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aearwenThe kids (L&L) have been leaving the bedroom door open today, and I have had the pleasure of hearing a happy bird chirping and talking away. They have a cockatiel named Spooky, who has developed a very cheery little song. In many ways, I've enjoyed having a bird in the house again – it's been about ten years or so since our last parakeet, Ziggy, passed away suddenly. And since we have ourselves a Bengal who fancies herself a Big Bad Hunter, having another bird just doesn't seem to be very likely in the short term.
Ziggy, and his predecessor, Sparky, lived here with a cat too - but that was another situation entirely. Mischief was born to a mother cat who knew, and trained her kittens, to leave caged birds entirely alone. When we first got Mischief, a gorgeous little tortoise-shell, we had Sparky, in a cage, sitting on the diningroom table (which means the little guy was smack-dab in the middle of the house and everything that went on in it). What was more, Sparky was bigger than Mischief was. She was curious, and Sparky used to come to visit her when she'd get close to the cage and pull her whiskers and eyebrows and bite gently at her ear. And he would sing to her, a delightful parakeet song of various and sundry chirps, wolf-whistles, raspberries, and whatever other sounds he had.
For years, whenever Mischief would feel blue or depressed or just not right, she'd get up on the dining table and curl up next to the birdcage, and Sparky would sing to her. She grieved when Sparky died suddenly - as far as I'm concerned proving that birds and animals do have feelings and emotions - and then wouldn't have a single thing to do with the new bird (Ziggy) until that one had grown up a little and started developing a parakeet song of his own.
Mischief lived to the ripe age of 12; and even though Hubby and I dearly love Sadie and her wonderful personality and intelligence, we still miss Mischief. She was special.
And there was a reason for her name...
Ziggy, and his predecessor, Sparky, lived here with a cat too - but that was another situation entirely. Mischief was born to a mother cat who knew, and trained her kittens, to leave caged birds entirely alone. When we first got Mischief, a gorgeous little tortoise-shell, we had Sparky, in a cage, sitting on the diningroom table (which means the little guy was smack-dab in the middle of the house and everything that went on in it). What was more, Sparky was bigger than Mischief was. She was curious, and Sparky used to come to visit her when she'd get close to the cage and pull her whiskers and eyebrows and bite gently at her ear. And he would sing to her, a delightful parakeet song of various and sundry chirps, wolf-whistles, raspberries, and whatever other sounds he had.
For years, whenever Mischief would feel blue or depressed or just not right, she'd get up on the dining table and curl up next to the birdcage, and Sparky would sing to her. She grieved when Sparky died suddenly - as far as I'm concerned proving that birds and animals do have feelings and emotions - and then wouldn't have a single thing to do with the new bird (Ziggy) until that one had grown up a little and started developing a parakeet song of his own.
Mischief lived to the ripe age of 12; and even though Hubby and I dearly love Sadie and her wonderful personality and intelligence, we still miss Mischief. She was special.
And there was a reason for her name...
