When I was 13, Mom brought home an Umbrella Cockatoo. His name was Babe and he didn’t last long. We had no idea what we were doing and were in over our heads. I think we gave him back to the pet store.

Some time later, Mom tried again. This time she took in a Citron Crested Cockatoo, similar to the one on Beretta, a tv show that was referenced by the adults visiting us and our bird. Her name was Angel and her temperament was much different than Babe’s. She was pretty chill. She screamed from time to time, but after making friends at the OKC Bird Club and reading some, we learned that this was to be expected.

Over the next 15 years or so, we lived as “bird people.” At one point 22 parrots of different species lived in our home. Dad converted our back patio into the “bird room.” Mom, my sister Heather, and I became active members of the OKC Bird Club. We attended bird shows, listened to avian behavior experts speak, and we took our more well behaved parrots to nursing homes and schools to show people how intelligent and fascinating these animals are.

Parrots “choose” their owners. If they like you, guess what? You belong to them. Now change the newspaper and give them pets! Growing up, I had four parrots.

A Severe Macaw named Mithra
She wasn’t very nice, but she tolerated me holding her. She only knew how to say one word. “Apple.” She would say it with different inflections like, Apple? Apple! Apple.
A Triton Cockatoo named Angelo
His name was Angel when we got him but we already had a Cockatoo with that name. Angelo was mean as hell. Cockatoos don’t do well in captivity and this bastard had a particularly rough life before getting to us. He was plucked from the neck down, resembling a fuzzy grey football. He had a bum wing and a crooked foot. We were buds.

Angelo did all the typical Cockatoo screaming as well as said his name and greeted people with an enthusiastic, “Hi!” He also had a wretched “cough.” He was fine but the story is his original owner had lung cancer.

When I got back from college, Angelo was upset with me. He would no longer tolerate me. I’d visit him at my parents’ house from time to time and try to talk to him. Once in a while, I think we would remember the old days. Angelo died a few years ago. He was forty-something years old. I do not have any photos of him.
Quaker Parakeets Mac and Ada
I was maybe 14 when we got Mac. He came to live with us shortly after being weened off the swill we fed our baby birds. They were so messy. My mom and I asked the breeder if she had had the chick sexed to determine its gender. This is typically done with DNA testing. She assured us, however, that such an expensive test was not necessary and showed us how hanging a nail over his back from a string swung to-and-fro rather than side-to-side. He was definitely a boy. He never did lay eggs, so I guess the enchantress was right!

Named for my favorite computer, Mac was my best bud. He’d hang out with me, poop down the back of my shirt, play peekaboo and chat up a storm. He used to bite people and say, “No! Don’t bite!” then he would whisper under his breath, “You little shit.” I suspect Mom had something to do with that. He also reminded me constantly that he was a “good, good boy” and gave kisses. What a little dude.

After Hannah and I were married, we brought Ada, another Quaker, home to live with Mac. Our hope was that Ada, named for a character in the book, The Poisonwood Bible, would give Mac some company as our lives got busier. Unfortunately, after our daughter, Isabel, was born, I began to harbor some guilt for not giving them as much attention and we gave them away to another home. I regret that decision. If Mac is still alive, he is about 25 years old. An old fella in Quaker years.

Our parrots were different than our dopey dogs and evil cats. I always felt that when I was looking into their eyes, that they were looking back at me, wondering if I was an intelegent creature, if I had emotions, or if I had a soul – like them.

These days I don’t keep parrots. I really want to. But I don’t think I could, in good conscious, support the parrot trade. I just don’t think a creature that intelligent, should be kept as pets. Maybe I’d be okay with adopting one or fostering when the kids get older.

Enjoy these photos of my old birb friends. I wish I had more but this was all that I could find.