ISSN 1492-8132
Issue Number 53,
Copyright © 2002
All rights reserved,
No reprints without permission

It's here! Living With A Parrot features Wilhelm Kiesselbach's wonderful parrot management articles, together with new material and some great photos, too! Learn lessons garnered in a lifetime of experience working with birds. Get your copy for only $9.99, at the Bird eBooks page.

Remember, when you buy our ebooks, you are helping us to maintain our online presence and allowing us to keep helping pet bird owners. That means you can get this useful accessory to your 'birdie-info' bank, and help yourself and other bird owners too, all at the same time!

Learn more about Robirda's Bird eBooks - and how to get your own! - here

Many supplements contain inexpensive ingredients that are incapable of moving from the gut to the blood! Unless the ingredients can pass to the bloodstream, they are useless to your bird.

The 'Essentials' line provides birds with a comprehensive range of vitamins and highly digestible minerals, and comes in a variety of formulas to meet the unique needs in your bird room. The on-food grades also contain essential amino acids to promote a rapid molt, excellent feather growth, and prevent obesity.

All ingredients are specially formulated for maximum absorption for optimal results.

For more info visit birds2grow.com

If you have found help you need in this ezine, please consider joining our sponsors, and help keep Flock Talk and its web home alive and well. Learn how here.

Our next issue is due Sept 15th - until then, may you and your birds enjoy all the best of everything!

Robirda
Sept 1, 2002

Welcome to Robirda's Companion Birds eZine

For breeder or pet bird owners who care.

Feature Article

by R C McDonald
www.robirda.com
Copyright © Sept 2002

Two-Bits came into my life entirely by accident. A friend inherited a pair of canaries, and when I found that they were raising babies for him, I asked if I could come and see them sometime.

"Sure," he replied amiably, "but if you do, you have to promise to take one home, okay?"

I was dubious about that. The problem was my cat, who at eleven years old, was very set in her ways. I knew that she stalked wild birds, although I had never seen her catch one. But after a few days of thought, I decided perhaps I could prevent any accidents, and told him that I would take one of his babies.

Little did I realize that with that small decision I was changing my life forever.

The baby canaries were about a week old the first time I saw them. They were almost entirely naked, with the odd wisp of down sticking up here or there, and a few pin-feathers beginning to push through their skin.

Their beaks seemed as large as the rest of their bodies, and were open wide, creeling with hunger. My friend quietly towed me to the far end of the room, where we would be out of the way and yet still able to see.

It seemed to take no time at all. The parents quickly got down to the business of stuffing those gaping mouths with the fresh food he'd set out, and I was enchanted. Those little mouths seemed to open into bottomless pits! One of the parents would fill up at the food dish, while the other fed. Back and forth they went, tirelessly stuffing any open mouth they could see.

Finally the little mouths closed, and the chicks settled down to sleep and grow. The parents perched side by side on the edge of the nest for a few moments, gazing down. I could practically hear the sigh of relief as they swiped beaks before the hen waded into the nest and fluffed her feathers over her youngsters.

We agreed that I would pick up my chick as soon as they weaned. In the next two weeks, I exhausted every source of information I could think of - including my patient friend! But when the time came, I felt that I could give a canary a good home.

When I arrived at his home on the appointed day he popped the door open with a jovial grin. "Come in!", he cried. "Come in and tell me what you think of them now!"

My eye was caught by one, a beautiful dark bronze, with an orange belly and jaunty orange eyebrows. He immediately left the other youngsters huddled at the back of the cage and bounced over to get a good look at me, craning his neck and peering curiously up. I knew instantly that this was my bird.

After showing me how to hold and handle my bird, he popped it into a small box punched with tiny holes. Handing it to me, he gently but firmly shooed me out the door, telling me to get my little fellow home as soon as possible, while pushing a bag of supplies into my hand.

"Mustn't upset his digestion! Here's instructions, soak seed, nestling food, regular seed - just call me if you have any questions! You can give him all sorts of people food, just stay away from avocado and chocolate. Oh, and rye, canaries are very sensitive to the moulds and such that can grow on it. You two will be fine. Now git!" and he firmly shut the door.

When I got home I checked that the new cage was ready then began to open the box. Too late! As soon as the top started to open he must have readied himself, for he quickly squeezed out and soared off, peeping triumphantly.

But this was not the apartment he'd grown up in; the whole world was changed. This apparently required some thought, and he plopped down on the floor, landing about four inches in front of my astounded cat, who gawked at him in disbelief.

I arrived a split second later while they were still staring, swooped in and grabbed one in each hand. I made sure with a quick glance that I had the canary safe and secure, and then gave the cat a quick shake.

"Don't even think it!" I admonished her sternly and put her down. She gave me one of her best "I knew it was too good to be true" looks and stalked off, her tail in the air, only the little flicks of the tip betraying her offended dignity.

I gazed down at the little feathered ball of luck in my hand and sighed. Safe for now, at least, I thought, and put him in his new cage.

A bent for adventure proved to be standard fare for this little bird. In short order he claimed the entire house as his domain, poking his beak into, through, over, under and behind everything in the place.

We had to be careful where we put our feet, at first; he liked to follow us about, but seemed to think that because we walked, he should too! It took a lot of persistence to convince him to come up off the floor and spy from our shoulders instead.

One day a visiting friend remarked that she'd thought canaries were bigger; he didn't seem much larger than a quarter to her. (At the moment, he was exploring the front of her blouse, nibbling on her buttons.) Another friend giggled back that he was a quarter, all right, that's why he was always putting in his two-bits worth! We all howled at this, and so Two-Bits got his name.

Luckily, my cat had decided that since I seemed to be very territorial about him, she'd best ignore him. Since they were never alone in the same room, in general things were fairly quiet. That is, until Two-Bits developed an appetite for cat-fluff.

Squeaks was a long-haired cat, and in the spring shed copious amounts of fur. When he first arrived Two-Bits could spend hours picking up all the little bits of fluff, and prancing about bragging about his acquisitions. But within a few weeks the weather steadied into midsummer, and she stopped shedding.

I suppose I should have seen it coming. When he couldn't find any fluff laying about, he decided to go straight to the source. He picked his time carefully; Squeaks was sleeping peacefully in a patch of sunshine. Landing on the floor behind her, he boldly walked up, grabbed a beakful, and tugged.

With a wail of protest she awoke, gave me an accusing look, glared at him, looked back at me and heaved an enormous sigh. Slowly, reluctantly, she got to her feet and shook herself - the little brat had grabbed yet another beakful of fur and was still tugging!

Glaring once more, this time at me, she stalked carefully off - and behind her, completely ruining the 'injured dignity' effect, hopped Two-Bits, scolding loudly as if to say "Get back here! I wasn't done yet!"

I'm afraid that I too ruined her dignified exit by howling with laughter at the sight of a canary chasing a cat! I kept a closer eye on Two-Bits when he was out, after that, and eventually he forgot his goal of harvesting cat fluff, being too busy playing with all the other distractions I plyed him with.

Weeds were always a favourite. He best loved all parts of the dandelion. I learned to provide him with half of an entire plant, root and all, sliced down the middle so he could hollow out the inner parts. The green seedheads of the flowers were another favourite, and he carefully ate each clock down to its tasty heart.

Two-Bits loved to sit on the windowsill and check out the great outdoors. It took him next to no time to figure out that 'hard air' (glass) was different from regular air, and you couldn't fly though it. Once he'd wandered along his first window and examined its whole length, I never saw another attempt to fly through a window or a mirror.

Windows were also a favourite place for sunbathing. He would lean back with his tailfeathers spread wide for support, and point his beak straight up, fluffing his feathers well to catch those blissful rays.

I worked at finger training him, and eventually he got so that he would consent to sit on a hand as long as it was holding a treat for him to nibble on. This didn't mean that he wasn't friendly, though!

He was completely free and comfortable with 'his' humans. He loved to play in laps, and cling to the front of shirts and blouses, exploring creases and trying to eat buttons. He'd land on anyone's shoulder, whether he knew them or not, and he adored anybody with lots of hair, which he loved to tunnel through.

Whenever he spotted anyone eating something interesting (almost everything) he would demand a share by landing on a shoulder, grabbing a beakful of hair and giving a quick yank (apparently to be sure he had our attention), then scuttling down the closest arm to the wrist, where he would bounce up and down, loudly demanding a share.

This habit frequently backfired on him; since he rarely did anything at half speed, he often ran right off the arm and into the middle of whatever it was. (Canary feet don't brake too well on human skin.) We soon learned to make certain Two-Bits was locked up if we planned on having any kind of soup, stew, or sauce with dinner!

His favourite music to sing to was the loud and raunchy stuff. Quiet, melodic music would elicit a few trills, but put on some rock 'n roll and Two-Bits came to life!

He'd sit up in his 'office' (an old pair of deer antlers) and do his best to out-sing the music, getting so excited that soon he just couldn't sit still anymore and would swoop into the air, trilling madly and whirling about the room like a miniature hurricane, singing all the while.

"What kind of canary have we got here?" I wondered out loud, and my roomie chuckled. "Isn't it obvious?", she asked. "He thinks he's a Rock'n Roller Canary!"

By the time a year and a half had passed, I had bought, partially tamed, and re-sold half a dozen or so other canaries, trying to find out if Two-Bits was as unusual as he seemed to me to be. He had proved himself to be quite unique, although in general, they all seemed to have far more potential for personality than any of the books I'd read gave them credit for.

But Two-Bits seemed to have that little extra something, and I found myself wondering if his babies would show any of his more unique personality traits. I'd always been interested in genetics. When a child, I alternated between reading horse, dog, and cat stud books while planning my own wishful pairings, and experimenting on the box of bugs under the bed.

Now, twenty-odd years later, I had a project I could really sink my teeth into! After a few months of study, I thought I had a good idea on how to get started. But before I could go out and look for a hen, Two-Bits' breeder once again took a hand. Arriving one day for lunch, he came in the door with a bird and cage in hand.

Setting them on the table, he announced, "There ya go, feed it to the cat if you like, but she's yours!"

Have you ever noticed that some people are impossible to say no to?

She was a lovely red agate, but very flighty, and none of the tricks I'd learned taming other canaries worked with her. In the end I tried the only idea I had left, and clipped her wings. This finally made it possible for me to tame her, but it also put paid to my hopes for a breeding season that year.

You see, canary hens need to fly in order to come into breeding condition. All spring she stood on top of her cage and vainly pumped her shorn stubs, trying single-mindedly to gain enough strength to breed, but that year it would not happen. Talk about learning the hard way!

I admit to experiencing quite a lot of frustration at this point. I had been unsuccessfully looking for bird clubs for almost two years, and my old friend, Two-Bit's breeder, had suddenly passed on not long after our last visit, shortly after he'd brought me the hen.

But finally my persistence paid off, and finally a note came down the moccasin telegraph; there was a meeting that night - was I interested?

With access to a broad collection of bird books, and a full complement of experienced breeders to talk to, at last my questions began to be answered.

By February I had a birdroom complete with box breeding cages, an air filter, and a timer for the lights and radio. I also had two more pairs of canaries, from fellow club members.

The lights were being left on longer and longer, to mimic the lengthening days of the spring. As ten hours of daylight gave way to eleven, then twelve, the males were ceaselessly singing, while the hens seemed always in flight, determinedly readying themselves for nesting.

Two-Bits was no longer inclined to play with us. He had but one thought in his head, and made it quite plain to everyone that this year he was going to be a daddy!

When I found one little hen spending all her time attempting to build a nest, I crossed my fingers, gave her Two-Bits and a nestpan, and sat back to watch. It took her a few days, but suddenly she got the hang of it, and within a few hours they had a nest. She gave it a final touchup, hopped off, and called to Two-Bits.

He was perfectly willing, but had not a clue how to proceed. Every time she presented, he flew over in a fever pitch of excitement and landed, feet first, on top of her. After a few seconds of massaging her back, he'd hop off and crouch on the perch beside her, trilling happily.

The third time he did this, she turned to him, looked him up and down with a jaundiced eyeball, then, using the back of her wing, she whacked him in the beak and knocked him backwards off the perch.

She gazed down at him as he crouched, confused, in the bottom of the cage, then, with a look of satisfaction, removed herself to the far side of the cage. From that moment on, she refused to have anything to do with him.

Bowing to the inevitable, I made Two-Bits move to another cage and left her in sole possession of the nest.

Soon another hen was beginning to build, and once again I tried to breed her with Two-Bits, with no more luck. He gave her exactly the same 'back-walk' he'd used on the first hen, and was received no more enthusiastically. Again I was forced to separate them.

There was now only one hen left. She was slower to come into condition, so I set the pair of them up in a roomy triple breeder, with Two-Bits behind a wire divider, and left him to sing her into condition.

The first pair had hatched out chicks and the second pair's eggs were near to hatching before she indicated that she was ready. By this time Two-Bits was a feathered ball of frustration. He barrelled into her side of the cage when I removed the divider and gave her the same 'back-walk' that had so disgusted my other two hens.

But she did not appear to be upset at his blatant display of his lack of experience; instead, she turned and eyed him thoughtfully. Curious, I settled into a corner of the birdroom to watch.

Sure enough, a while later she led him over to the perch beside her nest and presented. Trilling enthusiastically, he exploded into the air above her - and she leaned forward and grasped the edge of the nest with her beak, hanging suspended between the perch and nest with her tail angled so that he would have no choice but to land in the correct position.

A few seconds later, he fell off her looking surprised, and soon she was ensconced on the nest with him feeding her, while I crossed my fingers and hoped.

My wishes came true, that year. Mrs. Bits was a wise little hen, and educated Two-Bits thoroughly on the responsibilities of raising a family.

Suffice it to say that, thanks to a tiny bird, I now breed at least a few pairs of canaries every year. His blood predominates in many of my better birds, for as I'd suspected, his wonderful personality turned out to be a trait he was capable of passing on to his chicks.

Most are sold directly to the people who will keep them. With their bird they receive food samples, and a care sheet listing the hatch date and band number of their bird, along with my phone number and that of an avian vet. I encourage them to call with questions, and don't regret time spent answering these - if my advice improves even one life, it is worth every minute!

In consequence I sometimes keep hours that some say are "too much to be worth it." To these people I am forced to point out that they have missed a vital fact - I do it because I love it!

Besides, I often get to hear stories from those who buy these bright little personalities, of how my birds have affected their lives in wonderful and positive ways.

My life has achieved a fulfillment I only dreamed of in the days before the advent of Two-Bits. All in all, I can't imagine living any other way.

As Two-Bits would have said, could he talk, "Let's go play!"

R C 'Robirda' McDonald
www.robirda.com/
Copyright © Sept 2002
All rights reserved