A preamble to add context in re: other posts of mine: I brought home two clipped green-cheeked conures four days ago. I can’t stand the idea of birds in cages, especially healthy, lively ones, so they have been free for the most part as of yesterday, against all advice—I simply feel ethics trumps overly-cautious when dealing with captive animals. Their diet has improved drastically (fruit, veg, TOP) and they have been moved from a 9pm to 9am quasi-dark/noisy schedule to a 7 then 6 then 5pm to 6am completely dark/silent schedule. The parrotlet is fine with all of this, if not overjoyed, in case anyone is wondering
Since I brought them home, the conures have been a delight. Stepping-up, hanging out on the shoulders, helping/hindering me prep their food. One dances and allows me to hold him on his back, the other has had a tenderness towards me that leaves me on the verge of tears. They’ve been talking to me, happy with me, in all honesty: being more stereotypically ‘parrot-like’ in a positive sense than my dearest parrotlet will probably ever be (the sweet, loving, shoulder munchkin that she is… My word, I love that little bird).
Later today everything suddenly went south with the conures. Neither will step up, one viciously attacks me instead (if I attempt to offer a step-up to the other, she moves away while her mate runs from wherever to attack me—just this morning they both would fight to step-up to me first). It is such a drastic change from the previous days (I was almost prepared to post yesterday about how amazing I was finding the green-cheek experience).
What a maniacal world these birds bring
I suppose I just felt the need to write this out in order to feel better. The bigger bird bit me so viciously on the neck earlier I thought I was going to begin crying while remaining composed outwardly in order to get him back on his perch and get him a stupid grape.
I know four days in is no place to begin worrying about behavior, especially when I have been guilty of such things as vacuuming, misting, and paying a lot more direct attention to a little fruitcake of a parrotlet in their midst. (For shame! Selfsame parrotlet probably did more damage to my epidermis during our introduction many moons ago than these conures will ever do!) Though I suppose one needs to vent this stuff like so much morning poop in order to remain content with the mania, nonsense, and ultimate compassion we’ve chosen to endure when bringing these whip-smart, emotionally complex, magical beings into our polluted lives.
I will rest hoping for a better tomorrow, one in which one’s self is forgiven for the crimes of a previous day--and fingers are once again viewed as a perch and not a bludgeon.
Thanks for reading, if you endured