Speaking of ridiculously cute bird pictures, which you probably didn’t realize we were, I feel it’s only fair to give equal time to our other pampered psittacine personage, a green-cheeked conure whose official moniker is Cayce, but to whom I fondly refer as Mr. Stupid.
Please don’t worry, he isn’t offended by this.
He is not a bright bird.
I guess that’s kind of the point.
Also, I’m fairly sure he doesn’t speak much English, aside from the all-important phrases “go poop,” “bad bird,” and “come here,” which is the only expression he can actually produce on his own, and which is remarkably amusing when muttered sleepily from a covered cage in the middle of the night.
The bird DOES know how to relax, however.
Now isn’t that just priceless?
If you did not go “Awwwwwwwwww” when you saw that, then you are probably not actively conscious, or else you’ve seen “Birdemic: Shock and Terror” one too many times, and just can’t get past the convincing CGI.
I can’t blame you for that.
What actually happens here, though, is that my boyfriend grabs Mr. Stupid and sticks him underneath the bottom of his shirt. The conure employs the fabric of the shirt (and boyfriend’s manly chest hair) as a kind of ladder, and within seconds, voilà – out he pops, like a bashful teenager tucked into a sleeping bag at a slumber party.
He will remain there for quite some time if you let him, joyfully rubbing his head on that nice warm neck, and occasionally sinking his beak into it tenderly, because he will not be IGNORED, dagnabit.
It’s a many feathered thing.