It's a lovely Tuesday morning. I have an hour before I have to get ready for school. The sun is shining. The weather is beautiful. Music is playing... I have some work to do before I go. Usually my sliding door would be open, so I could appreciate the beauty of the morning.
It's not today. Why?
Because there exist in my house two terrorists of the feathered nature. And lately, they have been *driving me crazy.* They think being on Mom is better than being *anywhere else in the whole world.* Mom does not agree. When I put them on the patio to play, they fly in through the open sliding door and onto my head. Sophie usually says, "Hi! HI!" And then proceeds to chew on my hair. I like my hair. This isn't endearing. When I finally get her off of my head, she searches desparately for buttons, zippers, bra straps, anything to chew on mom. Failing that, she examines her options on the desk--mouse wire, books, pens. She's very resourceful, ignoring completely the $100 worth of toys I spent last month trying to find *other, better, parrot-related* things to play with. Not interested.
After Soph lands on me, Ath's usually not too far behind. She isn't quite as graceful in flight, more dive-bombing and tumbling into whatever she's aiming for. But she gets there, and that's all that matters to her. She immediately goes for the fake plant on my desk. I usually wouldn't mind, but, well, I'm tired of vacuuming 3x/day b/c I can't stand the floor to be messy while I'm working! Failing the plant, she works on chewing through binders, books, papers... the more expensive-looking and irreplaceable, the tastier.
Sometimes I try to put them in their cages. They should learn to play alone, right? Problem is the guilt. Truthfully, they play alone a good 3 days/week--all day. They're experts. The other problem is Soph. I've trained her to "knock" politely when she wants out. And when I'm in the room, she wants out. So she knocks. incessantly. And I'm afraid she'll unlearn knocking and resort to screaming. (Or I'll resort to screaming if I listen to knockknockknock incessently for hours.)
So they are outside. And they show their disdain for not being allowed in by landing on the white trellis that's lying against the door. Or by landing on James's orchids, right in front of the trellis, and chewing them to bits, all the while glaring at me. "If you'd just let us in, this wouldn't be a problem."
Ah well. My terrorists aka the feathered mob.