Progress!

I've been trying to get my budgies used to my hand in their cage: talking softly to them, moving slowly and deliberately, not reacting when they freak out. The ultimate goal, of course, is to hand-train them to step up onto my finger so I can take them out for free flight and return them safely to their cage.

Today, I took a little millet spray (their favorite treat) on a string and held the string between my fingers so they could kind of reach the millet, but it wasn't very comfortable from the perch. Kiwi, in particular, just couldn't contain himself; he had to have that millet! Pretty soon he was perched happily on my finger, flinging millet everywhere. Calypso couldn't handle being left out. He (she?--not sure yet!) tried to move onto a little branch jutting from the perch, but I slowly moved my hand until he had to step up if he wanted to keep eating too.

So, after only a week, I had two budgies perching obliviously on my hand, devouring millet like there was no tomorrow. Woo-hoo! The picture above shows the hungry birds. I'm sorry about the quality; it is a tiny portion of a picture Amy took from about six feet away.

Unfortunately, toward the end of this session, the perch I was partly leaning my hand on shifted, and they freaked out a bit. Still, I think we made definite progress tonight. It won't be long before I can let them out to poop on the rest of our bedroom.

If you can't beat 'em...

I'd like to be able to say that I'm such a loving, sensitive guy that I just naturally want what my wife wants. The truth is, as politicians are so fond of saying, much more "nuanced." That is to say, what I really want is what I want which, hard as it may be to believe, often differs ever so slightly from what she wants. You know, kind of like the slight difference between positive and negative poles on a magnet.

Perhaps some examples are in order. To me, a clean room means everything in its place--nothing on the floor or laying on the couch. To Amy, picking up toys and clothes is kind of beside the point; a clean room means scrubbing the carpet until it's clean at the molecular level. To Amy, a really yummy food would be something made from beans--hummus, bean burritos, lentil soup. To me, beans just give me gas, which, for the record, Amy does not like. To me, bicycling is all about the pace, slowing down to enjoy life, looking around, breathing in fresh air. To Amy, bicycling is more about the sport, feeling the burn, kicking that trail's butt. These are just a few examples, but I hope they help illustrate the surprising variations in our life perspectives.

(And, yes, I know three paragraphs is a long way into a humble blog post without actually getting to the point. If you read more books instead of watching so much TV, your attention wouldn't be wandering yet.)

Anyway, one of these minor disparities happens to involve animals. I love animals. I love to watch the birds fly around, the fish swim around, the cats caper around. I love that deer and bears and things are out there. Nature shows are what I miss the most from the days when I had TV reception. When it comes to pets, I'm not even sure I believe in them, taking the Navajo perspective that domesticating animals is a little unnatural. If I must have pets, fish seem pretty good. I feed them and watch them. Pretty.

Amy loves animals too. She loves to domesticate them, feed them, train them to do tricks, and generally experience the satisfaction of caring for them in a master-pet relationship. Amy loves scouring the online Humane Society listings; and if it wouldn't send us over the brink of bankruptcy, she would probably bring home a new rescued animal each week. Her idea of good pets are things that breath.

Now, I suspect that you, my clever reader (See what not watching TV for a few paragraphs will do for your IQ?), have spotted the teensy-weensy difference between my love of animals and Amy's. Of course, this is where my sensitivity and loving nature kick in and cause me to graciously accept my wife's love of animals in our home. Or, to use the more nuanced explanation, this is where I give up because this woman is just a heck of a lot more stubborn than I am (not to mention darn cute!).

To date, we have one dog, one cat (down from three), and two guinea pigs. Recently, I lost my mind and actually expressed some mild enthusiasm (I believe by only passing out on the floor for five minutes this time) for the concept of obtaining more pets. As you might expect from one of my loving, sensitive nature, my motives were not entirely altruistic: I have become fascinated with birds. Now, birds have always interested me to a certain extent; and I have no doubt that a few well-placed bird feeders on the back porch would probably satisfy my bird watching needs were it not for the fact that I might feel some degree of self-reproach from attracting the pretty birdies to their death under the slashing claws of our cat, who has already considerably thinned the neighborhood squirrel population.

So, with one little budgie-sized chink in my anti-pet defenses, a flood of possibilities has burst through, washing away my usual objections. Now we are actively considering personal rodent companions (i.e., gerbilish animals) for each of our four children for Christmas, which is better than personal cell phones at least; a new puppy somewhere in my wife's future; and, yes, perhaps a cheery little budgerigar for the papa. On the bright side, we might be able to charge admission for the neighborhood children to visit.

It just goes to show what happens when you let down your guard a little. Or maybe I'm more sensitive and loving than I thought. Nah. If you can't beat 'em, you might as well join 'em.