Our Feathered Friends Are Fine

Dear Readers: When I said most people think of pigeons as rather ordinary birds who mess up statues in the park, bird lovers from everywhere let me know I had greatly underestimated the intelligence of our feathered friends. Here’s what my mail has been like:

Dear Ann Landers: Obviously, you don’t know a thing about birds. First, you were “amazed” when a reader wrote that her parakeet had to be put in the closet whenever she undressed. It seems the sight of her unclothed body turned the bird on and he screeched relentlessly. Now, you’re belittling pigeons. Perhaps you’ve been misled by the assignation “birdbrain.” Here is my story:

I purchased a parrot several years ago, and the bird was a master of obscene language. “Billy’s” previous owner was a saloon keeper. Several bar regulars thought it was fun to teach Billy vulgar phrases in three languages. This made a huge hit with the customers but proved to be an embarrassment when some of my straight-laced friends came to call. I finally had to pay the saloon keeper to take Billy back, but I confess, I still miss him. - N.Y.C.

Dear N.Y.C.: My apologies to all bird lovers for any disparaging comments I made about our feathered friends. Again, readers educate me. Please keep reading, and you will see what I mean:

Dear Ann: I once owned two parakeets. The birds hated being caged, so I let them have the run of the place. One evening when I came home from work, one of the parakeets was screeching wildly. The male was lying dead on the living room floor, and the female was circling his lifeless body. When I tried to catch the grieving bird, she refused to come to me as she had always done. Instead, she flew into the bathroom, jumped into the toilet and drowned. - Bill Fleishman in Van Nuys, Calif.

Dear Bill: My heartfelt condolences. Please keep reading for more bird lore:

Dear Ann: I once had a cockatiel named “Sunday.” He would follow me around the house like a pet dog. If I was watching TV and not paying enough attention to him, he would peck at my earring or my hair.

Sunday was the only “man” in my life until I met my husband. When Mr. B. entered the room, Sunday would peck at his neck to let him know he was an intruder. My husband did not appreciate this, but after a while, he began to see the humor in it. Our dear Sunday is no longer with us, and we both miss him. - Patricia Kelly-Bass in Union City, Calif.

Dear Patricia: What a charming bird story. Thank you for more evidence that birds are a lot more like people than I thought. Here’s another one.

Dear Ann: The letter about the love life of pigeons brought back some fond memories. My mother and I raised a male sparrow. When I found him, he had fallen out of his nest and didn’t have a feather to his name.

“Birdie” fixed on me as his mama but developed romantic intentions toward my mother. Each day during mating season, he would spread his tail, drop his wings, puff his chest, cluck and do a square dance in the palm of my mother’s hand. “Birdie” lived in a plastic clothes basket, traveled across the United States every summer by car and could mimic almost any sound including my dog’s bark, a squeaky windshield wiper and a canary’s whistle. He lived to be 12 years old. - Debra Wiley in Inglewood, Calif.

Dear Debra: Thank you, and all the others who wrote. The Audubon Society is going to love today’s column.