Heather has a cockatiel. His name is Buddy, and he really enjoys flying around the house and spending time with humans. We try to keep him locked in his cage, but he learned how to pick the lock and get out. All his little parakeet friends stay in the cage, but he comes out and visits with human friends.
His visiting is usually not unpleasant. He sits and stares in politely on the conversation. Sometimes, however, he gets bored and feels ignored, and then he sets up such a racket of whistling or squawking that he is often obliged to be chased away.
Worse than that, no matter if he is quiet and polite, he will constantly be preening himself and dropping little bits of feathers here and there. When he shakes, his dust particles scatter, and we can see them floating about. It is gross. But that isn't all. He is not potty-trained. You wouldn't expect a cockatiel to BE potty trained, but most cockatiels don't have free range of a house, either.
I have often begged Heather to get rid of the bird. He is loud, he is obnoxious, he is unsanitary, he makes cleaning harder, etc, but she will not be budged. "The kids would be so disappointed. Rachel gave me the bird, and I can't get rid of him - she would be heartbroken."
The story I am about to relate happened just yesterday
Heather and I were making supper. Buddy was sitting on the dining room chair. The kids were playing outside at the basketball court. The sun was shining. The wind was blowing. It was a beautiful day.
"The kids always are terrified that Buddy will fly away if we let him outside, but I am convinced he would love it, and I know he wouldn't fly off because he likes us so much." Heather was voicing an opinion she had often voiced before when the kids freaked because Buddy flew near an open door. I glanced toward the bird.
"Uh, huh."
"I'm thinking of just catching him and setting him outside. I'm sure he won't fly away."
Something about her tone informed me she actually meant it this time (probably because it was beautiful outside, like I said), but she didn't mean it enough to do it herself. "I can catch him for you," I offered.
"Ok," she said. I scratched the bird's head, and then grabbed him gently. I expected him to bite me, and I wasn't disappointed. I hollered and hopped toward the door. Heather opened it for me and we stepped onto the back stoop. I set the creature on the rail, and he shook himself indignantly. "There, see, Buddy?" Heather crooned. "It's not so bad." We watched him. The sun shone. It was warm. "I think he likes it," Heather said.
I agreed. He did seem to like it. He opened his wings to stretch (I probably cramped them a bit). He gave an uplifting flap. He became airborne. A misgiving struck me, and a thread of a thought flitted through my brain, 'It's windy out here...' and then Buddy was lifted, lifted, lifted, and was gone. He squawked when the wind first caught his wings, and he squawked again, after he'd been carried out of my view, and I heard him for several seconds, crying in alarm as the wind swept him over the housetop and away.
We haven't seen him since.
We still don't know what to tell the kids.
And so if I were going to be completely honest with you, I would have begun this post with,
"Heather had a cockatiel once not so very long ago. His name was Buddy..."
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