African Grey Parrots, Making a Loather a Lover.

By Joey Zeleny

01-23-09

Among my family of pets I have an African Grey named Congo.  He’s a great bird and has become one of the most loved and popular animals in my house.

To give you an idea of the kind of person I am, most of my animals were not bought, but rather given or rescued in one form or another.  My old calico cat Miyu came with a condo I bought and was owned by the lady who used to live there before she passed away. My dog Loopy was brought home from the SPCA when another family’s ten year old kid who was teasing every animal in the shelter took an interest in her.  I even ended up with a ball python because the pet store owner had no idea what to feed the poor thing and he was nearly starved to death.  The only pet I think I have ever had that wasn’t a rescue was the cat my wife got before we were dating.

Then there is Congo.

Congo has never left my family since my grandparents got him around 25 years ago.  My grandparents passed him over to my uncle, but my uncle realized he wouldn’t be home enough to give him the attention he needed and so he sent him back to them.  A few years later, my mom asked for him and away he went down to my mom’s in the bay area.  My mom got remarried to a guy who hated the bird, who was now biting and drawing blood.  So in the course of a conversation my mom offered him to me.  Well I had wanted Congo for a long time.  I was feeling bad that he kept getting bounced on place to the other, so I was down there with my Grandparents that weekend to pick him up.

Now I can say that I think everyone who had interacted with my African grey parrot ninja at this point lost their fair share of blood.  My grandfather would tell about Congo biting him three times up his right hand before he could flinch.  I remember my dad yelling when his finger met the birds beak.  And to this day he still says OW in my mom’s voice.  I think I have the deepest wound of everyone on my left thumb where he nailed me as a teenager.
When we pulled up, my mother’s husband was outside waiting with him in his cage and all his supplies in a box.  He was very happy to help us load him up and we made our one and a half hour drive back up to Sacramento.  The entire ride he was quiet and I was petting him on his back. When we got back to my condo I put him in the spot I had setup for him in the living room and I think it took him two days to get over the shock of yet another move.  For having his wings clipped he traveled a lot it seemed.

He was nothing less than a feathered terrorist.  He would taunt the cat, scare kids, and scream and cuss profanities in other people’s voices.  At night he would whistle and yell “come here” until you gave him attention.  I could have easily lost my temper and had him for dinner on more than one occasion.  Instead I just kept making loving noises at him and giving him peanuts and treats.

Eventually the taunting stopped and whenever I would walk in a room he would puff up and start making kissy noises.  The process was ongoing and day after day I showed that bird love.

Last year the family was over at my house for Christmas and Congo was in his cage in the living room.  The conversation went over to him and the stories of his exploits were filling the room.  The whole thing started because my grandfather made a comment about how quiet he was being.  So I opened his cage, put out my arm and smiled as the family watched in horror, sure I was about to lose an ear as me made his way to my shoulder.  He made his happy noises the whole way up and when he reached my cheek he began gently preening me. I had a room full of the most talkative people you will ever meet in complete awe and silence.  There he was, this crazy beaked psycho, just being content and contradictory to everyone’s experiences. By the end of the day, Congo had visited everyone and was pet more than the dog.  My mom even said she would be happy to take him back if I didn’t want him anymore.  I just laughed.

He was loved, he was nurtured, and more importantly, he was home.