My son is working out of town, so I’m taking care of his chickens, plants, and cockatoo from hell. Harley the cockatoo is always excited to see me because he’s going to get a nice piece of finger for dinner. He stations himself directly between his water and food bowls because my fingers are going to have to reach in to grab both to fill them up, and he wants to be optimally placed for his attack. I think he’s misnamed. He should be named Rommel or Patton or Sun Tsu because he’s obviously thought over this strategy for awhile. He probably sits around all day just planning his attack for when I come in the afternoon.
I was able to distract him enough to keep my fingers intact while changing out the water but, while changing out the food, he bit deeply into my thumb and removed a rather large triagular-shaped piece. Little bastard. I had to go into Winn Dixie and do some grocery shopping with a bloody thumb slowly dripping onto my clothing.
Son says that he’s always afraid when I call that I’ll tell him that I went to his house and found that poor little Harley has gone to bad bird heaven sometime during the day. Grrrrr. I couldn’t be that lucky.
Maybe I should play him some music so that he could dance himself into exhaustion.