Kirby cracks me up
I was on the computer this morning when I heard my bird chirp. This is nothing new; Kirby will chirp at anything and anyone, especially if he hears a noise. What was unusual was the sound of it--not faraway, as it would be if he were in my bedroom on the opposite side of the house; and not nearby, as if he were on the railing in our two-story foyer, his favorite place to perch and the first place he heads if my door is open and he's given the chance to flee.
Curious, I got up and went upstairs. No, Kirby was not on the railing. As I climbed I could see him walking slowly in the hallway. Aha. That was his manner of escape.
Because of the bird, I cannot leave my bedroom door open all the way. He *will* escape and spend the day on the railing, or, worse, on top of this wicker shelving unit in the foyer which houses my contribution to our house of collectibles. (Guess what--they're little houses.) Not only does he like to chew on the shelf, but he'll do what birds "do" best. I have found authentic but not scale model bird droppings on at least one house. And, as the series has been discontinued altogether, he quite possibly has ruined the building. I have yet to try to clean it, but it was discovered recently.
I also cannot close my bedroom door all the way because it will get far too cold in the winter and far too warm in the summer. I got, as a gift, a plastic lobster named Orlando, and I use him as my doorstop. He works wonderfully. He worked even better when we still had our dog, Gizmo, because with the lobster jammed between the door frame and the door, there was no way Gizmo could lock himself into my room when he'd gone inside to bother the bird.
Gizmo and Kirby loved to tease each other. Gizmo would be laying on the floor, and Kirby would fly onto the carpet and walk over to him. It was a game between them to see how close Kirby could get before Gizmo got up and started chasing him.
Once Gizmo died, Kirby stopped flying onto the floor. It was as if he had no reason to do it anymore. Now, time has passed, and Kirby has started exploring again. To my chagrin, he'd kept it to my bedroom, climbing up onto bags and piles of dirty clothes and leaving his calling card.
Today it was different.
Kirby had gotten brave enough to not just fly onto my floor, but walk out of my room. I found him down the hall from my door, just passing our middle bedroom and coming toward the hall bathroom. He even went to the bathroom, which cracked me up--it took him fourteen years, but he's finally learned to use the toilet! I thought. Well, no. He came right out and walked over to my parents' bedroom two feet away. He walked inside and padded over to the big bed where my mother likes to sleep, and will occasionally take Kirby as a visitor. He waited, as if to hear her voice calling him to come up and say hello, but she wasn't there. He then ventured into the master bath, briefly, just in case she happened to be washing her face. Then he meandered back into the hallway, and back into my bathroom, before settling beneath the grandfather clock on the short wall between the bath and middle bedroom. That is where I picked him up to take him home.
Curious, I got up and went upstairs. No, Kirby was not on the railing. As I climbed I could see him walking slowly in the hallway. Aha. That was his manner of escape.
Because of the bird, I cannot leave my bedroom door open all the way. He *will* escape and spend the day on the railing, or, worse, on top of this wicker shelving unit in the foyer which houses my contribution to our house of collectibles. (Guess what--they're little houses.) Not only does he like to chew on the shelf, but he'll do what birds "do" best. I have found authentic but not scale model bird droppings on at least one house. And, as the series has been discontinued altogether, he quite possibly has ruined the building. I have yet to try to clean it, but it was discovered recently.
I also cannot close my bedroom door all the way because it will get far too cold in the winter and far too warm in the summer. I got, as a gift, a plastic lobster named Orlando, and I use him as my doorstop. He works wonderfully. He worked even better when we still had our dog, Gizmo, because with the lobster jammed between the door frame and the door, there was no way Gizmo could lock himself into my room when he'd gone inside to bother the bird.
Gizmo and Kirby loved to tease each other. Gizmo would be laying on the floor, and Kirby would fly onto the carpet and walk over to him. It was a game between them to see how close Kirby could get before Gizmo got up and started chasing him.
Once Gizmo died, Kirby stopped flying onto the floor. It was as if he had no reason to do it anymore. Now, time has passed, and Kirby has started exploring again. To my chagrin, he'd kept it to my bedroom, climbing up onto bags and piles of dirty clothes and leaving his calling card.
Today it was different.
Kirby had gotten brave enough to not just fly onto my floor, but walk out of my room. I found him down the hall from my door, just passing our middle bedroom and coming toward the hall bathroom. He even went to the bathroom, which cracked me up--it took him fourteen years, but he's finally learned to use the toilet! I thought. Well, no. He came right out and walked over to my parents' bedroom two feet away. He walked inside and padded over to the big bed where my mother likes to sleep, and will occasionally take Kirby as a visitor. He waited, as if to hear her voice calling him to come up and say hello, but she wasn't there. He then ventured into the master bath, briefly, just in case she happened to be washing her face. Then he meandered back into the hallway, and back into my bathroom, before settling beneath the grandfather clock on the short wall between the bath and middle bedroom. That is where I picked him up to take him home.