Halle Macaw, 2001

Can opener for a beak ↑

I was doing child care for a rather hyperactive young boy when we heard a truck pull up in the driveway. Then we heard a loud squawking, and my charge perked up with excitement. He wondered aloud what this could possibly be. In a few moments, his dad, Vito came in, trundling an enormous cage on a dolly. The cage's occupant was the owner of the squawking voice, and used it freely. The cage itself was covered in droppings, feathers, seeds and spiderwebs. Yes, spiderwebs. It was disgusting. Vito located another, smaller but clean cage in his basement-of-all-amazing-things, and proceeded to reach into the big cage to transfer the bird to the small one. Immediately, the little parrot chomped the meaty part of his hand, drawing plenty of blood. Vito wisely withdrew the offending hand and went to deal with the blood. I stood by his very excited son and the understandably agitated bird. The boy waved his arms and had plenty to say. It was unfortunate that he was also wearing a bright orange sweatshirt. I tried to get him to back away from the cage and relax. Eventually, the two calmed down enough that I was able to reach in with both hands, cup the bird in them gently and move her to the littler cage. I looked at her, fierce, vulnerable, and half bald. It was love at first sight.