Odie

I got the call from Carole "the adoption lady" Campbell on a Friday. She said that a non-member had called about a four-year-old Nanday. Somehow, even though I'd come "this close" to adopting through B.A.B.A. before, I knew that this was it.

Carole said that Odie was a screamer and had "some plucked feathers," and a missing toe. And, because his owners' lifestyle had changed (read: they didn't pay much attention to him anymore), he was also biting.

I took the number from Carole and called Odie's owners immediately. We spoke for a while, and I tried to determine more about the bird's situation. Basically, it sounded as if a loving, hand-fed bird was now playing second fiddle to the husband's music career and the wife's position in publishing. They would, for the most part, ignore him for weeks at a time and then be astounded when he drew blood. The plucking had also grown increasingly worse during the past year, since these changes in their lives had occurred. (I later discovered that Odie also bit his nails, frantically going from one to the other, over and over again, whenever he became too stressed out.)

Luckily, they realized that their lifestyle changes were the cause of poor Odie's unhappiness, and they were genuinely concerned about finding a good home for him. George asked if I could come see Odie that day, and I quickly agreed.

When, after a seemingly endless work day, I finally arrived at their apartment, I saw a very miserable looking creature huddling in his cage. I'll admit that my first instinct was to say, "Thanks, but no thanks," when I saw Odie. His head, wing and tail feathers were intact, but his belly, legs and back were plucked raw, and his keel bone protruded. All and all, he looked pathetic and decidedly unfriendly.

I walked over to the cage and talked to him for a moment. George (his wife Jean was still at work) said, "You might want to scratch him through the bars -- he'll bite you if you try to pick him up."

So, of course, I reached in the cage and firmly told Odie, "Up." He looked a bit surprised, but he stepped right onto my hand. Within a few minutes of using the Up command, I was scratching Odie's head and stroking his beautiful wing feathers while George looked on with his mouth hanging open. In a little while, I was sitting in a rocking chair with Odie lying flat against my chest as I ruffled his feathers and listened to George relate bits of the conure's history.

They had gotten the very tame, lovable Odie when he was about a year old from Bird Jungle. Odie favored Jean, but he'd let George handle him, too. His favorite foods, other than the seeds that were his staple diet, were raisins, oranges and "as much chocolate as I'll give him." (I told George that chocolate is extremely toxic to birds, and he replied that it obviously hadn't killed Odie!) The couple had a house upstate, and George took great pride in telling me how Odie had sat cowering in his cage, which was in the yard on nice days, as hawks swooped down at him. That the back toe of Odie's left claw was messed up because a red squirrel had carried him off the porch of the summer house and George had barely saved him. And about the time Odie flew to the top of a hemlock tree down in the valley because George hadn't realized that his wings had grown out.

By now, Odie and I were best friends, and I knew that I wanted him to come and live with me, my husband, Freddie the cockatiel and Bubba the budgie. But, even more importantly, there was no way I was going to leave that bird there if they offered him to me. They were good people, but they were incredibly uninformed about bird care and safety.

George called Jane, who was still at work, and told her in hushed tones, "Honey, I think we should give Odie to this lady. You should see Odie with her. She made him like her." By the end of their conversation, I knew Odie was mine.

Odie settled into our home very quickly. I soon discovered that he would eat almost anything: ramen noodles with tahini sauce, oranges, rice, raw veggies, dried red peppers, sweet fruit...anything. He loves Cream of Wheat, yogurt and cottage cheese in small quantities, but only if I feed him with a spoon. (I can only assume that he was spoon-fed and remembers the mechanics of eating off a spoon, even after all these years.)

One of his favorite foods is spaghetti. At first, he would hold it in his hand and bite the pasta below. Of course, it would immediately fall to the bottom of his perch. He quickly learned that he had to thread it up through his hand to keep it from falling.

For a rare treat, I break off a square of an unsweetened carob/mint bar and watch his eyes light up. I'm sure he thinks it's his beloved, yet deadly, chocolate. He holds it in his little hand and nibbles it, savors it. Then he goes to the base of his T-stand and picks up each of the crumbs, not willing to waste even a tiny bite.

Odie is left-handed and, unfortunately, his left hand was the one injured in his run-in with the squirrel. His entire claw shakes badly when he grasps things tightly; obviously, it has some nerve damage.

I was convinced that a proper diet and lots of love would restore his feathers to their original glory. He took to pellet food immediately, which has replaced his seeds, and he gets the above-mentioned assortment of healthful human foods. And he gets an abundance of love. How could I not love this bird? He's quiet, something most Nanday owners can't claim. (I've only heard him scream twice since he came home with us over two months ago.) He adores getting his head scratched and his feathers stroked so much that he'll literally lie flat on my lap for hours. And he's smart. On command, he "kisses," flies in place on my finger, flies to my shoulder and is well on his way to being potty trained. Of course, he also knows "up," "down," and "come." I tell my husband that I wish I were smarter so I could think of more tricks to teach Odie!

I bought Odie a Polly Dolly the day after I brought him home, and he loves it the way a small child loves a teddy bear. He "grooms" it and cuddles next to it when he goes to bed. I think that this toy, combined with his new balanced diet and all the love, have contributed to his glossy new feathers! That's right, his belly, legs and (more slowly) his back, are getting new feathers and he's not plucking them out!

The fact that he has a budgie for a grooming slave doesn't hurt anything, either! Bubba would groom Odie all day if we let him. But, even though Odie's as gentle as a lamb, he's much bigger than Bubba, so I don't leave them alone unsupervised.

I've told Odie since the day I brought him home that he was the most beautiful bird in the world -- and I meant it. (Even though my husband said he wouldn't win any beauty contests and he looked like a big green crow!) Soon he will be every bit as beautiful as I think he is. And, more importantly, his new feathers are an indicator of his health and happiness.

Fortunately for Odie and for dozens of other birds each year Carole Campbell screens her adoptive parents and makes placement decisions very carefully; adopting a bird with behavioral problems isn't for everyone. If I hadn't had nearly five year's of bird ownership, read hundreds of pages of books and magazines on bird care and attended B.A.B.A. meetings, I'm sure I would not have known how to care for this incredibly intelligent, loving, slightly neurotic animal.

By the way, Bubba now has a new girlfriend, Kiki, and she's adopted, too!