Gidget
Gidget is one of the 20-some-odd studio parrots. He's a beautiful bird--full, glossy red feathers interspersed with iridescent blue, plump.
Gidget hates me.
Gidget hates everyone. It's unfortunate, a lot of the birds in there are badly socialized and will bite you as soon as accept food from you, but this fellow--he is evil incarnate.
He likes to sit in his cage (alone, because he won't tolerate a pairing) and bounce up and down on his branch with fury/frustration/manic joy whenever he sees me come into the room, no doubt entertaining thoughts of burying his pointy little beak into my fingers (a feat that he attempts many, many times each day).
Sometimes he will pull one of his dishes free and toss it to the bottom of his cage, which begins a game called "Distract Gidget To One Corner of His Cage Long Enough To Be Able To Get a Hand In, Grab His Dish, And Not Sustain Wounds." It isn't a very fun game. It's always exciting, though. I have the option of using leather gloves, but let it be said that these would only help in not feeling the immediate pointyness, but would do nothing for the incredible pressure behind a beak and the tiny area on which it has clamped.
Red Lories can talk, though apparently different bird books have varying opinions on this matter. My boss's favorite lory, Ducky, whispers "come here" to her every time she takes him out to kiss and love on him. Gidget can talk, too, more so than any of the other lories in the studio (not to say they don't scream and squawk), though until recently I wasn't able to understand what he was saying. His talking is fairly mutilated, more like muttering, and it sounds like someone speaking through a fan.
One day last week I was strategizing how I was going to grab his dish from the opposite side of the cage from the door before he realized I was unprotected. Gidget was glaring at me with his tiny, intelligent little eye, snapping at my fingers, and hopping up and down in his infinite evil glee as he watched me. He was growling something over and over when I finally realized what it was he was saying:
"Gidget?"
"Gidget?"
"Whoosaprettybird?"
"Gidget? Whoosapretty bird? Is he a pretty bird? Yes he is!"
"Gidget?"
__________________
Now that I'm working in the weekends, all days have kind of blended together. Especially since I can sleep late on some weekdays and usually have to get up early on Saturdays and Sundays. Really strange feeling. This must be a shade of what having a night job might feel like.
Got a couple more Protomen pics up on Flickr, though they've been there for a little while. I don't know why this is showing up bold. Is it?
Gidget hates me.
Gidget hates everyone. It's unfortunate, a lot of the birds in there are badly socialized and will bite you as soon as accept food from you, but this fellow--he is evil incarnate.
He likes to sit in his cage (alone, because he won't tolerate a pairing) and bounce up and down on his branch with fury/frustration/manic joy whenever he sees me come into the room, no doubt entertaining thoughts of burying his pointy little beak into my fingers (a feat that he attempts many, many times each day).
Sometimes he will pull one of his dishes free and toss it to the bottom of his cage, which begins a game called "Distract Gidget To One Corner of His Cage Long Enough To Be Able To Get a Hand In, Grab His Dish, And Not Sustain Wounds." It isn't a very fun game. It's always exciting, though. I have the option of using leather gloves, but let it be said that these would only help in not feeling the immediate pointyness, but would do nothing for the incredible pressure behind a beak and the tiny area on which it has clamped.
Red Lories can talk, though apparently different bird books have varying opinions on this matter. My boss's favorite lory, Ducky, whispers "come here" to her every time she takes him out to kiss and love on him. Gidget can talk, too, more so than any of the other lories in the studio (not to say they don't scream and squawk), though until recently I wasn't able to understand what he was saying. His talking is fairly mutilated, more like muttering, and it sounds like someone speaking through a fan.
One day last week I was strategizing how I was going to grab his dish from the opposite side of the cage from the door before he realized I was unprotected. Gidget was glaring at me with his tiny, intelligent little eye, snapping at my fingers, and hopping up and down in his infinite evil glee as he watched me. He was growling something over and over when I finally realized what it was he was saying:
"Gidget?"
"Gidget?"
"Whoosaprettybird?"
"Gidget? Whoosapretty bird? Is he a pretty bird? Yes he is!"
"Gidget?"
__________________
Now that I'm working in the weekends, all days have kind of blended together. Especially since I can sleep late on some weekdays and usually have to get up early on Saturdays and Sundays. Really strange feeling. This must be a shade of what having a night job might feel like.
Got a couple more Protomen pics up on Flickr, though they've been there for a little while. I don't know why this is showing up bold. Is it?