one who picks Odie up and moves him from his cage to his gym. Over time Odie has come to make some friendly gestures toward me. In the morning when I take his cover off he offers and enthusiastic, "Ooooo," followed by a number of slow wing stretches. We are at the point now where he will dip his head against the bars of his cage so I can scratch his head. He moves his head around and closes his eyes and sometimes he makes a purring sound.

A few times when he's been on his gym he's dipped his head and I've put my hand out to give him a scratch. I've been rewards with more bleeding digits. I've tried a number of the techniques suggested by various trainers including distracting him. The problem is that he's much faster than I am. By the time I realize he's going to bite it's way, way too late.

So I suppose after a year Odie and I have a kind of truce. I enjoy stroking his head, through the bars so we both feel safe and he makes me laugh when he swings on his toys or calls out, "Richard, come get your birdie!" He plays a game of blink with me and will sometimes initiate it. He seems calmer now than when we got him and I hope that someday we'll both be able to interact without the cage bars between us. I know that I'm the human and it's my job to figure out as much as I can about what makes this little green dragon behave in the way he does.

I'm grateful that Odie protests when he thinks I'm going to leave the house. On some level he recognizes that we are members of the same flock. I enjoy his physical antics and the contented noises he makes when I stroke his head. I laugh when he demands, " Where's Richard?" This certainly isn't what I envisioned when we agreed to add Odie into our flock but I'm fond of him. This isn't what Richard expected either. He has taken on much more of Odie's care than either of us thought he would, and even though Odie was my idea, Richard doesn't complain. I don't know what year two with Odie will bring but I'm pretty confident in predicting it will continue to be an adventure.

Simple Gifts

It's a snowy day, not absolutely frigid but cold enough that it's nice to be indoors in comfortable fleece clothing. It's getting close to Christmas. We haven't put up our tree yet and I haven't done any Christmas shopping so gifts are on my mind. I have a folder in my brain in which I store the surprise gifts I have received from strangers and acquaintances and as I think of giving gifts i go back to that folder.

The first gift in my collection was given to me when I was in my early 20's. I was living in Banff and had a rare day off from my duties in the theatres at the Banff School of Fine Arts. At that time I didn't own a car and used a bright purple ten-speed bike for transportation. On that particular day, I decided to ride my bike from Banff to Lake Minnewanka. I'm not sure of the distance but it wasn't a long ride as I've since come to understand them. I wasn't in particularly good shape and it was a hot day. On my way back from the lake, tired and hot, I stopped at the pullout of a scenic lookout. I was sitting on a picnic table with my bike leaning beside me drinking warm plastic-tasting water from my water bottle when a woman came out of a motor home parked a few feet away from where I sat. I didn't pay too much attention as the woman approached me. In her hand she held a plastic bag of cherries. As l looked up she smiled and handed me the bag. "We have more of these than we can eat," she said, "and you look like you could use them." She smiled. I thanked her. She stepped back into the motor home; the driver started the engine and they pulled onto the highway to continue their journey. The cherries were cold and I was hungry and, although I have long since forgotten the woman's face, I will always remember her kindness.

A number of years later when Richard, my cousin David and I were on a cycling trip in southern B.C. it was another hot day. While the guys stayed with the bikes I went into a small roadside store to buy cold drinks. I also picked up some fresh fruit for a snack. When I brought my purchases to the counter the man behind it told me that the fruit would be free and apologized that he couldn't really afford to give me the drinks for free because of what they cost him. "Anyone who rides in this heat deserves a bit of a break," he told me as he rang up the drinks. I thanked him and filed his kindness alongside the lady with the cherries.

There have been times recently too where people have given me unexpected gifts. One day as I was pulling into a pay lot and getting out of my car to buy a ticket from the machine, a young man walked over and offered me his ticket. It still had quite a bit of time on it he said and someone might as well use it. Since then I always look for someone to whom I can give my ticket before I leave the lot. Sometimes no one appears and I drive home and discard the ticket. Most times, though, I'm able to give it to someone else so they can use the remaining time.

Twice a month I meet my friend Katharine downtown not far from where she works so we can have lunch together. I get there first and buy our lunches, always the same from the same stall in the food court. We've been doing this for over two years now, and while I wouldn't call myself a regular because I'm not there every day, one young woman behind the counter recognizes me and calls in the order as I approach. Twice lately she has leaned over the counter and said quietly, "Today the drinks are on the house." I smile, thank her and leave a tip. Does she give other customers free drinks on occasion? I don't know and it really doesn't matter. I am simply grateful.

The last example in my mental file arrived just a week ago. Judy and I were on our usual walk and we stopped in for lunch at a quiet cafe. We ordered our meals and took them to an empty table. I was facing the window and Judy was facing the counter. One of the women behind the counter caught Judy's eye and asked if we would like a piece of apple pie. Who turns down apple pie? It was a huge piece and we enjoyed sharing it. Perhaps it was getting late in the afternoon and the woman didn't want to keep the pie until the next day. Again I don't know the reason behind the gift and I don't need to know it. In part the gift is in the reminder of how little it takes to brighten someone's day.

I will eat turkey this Christmas as is traditional in our family but I will also think about cherries, cold drinks and apple pie and be thankful.

Turning One Hundred

Let me start by saying that I'm not turning one hundred, just in case there is any doubt. Last Saturday I attended a celebration for the hundredth year of the church I attended as a kid. It was a rather strange experience. I've maintained few relationships from elementary, high school or university. It's almost as if each chapter of my life is in a box by itself and once a box is closed it doesn't get opened again; so it was odd, and wonderful, to meet up with my first best-friend.

Many people put in hours and hours of work on scrapbooks and photo boards for the evening. There were pictures of church suppers, Sunday school groups, church camps and individuals who were part of the church's history. My dad showed up in a couple of newspaper clippings. In one photo he stands with a group of men behind the corner stone for the 'new' church (built in 1960). Dad was also in half a dozen photos in an album. These were taken in the seventies during a church service and it looks like Dad's health had taken a turn for the worse. The shirt he wears is too big around the neck and the jacket seems to have too much material in it.

I was also in at one picture. I didn't notice it until someone pointed it out to me. In it are several small girls, all of us in frilly dresses, with our mothers standing proudly behind us. I found out later that it was taken at Judy's fourth birthday party. Someone remarked that it was uncharacteristic to see both Judy and me in dresses. She didn't like them any more than I did. I wonder if there was a discussion about the dress code for little girls' birthday parties prior to the event, or if some kind of bribery took place to get us both into the dresses.

I talked to many people during the evening. Toward the end of the evening I chatted with the current minister. I knew, in addition to serving on various committees in the church, that my dad was a trustee for a long time. Until Saturday night I had no idea just how long. The minister told me that for twenty-five years after he died Dad's name remained, as the lead trustee, on documents at city hall . I'm not sure when the error was discovered but it took a number of people and much patience to set the record straight. Dad never would give up on a job before it was done to his satisfaction.

As the chairs and tables were being put away and I walked through the snow to my car, I felt my father and the child I was had gained substance and, perhaps, came a bit closer to each other. I also smiled at the realization that we never know just how we will be remembered.

Adventures, expected and unexpected

When we set off on a cycling trip in Spain and Portugal we knew it would be an adventure. We stayed on the Wind Spirit, a motorized yacht that holds 140 people, at least, there were 140 tandem cyclists aboard on our trip.

This was the first time Santana Cycles had run the Spain/ Portugal trip so there were a few kinks to be ironed out. Bill McCready, the leader of the trip and owner of Santana Cycles, is very good at getting things back on track when they look like they're about to go sideways. There was the time that the ship couldn't get into the port and we were all on shore with our bikes. Bill arranged to rent a tent where he and a couple of other Santana stalwarts spent the night with the bikes. The rest of us were tendered to the ship. Bill then managed to rent a truck to transport the bikes to the next port so they would meet us.

Another time the Spanish authorities got a little nervous because they thought that our group would be like the Tour de France closing down roads and disrupting traffic. With the help of a volunteer translator from among the cyclists, Bill managed to allay the governor's fears and we were off the next morning as planned, albeit with a fairly heavy police presence at the pier where we started.

Our last stop was Lisbon, during the NATO summit. All cars were being searched on the way into Portugal and a number of roads that we would have taken were closed. We ended up doing quite a bit of riding in traffic to get to our ship, not our favourite thing to do, but at least we've done it before and know how to do it.

All in all, the cycling wasn't the highlight of the trip for us, a few too many unknowns and a bit too much time pressure. We broke a chain the first day and that put us behind so that we missed a winery tour which, apparently, had fantastic architecture. We rode like crazy one day to make sure we got to the ship in time only to discover that we had the wrong time in our minds and the ship hadn't even arrived when we got there.

Richard says he saw a lot of Spanish pavement as we didn't really take much time in stops. The weather was perfect, for us, highs in the low 20's. Some folks from warmer climes found it chilly but I had my tights on for all of five minutes one morning before getting too hot and taking them off. We rode mostly in shorts and short-sleeved jerseys, although the wind jackets were handy first thing in the morning. The only time we used insulation clothing and our rain jackets was in Tangier where it had rained and was cooler than most of the other places we stopped. Who would have expected that?

Gibraltar was fascinating and I would like to go back and spend more time touring the tunnels. We had a wonderful storyteller/ guide whose grandfather had worked in the facility after WWII. The apes came out to show off on our way to the tour. They weren't used to visitors that early and the van drivers came equipped with goodies to feed them out the window.

Much to my delight, we had two bird surprises. In Barcelona I elected to stay in the hotel room and get some extra sleep to help me deal with a cold. When I felt better, I went wandering around the area by the hotel. I heard a squawk I recognized coming from one of the palm trees. I followed the noise and discovered the first of many Quaker nests. I spent a wonderful hour or so tracking Quakers and watching them go in and out of the huge communal nests.

On the Danube trip two years ago, I was disappointed when we elected to stay on board one day and missed seeing storks. Well, this time we saw storks in Portimao. They really are as large as people have told me!

All in all the trip was enjoyable. We'd like to return to some of the places we saw and spend time to hiking and taking photographs.

The next adventure awaits.

A Walk on All Saints Day

Today was gorgeous. The snow hasn't hit Calgary yet and the sun was bright. Judy and I usually walk on Mondays and today we were joined by Krista who is visiting from the island. It was just above freezing when we set out but gradually the air got warmer. Our destination, as on many Mondays, was a coffee shop. We sometimes meet another friend there for a coffee and a chat before we head back to our cars.

We walked and talked in the sunshine and caught up on each other's lives. At one time the three of us were part of a core walking group that trained for the 60 km walk for The Weekend to End Breast Cancer. We walked many miles in preparation and then walked together during The Weekend. There were initially five of us. One has moved to Lethbridge; Krista has moved to the island, and one has faded out of our lives.

The coffee shop was a bit busier than usual when we arrived and, because we knew that another friend would be joining us, we took the table reserved for four or more people. We has just gotten our drinks when she arrived. Quite soon afterward a group of about twenty people came into the coffee shop. They began to rearrange the tables so they could sit together and we offered them the third table from our set of three. They looked like a group of walkers and I wondered aloud which group they were.

When we had almost finished our drinks one of the men brought the table back and said to us, "There, now you'll be able to hear yourselves think." They were quite noisy as a group of twenty people who know and like each other tends to be. We were ready to leave at the same time as they were and as the man went by the table again I asked him what group they belonged to. His answer was, "The Chinook Hiking Club." I realized that was one of the clubs my mother helped found.

I was going to carry on with our walk without talking to them further but I decided I wanted to know if any of them knew my mum and the only way to find out was to ask. When we got outside they were standing in small groups. I approached the man I had spoken to earlier. I asked about my mother by name. They knew her they said. In fact she had helped to found the club. I told them who I was. They called others over to talk to me. One man, whose name I recognized as having taken over the organization of the club from my mother, then told me the rest of the story of the polished stones.

At my mother's memorial service I placed a basket of stones at the back of the church and invited everyone to take one to remember my mother. There were many people from the hiking clubs Mum belonged to there and, at the reception, one of her friends asked if he could take more of the stones. We found the basket and he took a handful. He said he would take them with him on the mountain hikes during the summer so people could leave a stone on some of Mum's favourite trails. Today, in front of the coffee shop almost four years later, he told me that most of the people had left their stones in Ribbon Creek. That was where Mum had wanted them. I don't know how he knew. Maybe she said something about how much she liked that hike or maybe he sensed Ribbon Creek would be a good place. I didn't ask him.

The whole exchange couldn't have taken more than a few minutes. We have been to that coffee shop many times before on Monday mornings and this is the first time we've seen the hiking group. How appropriate on this All Saints Day when we remember those who, while they lived made our lives better, that I should meet my mother's friends.

As we turned to go our separate ways I said to my walking companions, "That just made my day," to which Krista replied, "I think it probably made theirs too."

It's the pictures that get me.

I've sat down a couple of times in the last week to do a blog entry and each time I've thought, "Nope, I don't have any pictures to go with that." I don't have any pictures tonight either but it would be very easy to slide into oblivion again because I don't have pictures. That probably wouldn't make a great deal of difference to the world but I'd like to develop the blog habit. I've struggled for years with trying to write regularly and writing a blog does count as writing.

I know blogs are more interesting with pictures so, I guess, there are a couple of ways I could go with this. I could take more pictures of everyday stuff and have them in reserve for blog postings or, I could get in gear and take pictures of the things I'm thinking about using for blog postings. I could also allow myself to write blog entries without pictures. I don't want to make a habit of that. It is easier for me to write than to organize myself to get the photos. My head generally can be found on my shoulders and my computer seldom goes walkabout. Now where did I put my camera?