Fine-feathered friend

AnnaMaria has a history that I long to know. She’s my blue and yellow macaw, and I’m told that she’s in her 40s. She’s been with me about two years and was in at least three other families before me, the most recent one for 16 years.

Macaws can live to be over 80, and some even make it past 100, often being passed down through human generations in a will. Parrots can no longer be legally imported into the United States, but back in the ‘60s, when AnnaMaria hatched, there was no such ban.

Thus I wonder: Was she taken from the wild and shipped from her native northern South America to Florida or some other port of entry? How old was she when she was captured? Where has she been during her 40-plus years? How did she get to North Idaho? What kinds of people has she known? How easy or tough has her life been?

But she’s not talking. Well, that’s not exactly true. She talks a lot – I can identify almost 20 different words, but few of them actually convey a message. “Cracker” means she wants some of whatever I’m eating. “Hello” means she’s in timeout and wants forgiveness, promising to be a better bird if let free. But there are no tell-tale words that give a hint as to her past.

AnnaMaria doesn’t fly. She doesn’t show any inclination to, either. I don’t know if it’s because she never has and doesn’t know how, or perhaps she’s not physically able. She has beautiful and strong flight feathers now, but perhaps her wing feathers were kept cut in her past.

She does not have well-developed flight muscles, but again is that the cause or a result? Previously she lived on a diet high in peanuts and sunflower seeds, the parrot equivalent of feeding the kids at Baskin-Robbins most meals. As a probable result, she had liver disease when I first got her. Did that damage her muscles, or are they underdeveloped from disuse? I wish that I knew.

With most parrots it is difficult to know the sex of a bird without a DNA test. The previous owner had heard that AnnaMaria had once laid an egg but wasn’t sure. Last spring, she laid an egg. So there’s one mystery, at least, that I don’t have to wonder about.

But how many other eggs? Any actual broods? Why no eggs for 16 years, then one after a year with me? Does she think of me as her mate? Does that mean that she’s happier now? Or is she frustrated, trying to start a family with this dumb human?

Dogs are great pets, but they are usually only around for 12 or 14 years. They wear their emotions on their collars. It’s not often hard to discern what sort of life they’ve had in their past. I’ve never wondered in this way about a past with any of my dog companions.

It just seems odd to me. AnnaMaria has been having all sorts of experiences for more than 40 years – a lifetime not all that much shorter than mine – and I can’t know any of it.

I guess that it’s OK, though. We were kind of thrown together, actually on a trial basis to see how it would work out, and we hit it off immediately. There was no going back after that first day. My life changed, but I had time anticipating the change and making a decision to welcome the change. She was uprooted without warning – again. How traumatic was it? How many times? Why?

Lots of questions. But she is a great companion. She goes to work with me most days. If it’s not too hot or cold, she’ll sit patiently on the steering wheel while I go shopping or get something to eat. In the evening she’ll climb down from her armoire-sized cage and waddle over to cuddle in my lap, often falling asleep to my preening the top of her head.

She’s also sassy, often talking back or scolding me for inattention, or some slight of parrot etiquette. She’d never bite me to cause damage, but she nips at my skin if I go to move her or put her back on her cage if she’s not ready. And if I leave the house in the morning without her, she screams macaw swear words after me.

She’s quite a gal. She’s beautiful, but she can be moody and angry. She’s often temperamental and unpredictable. She’s affectionate and demands attention when she wants it, or, on a whim, requires that I leave her alone. Actually, she doesn’t leave a whole lot of reasons why I’d need a wife. And if I’ve had enough of her, I just latch her cage door shut and leave.