This past weekend I was delegated the task of babysitting our neighbours two birds. Yup, birds. Although it would have been extremely amusing for me, our neighbours insist that the babysitting be done at their house, not mine. This might be due to the two cats. Not sure. Just the visual of the cats lying on top of the bird cages waiting for someone, anyone to open up the Kentucky Feathered Cage just kills me (does not amuse said neighbours. At all.)
I must admit to a small pathological fear of birds. Really, I don’t mind them as long as they don’t flap around and get in my hair or sit on my shoulder and try to peck my eyes out. Don’t even get me started on flying poop. Apart from the fear I have gotten used to and bonded with their Crazy Ass Woman Hater bird – Crackers. All other times I have babysat ole Crack Head I always feel bad for the darn thing being in the house all alone with no one to squawk at. This being said I always make a point of turning on the radio during the day and doing the “Pretty Bird” talk whenever I go do the food and water runs. Despite my efforts the bird always just hisses at me and will never come out of the cage (probably has nothing to do with the two pounds of cat hair hanging off me.) This Christmas, Crackers lobbied his family and pled his case for companionship. Dear family: “If you people keep going on hockey road trips and holidays and can’t take me with you I insist you bring in a friend. No, not a cat. They piss me off and seriously, they lick themselves. I would like another bird. Particularly one less beautiful than I. If you don’t get me someone to talk to I will promptly grab a stick, put a paper towel full of food at the end and leave. Vamoose. I’m going into the wild.” Cracky’s mom and dad promptly got him a friend. Great for Crackers. Bad for the babysitter. The new edition to the National Geographic scene looks exactly like Crackers! I can’t tell them apart. So on my first food and water run this weekend I open up the Alpha Bird’s cage first and low and behold the thing hops on my hand and walks up my arm to my shoulder. What? I don’t get it. This bird does not like women and certainly does not like me. It’s probably showing off for the new kid in town, Popcorn. So I do the water and food thing and then proceed to open Poppy’s cage to do the same and almost have a panic attack – what if they switch cages on me when I am not looking. Shit. Better put Cracky in the cage and then do Poppy. Good plan. Once I have foiled the Bird Babysitter Evasion Plan I do the food and water in the other cage. Strangest thing. Our friends told us Popcorn loves chicks and is super friendly. Not so much? Whats going on? Popcorn gives me the evil sidways look and won’t come out. I think my neigbours switched the birds on me and now I am concerned that I don’t know who is who. What if they come home and think I have messed up their pets? I spend the rest of the weekend suffering with a Bird Identification Crisis and call them both “pretty chicken” in the most sing-songy, pretty bird voice I can. Now that the neighbours have come home I am waiting for the phone to ring with “What the hell did you do to the birds?” What can I say? Would it have been to much to ask for you guys to get a bird of a different feather? Like BLUE.
