Training the Elephant

I had always thought owning a lory was impossible. I was aware that they required a special diet and were labeled "messy." As far as I knew, lories were wild-caught birds kept only by a few zoos and even fewer aviculturists. To own a handfed lory -- what an idea! Yet, due to a chance meeting with lory breeder Ruth McNabb during the 1989 American Federation of Aviculture Convention in Phoenix, I became a lory owner.

I'd worked with a few mature lories which weren't hand tame. I was most impressed by the gutsiness of a stunted chattering lory, who had become the dominant bird in a cage of larger parrots. When this zoo bird wasn't entertaining human visitors, he harassed a vain blue and gold macaw by yanking on its tail, then ducking into the covered drain. He bounced with glee while the macaw angrily shrieked as it tried to get to him. Like those zoo parrots, most of my birds had been "pre-owned"; at home, I had many zoo-donated rejects with obvious physical infirmities. Now, I would have the opportunity to own not just any handfed parrot, but a healthy baby lory.

The next morning, Ruth brought four handfed babies to my motel, two Perfect and two Rainbow, Lorikeets. Ruth felt that, though less colorful, the Perfects were better pets. Of the four birds, however, one beautiful Rainbow baby clearly wanted to investigate me. My bird had made her own selection.

As I flew home that day, I thought of my available provisions. I had no cage ready, but, since the bird's right wing feathers were clipped, I figured I could keep it temporarily on a T-stand. I was worried that I had only three days to tame the baby before returning to work. Would I have time to bond with my bird?

I arrived that night in NYC, knowing that the 24-hour grocer would have fruits and nectar drinks. At home, I put the carrier next to a night light in the kitchen. When I returned from the grocer, I put some papaya nectar inside for the bird, who sampled it before eventually settling down to sleep.

The next morning, I attended to my other birds while the lory squeaked inside the carrier, hanging from the wire mesh. She didn't bite when I gave her fresh lory nectar and fruit, but she didn't like her surroundings, either. She wanted out! I set up the T-stand, a large, wrought-iron device resembling a barbecue grill, topped off with a ladder. I was ready to take out my baby.

As I slid the door open, the lory squeaked. I tapped on the opening, and she surged forward. Tentatively, I put my hand out. Suddenly the bird hopped up my arm and stuck her head in my open astonished mouth! She looked back at me, squeaking and squeaking! Gingerly, I walked to the t-stand, and had to scrape her off my shoulder. There stood this imperious baby, squeaking at me to come back. When I returned with food, she again jumped to my shoulder. I knew I'd need another cage right away. I also put any worries of "bonding" out of my mind. This bird was attached like Velcro!

That night, after a full day of my lory clambering over me, and soiling my clothes, I decided that sundown meant bedtime. I scraped my bird back onto the t-stand and went in my bedroom to put on the air conditioner while I watched TV. The baby squeaked plaintively, and I did return to console her, but I was sure she'd settle down. However, her Arizona biological clock said sundown was three hours too early. She didn't want to sleep.

Her squeaking increased in intensity, and then in volume. My bedroom had glass doors. Suddenly, coming from the darkened birdroom, appeared a glossy blue head atop bright orange breast feathers. I was being followed! I retrieved my baby, who squeaked in my face, as if scolding me. Repeatedly, I brought her back to the t-stand. It was only after she was practically asleep in my hands, that I was able to put her to bed.

For safety's sake, while I purchased a cage, I housed the baby in my Amazon's much larger carrier. Once I was home, the bird rode my shoulders.

My lory seemed to have trouble making me understand her. Gradually, I realized that, in her eyes, I was like a trained elephant, a large, probably intelligent, lumbering beast. If the baby wanted to look at something, she'd squeak in my face. Since I wasn't speaking her language, though, she'd squeak louder, bang her beak on my shoulder, then point forward while bouncing her head. By this time, I'd figure out where I was being told to go, while the bird clearly looked astonished that I could be so dense. Eventually, like a good elephant, I learned to interpret and respond to her signals on command.

What to name the baby? I felt my dainty chick was female. I named her "Romana," after a character in the British TV series "Dr. Who," a petite but assertive alien who wore very bright colors. However, the baby liked it better if I called her, "Squeaky Bird", instead. (Well, I tried. I just remind myself of all the champion show dogs nicknamed "Fluffy.") Romana quickly took over my life. I got used to her clambering all over me; though, when I did manage to get away from her, I had this creepy sensation of little feet on my neck and shoulders. I also had to get used to that lory tongue, endlessly probing my eyes, ears, nose and mouth. Once, while luckily eating just ice cream, I actually bit Romana's tongue! Yeesh! I thought; plus, how could I ever explain that to a veterinarian?

Fortunately, she was fine, and another spoonful of ice cream relieved her pain. My nerves took longer to mend, though.

In the past three years, I've owned two more handfed lories. Romana clearly reacted as if I'd "gone rogue" by bringing them home. She can be very sweet-tempered and loving, but she can't stand competition. She wants to be number one, and refuses to befriend new birds. She bit through the beak of a baby sparrow I was feeding, and it had to be destroyed. She has bitten me badly in a jealous reaction to the baby lories, since those birds were bigger species and impossible for her to hurt. However, she did threaten one, in her way, by telling it, "You bite ... you bite ..." before nipping its toes.

Romana, despite her small size, can be quite vicious with me. Unfortunately Romana knows where my vulnerable points are. She was not too bad until the first new lory came into my life. Up until then, if she tried to bite my fingers too hard, I'd maneuver her own toes into her mouth. After she'd bitten her own extremities, she'd be mad at me, but had gotten the message. Jealousy brought out the worst in Romana, though. She'd savagely bite my feet, after pretending to play. Once, when I yawned, she rushed and bit the inside of my lip bloody!

If I hadn't already known Romana's sweet and tender side, it would've been easy just to get rid of her. I'm now sure that the new lory arrived when she must have been in a breeding mood. I didn't enjoy punishing her, but I couldn't be ruled by such a small bird, either. I quickly learned what toys made Romana more aggressive, and kept them away. If she started to act up, I gave her a warning, and kept her away from my face. If warnings didn't work, I put her "to bed" in her covered cage. Once, after a bad bite, I was so mad, I held her in a flannel shirt and "bit" her feet! She was angry, but had clearly learned that lesson.

I had a lot of "talks" with Romana, in which I told her how very special she was, and how much I loved her. It took months for these talks to sink in, while I had to remind myself of what a sweet bird she could be if she'd only calm down. Because she dislikes changes so much, I've had to be especially patient with her. After all, the chattering lory had died suddenly. A few months later, I moved; then I received a black-capped lory baby shortly after settling in. Certainly that was a lot for a little lory to take, in less than a year. Romana doesn't speak as well as the larger lories, but she will use her limited vocabulary appropriately. As I gather up my laundry or trash, she'll intone, "I'll be right back". If she wants to be spritzed, she'll tell me, "You need a bath." When she's startled, she'll say, "You okay? It's okay, it's okay." And, all my lories learn the phrase, "Wicked Bird," and the words of doom, "Good night! You're going to bed!" Romana developed a taste for hot peppers, and has learned to cough and sneeze like me; in fact, she'll also "sneeze" while I sweep, because the dust ... also makes me sneeze.

Romana is a very visual bird, much more than all my other pets. For small changes, for example, if something has been moved, Romana will point and "sniff," a sneeze-like sound. A greater change will cause here to squeak loudly. I'm surprised by what she perceives as a threat. When I'd change bedspreads, going from a muted flower pattern to a bold colonial design, she'd stretch out from my shoulder, trembling, and approach the spread while keeping at least one foot attached to me. I gave in, eventually, and got another comforter with a less startling pattern. (I tell myself I needed a new one anyway.) The floor is also a dangerous place, in Romana's mind. She rarely ventures to the floor; if she does, she watches me closely and calls constantly. She is sometimes looking for canary seeds, which she hulls and pulverizes. She also likes to investigate my coats and robes, which are probably comfy nests to her. Because I'd read that most lories prefer to sleep in nest boxes, I wired a quart-sized plastic bottle, with its opening enlarged, inside the top of the cage. Romana sleeps in it at night, but lays in it on her back, during the day, to preen her belly feathers.

I don't find my lories to be "messy" at all, and preparing a balanced lory nectar is no problem. I make a very large batch of food once a month, and freeze it in small containers. Romana loves to bathe, and keeps her feathers glossy and immaculate. If I've forgotten to bathe her, Romana will slide into my tumbler of iced tea; unfortunately, I'll be in the process of taking a sip when she decides to wash her belly feathers. Normally, though, Romana likes to be misted, and then rolls around in a budgie-sized water bath. Blow-drying completes the ritual.

Now that I've moved to Phoenix, Ruth and Romana have been reunited. Romana clearly remembers Ruth, her first "mother". When they met again, Romana sat politely on Ruth's finger and mumbled out a long conversation, as if she needed to explain her long absence.

Today, Romana has gotten used to her new surroundings, and has decided that being punished for jealously isn't much fun. In fact, though she can play daintily, she now imitates the rougher antics of the new lory. I recognize that part of Romana's jealously comes from her urge to breed, but I plan on keeping her as a pet. I give Romana individualized attention, with special toys and games just for her. One of my tools is a royal blue baby rattle, which resembles her head color. I control her urge to nip with a caress of the rattle against her face. She loves her rattle so much that when I accidentally gave it to the new bird along with some other toys, Romana carried on all night and the next day. I never repeated that mistake. I helped Romana settle in, after the move, by eating my meals with her. I often read while I eat, and most of my magazines are personalized by her small beak.

At age 5, Romana has a giant, strong-willed personality squeezed into a tiny, brightly colored package. She knows exactly what she wants, even though I'm often slow to comprehend. Romana hates changes in her life, such a new birds or different surroundings. When she can't change a situation back, she reacts by becoming angry and nippy. However, I never give up on her, because I also know a sweet-tempered Romana, the little bird who prances about for visitors, or lies on her back while I caress her head feathers. I may not always appear smart or obedient in Romana's eyes, but I make sure she knows how very special she is to me. Romana has trained me well, and I'll gladly follow wherever she leads.