A couple of years ago I had a friend come and stay at my apartment.  As a bird owner, it is always a good idea to make sure that your guests are ok with a feathered house companion.  Some people are not.  But she was up for it, and proved it by bringing Philip a toy that he still loves to this day. 

In the course of her visit, she got to observe “normal” life with me and Philip.  She saw our daily routine and he was comfortable enough (a compliment to her!) to be his normal self.  She commented that owning a parrot was like having a toddler and a teenager all rolled into one.  My reply was, “Yes.  For. The. Rest. Of. My. Life.”  Parrots don’t grow up and go away to college. 

My life changed drastically when I brought Philip home.  The “toddler” part meant parrot proofing my house as much as possible, putting down rugs to protect the carpet from his food, scrubbing walls, dusting relentlessly, vacuuming at least twice a day, and investing in a life time supply of vinegar for cleaning up messes.  And that doesn’t even include food preparation, cage cleaning, and toy buying and making.  And nothing was safe from his beak.  I have some interesting holes in two sets of blinds that got a little too close to his cage.  It looks like someone took a can opener to them. 

The teenager part … well, Philip came complete with all the moods.  Teenagers have a tendency to shoot off their mouths when they are cranky.  Philip would take it out on my fingers.  So, I got very good at recognizing the difference between mood #14 and mood #201, and what it meant for the sanctity of my digits.  And, he was just as protective of his cage as a teenager is of their bedroom.  I haven’t had a teenager myself, but I wonder if a parent might react the same way I did:  “Hey, you ungrateful so and so, I GAVE all of this to you!”   

And like a parent probably wonders at least once in their parenthood, I wondered from time to time what on earth I had gotten myself into. 

I think it is a part of human nature to form some kind of expectation of what a new experience is going to be like.  As we grow in life experiences, we may learn to keep an emotionally neutral stance, but I think that is a protective mode not a natural one.  I certainly had expectations with Philip, and even more so, dreams.  I envisioned a lot of things.  Some of what happened went way beyond what I envisioned – such as being able to communicate with him so effectively in a non-verbal way.  My connection with him was even deeper than I had imagined it could be.  But regardless of whether we are positively or negatively surprised by the reality of the experience, it is almost guaranteed that we are going to be wrong about something.  The thing that caught me off guard the most was the amount of time, money, and emotional energy required to take care of him. 

And he was changing.  When an African Grey reaches age two to three, they start to transition into becoming an active part of the flock.  When they are a baby, the motto is “not seen and not heard”.  In other words, babies keep a low profile so they don’t get eaten.  Once they become an active part of the flock, the motto becomes “SEEN AND HEARD”.  Now it becomes crucial to have the rest of the flock around you, to vocalize and keep in constant contact.  A moment of separation and silence could be the last one you experience. 

Obviously, in my apartment, he was in no real danger of being eaten, but the instincts were still there.  And what that translated into was a motor mouth Velcro bird.  And he never quite understood that my apartment was a lot smaller than the jungle, so he didn’t need to yell so loud.   

In a new experience, there are often the occurrences for which there are no expectations because you had no idea they were coming.

But in the midst of all of the growing and adjusting and emotional recalibrating, Philip and I had other things to think about.  Moving, for example.  Not just across town.  Across the country.  This was going to be a huge undertaking.  One of the top priorities for me was to find a new vet.  Knowing that I had a good place to take Philip and potentially board him was a big deal.  So, on my first scouting trip to South Carolina, I had a list of vets to visit.  Not potential apartments or houses.  Vets.  I might live in a cardboard box, but Philip would be well taken care of. 

And I found one.  It turned out to be a master stroke by the God Who Plans Ahead.