Even though my husband embarked on a different path, he kept his love of animals, and exotic animals in particular. He owned a boa constrictor named "Cuddles" in college, and the love of the odd and different remained. While I also love animals, I tend to a nasty practical and realistic streak that lets me know my limits in no uncertain terms. I do love animals. I also know they eat and make messes. Some of them make rather large messes.
My husband's exotic animal love and my practical streak have crashed head on in many cases; I have denied him the comforts and screaming hilarity of ferrets for years (they smell, they steal small shinies, socks, and keys, and they nip and climb unsuspecting people's legs, usually the nylon-stockinged legs of older ladies who really don't appreciate that sort of thing. Plus they cannot be consistently potty-trained, a huge NO in my house.). Reptiles smell, and their food sources aren't very cooperative, leading to stress and anxiety as one hunts for various rodents or bugs that have escaped into the house (note that it does not bother me to feed rodents to snakes...I don't find them cute and I'd rather they played outside where they belong). We had a couple of cats for a few years until we had kids and the babies got covered in hair simply learning to crawl (not to mention a catbox-discovery incident that my brain now refuses to let me replay in its entirety for fear of total psychotic break). We tried dogs, hoping to find a perfect fit for our kids so they could grow and play together, but I admit to a certain selfishness over my back yard and my desire to be able to run barefoot and free without the worry of stepping in a toilet by accident.
In all fairness, the rescue greyhound we owned for a very short year was one of the best animals we ever had. Laid back, mellow, never barked or jumped on people, and just loved snuggling. He had a weakness for squirrels and would run away from you without a backward look if you dropped his leash, but overall a very good temperament. And he satisfied my husband's exotic animal craving. People always stopped him on walks or at the dog park to ask him about George. Despite my husband's normal reserved nature, he loves that sort of thing, the attention a different-looking animal brings.
So now the focus is on exotic birds. My husband's always been fascinated by them, and the fact one of our friends is a raptor rehabilitator fueled the hunger. He's realistic enough to know we can't be raptor rehabilitators ourselves; that requires strong commitment, constant care, and space we've never had. But what about smaller exotic birds?
Parrots. Specifically Macaws and African Greys, the ones who speak the best. When the persistent requests turned from ferrets to parrots, I knew this was the new obsession. And as before, I insisted on research, documentation, and knowing our limits before committing. Parrots sure are cute, especially when they repeat your words back to you in your own voice. They can also scream at eardrum-bursting decibels when they want attention. Cockatoos are the worst.
Parrots create huge messes. They poop every twenty minutes, and the bigger the bird, the bigger it is. They also have to try to eat fruit, nuts, and mash with a large hooked beak not ideal for the purpose. So they fling food across their cage, and across the room. They flap their wings for exercise, and preen out dust, dirt, and pests from their feathers, all of which gets dispersed into the air of the room where they are when they flap.
If I sound less than enthused, I am. I am now allergic to most animals after living with cats so many years sensitized me (I still love cats, but I just can't be near them for long, alas). Parrots are bad for the allergy prone as well. And the cleanup, ah yes. I am the cleaner in our family. When we had a dog I washed his beds weekly, vacuumed, cleaned his cold weather coat. I did not have to scoop waste, but only because husband knew I loathed it. But still, I resented the yard being taken from me by that.
Since I am still currently unemployed, care for the bird will mostly fall to me. And having done my research, I know the cleaning and feeding will mostly fall to me. When it isn't me who wants the bird in the first place, is it unfair or selfish to be resentful of basically being forced to care for one? Husband has volunteered at a rescue bird shelter, but they will likely want to foster us a bird as soon as possible, because they have so many and no space. It worries me we have no training and will likely be given little before we are dumped in, to sink or swim. This was done to us with a high-needs greyhound and we could not handle it. Or as my husband would say, I could not handle it. He was fine with puddles of pee on the carpet and floors soaking into the subflooring, the double poop in the yard, the double hair and mess. I was not. I am by no means a neat-freak, but I am sensitive to smells, and I like to be able to lie on my own carpets if I so choose without worrying I'm lying in animal waste. My husband is self-admittedly blind when it comes to dirt, and thinks I was overreacting. Some folks adore their animals no matter how many and what kinds of accidents they have. I adored my cats, and they were not innocent. But somehow, somewhere, I lost all my tolerance, and I just can't stand it anymore.
Birds also require steady interaction and companionship, like most pets. It will be me. When I don't want it right now. I think it is unfair of me to commit to caring for an animal I don't want and will come to resent. No animal should have to deal with that, it's unfair to the animal. When the animal is loved and wanted, it blooms into a lovely, awesome, irreplaceable companion. I have had the privilege of being companion to a couple of cats where it ended up like that, and my memories are full of joy. But my uncertainty over a bird is causing a hesitation. I know my limits. I know I would resent the constant cleaning needed. Interaction would probably be hilarious. But would the joy outweigh the resentment?
This is what I am weighing on my internal scale. Benefits versus detriments. Clear lungs versus constant wheezing and sneezing. Clean walls and floors versus bird poop cemented on there for eternity. A bright eye and a wisecrack versus a silent house. Husband is trying to get some training to appease this anxiety, that it will all fall to me, and I am grateful for that.
Darn, those cockatiels in the pet shop are cute, with their little crests and bright eyes....
Oh Mickey Rourke, you bird-loving super villain, you.
