Why parrots and Avon do NOT mix...
Does this bird look like a brochure killer?
I had hoped to write a post about last evening's impromptu Beer and Beauty Fest. But when I rolled out of bed, answered a few emails, threw on the robe, and shuffled out to the kitchen to brew some Earl Grey, my plans changed.
There's something you need to know about me. 'Round these parts, I'm not just known as the new Avon Lady. I'm the Weird Animal Lady, and my reputation precedes me as a strange but charitable soul who will take in any and all animals. At last count I house a dog, a cat, two guinea pigs, a hamster, a mouse, twenty hermit crabs, a frog, a fish, two lizards, two budgies, and an African Grey parrot.
The parrot lived at the big name pet store for all two of his years until a few months ago. My third-grader son did a report in the first grade on African Greys and every trip to the big name pet store, he'd drag me to the bird room to chat with the handsome grey fellow in the teeny corner cage. Fixed to the cage was a index card with hand lettering: My name is Ramses and I bite!
"Please please please please please please please Moooooooooooooooooooooooooooom can't we take him hooooooooommmmeeee??????"
"Honey, look at the price tag. This bird costs one thousand three hundred dollars. Plus, he bites," I'd sigh. "Someone will come along and give him a nice home."
But no one did. Month after month went by and Ramses' price dropped to four hundred dollars. My kid continued to harrass me, citing example and example of exemplary greys and their owners, how the cognitive ability of the grey approaches that of the five-year-old human, how you can potty train a parrot, how one scientist thinks African Greys are psychic. He's a wordy kid. Ramses would look at us with one eye and when we turned to leave the bird room he'd give us the wolf whistle. It broke my kid's heart.
One night a couple of months ago I had to run to the pet store due to a guinea pig kibble emergency. I was alone this trip but made my way to the bird room out of habit. Ramses perched in the far corner of his cage, preening his red tail feathers. The index card was missing and the price tag was gone. I figured someone finally bought him and was preparing to take him home. At the checkout I made small talk with the clerk.
"So hey! Ramses finally found a home, eh?"
She stopped working the register and looked at me with sad eyes.
"No, he has behavior problems. The manager decided to euthanize him tonight. They're going to put him in the freezer."
So Ramses became a part of the family zoo that night. I bought a huge cage on clearance and built a fake tree out of manzanita branches for him to perch during the day. I never close the cage door except at night, and most days he follows me around the house, chit chatting, repeating his name over and over and imitating Jeff the cat. He's pathologically attached to me and tolerates the rest of the brood. Of course, my third-grader told everyone he knows that he - personally and singularily - owns an African Grey.
This morning he was on the shit list, though. I turned the corner into the kitchen, flipped the light switch and was greeted to a mound of shredded glossy colored paper. The Avon brochures I spent so much time stamping yesterday morning were trashed. Ol' Ramses discovered a new trick - opening the cage door at night.
Footnote: Yup, the old big name pet store gave me Ramses for free, but only on the condition that I buy the cage from them. Just call me a sucker.
He destroyed a total of 38 brochures, leaving me two for the next two weeks. Thankfully the monthly district sales meeting is tomorrow morning, and I plan on giving everyone the puppydog sad eyes in hopes they will toss a book or two my way.
4:22:52 PM 
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