Owning parrots should be illegal.
It’s fun and games for the first years…but put up with it for 60 years it grows old really fast.
It’s a pet with the mental abilities and bonding of a four year child…that lives 60 years.
I’ve seen four year olds scream into cups, too. It’s fun!
Cockatoo has just been told that 5 Harvey Wallbangers is the limit and they can’t serve it any more.
That’s my first step in anger management too.
And they’re jealous. Was it This American Life where they talked to some woman who got a parrot in college? Now she has kids and kids whispered “The parrot wants us dead,” and the woman said “Yes, he really does.”
I can’t say I disagree with your first statement, and this as someone who will soon inherit a large macaw.
However, that’s some powerful projection masked as wisdom in the rest of you post. Just because many people are ignorant to the accommodations they will have to make for their new family member (they’re not pets), does not drag everyone else under that umbrella. An animal as conscious and unique as a parrot shouldn’t be removed from their place in nature. On the other hand, I have known Louie his entire life, and for someone to take him away from his family would be equally cruel. What makes parrots so difficult to keep is how easily they mesh with human life. It’s us humans that have so much trouble adapting to their society. Louie will always be my special needs little brother, and I feel a great sorrow for the countless birds who are kept without that understanding.
I knew a cockatoo named Benny-Ben who got bored and completely dismantled a steel doorknob, using his beak like a can opener to cut the metal and then flatten it out into sheets. Those things have beaks like limb loppers - they could take your finger off instantly.
Obliquely related; I have been bitten by one of my cats, a couple of times. Man! That dude has strong jaws and sharp teeth! In a flash, too, just BOOM and he is off, but unbelievable pain.
I guess the point is I think we are weak by “choice.” It is a byproduct of being conscious and able to reflect on our actions.
He is a damaged guy, a rescue. I forgive him. I call him Chompsky.
My lovely cockatiel, Mister Squeaky, loves to sit in a large empty seed dish and chatter away.
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