The Bird Collector
The Bird Collector
For the Birds
This is a story about a woman who lived with 8 rescued once-pet birds, abandoned for bad behavior or just plain no longer wanted, and the love of those delicate tiny boned creatures that even a child could crush in her hand once she got a hold of one.
Mostly cockatiels: a nicely sized aggressive sort with grey and white feathers, pale chests, yellow crested heads and perfectly round orange cheeks — I would compare those cheeks to 20s dance hall girls in brightly applied rouge, waiting for the show to begin. The crest on their heads, like a menacing fan, expressed colorful passions: curiosity, delight, rage. These were a raucous crew, plucking themselves and each other down to the pink quick.
The one dominant male, the ring leader Stanley, despised me. That’s because I was sleeping with the woman, and he was jealous. He’d shriek and snap at me, and if he was out of his cage, he would march around the tiled floor in a huff, biting at my feet and ankles like a pissy little dog. I now understand that you can’t break a covenant with a bird.
The woman divided the birds among 4 free-standing cages. Some birds were paired off, able to tolerate one another, except Stanley of course, and one small male who also had his own private cage on the end, near the windows. Pilov was just not sociable. He was my favorite and I think he felt a sweet kinship with me over that bully Stanley. Pilov had a sad hunch to him, he was no match for Stanley, although I did fancy the little guy could have taken Stanley on, if only he had the heart to fight. The rest of the flock were twittering females who suffered night terrors, but were able to mingle and enjoy themselves during the day, as long as Stanley was locked up. I don’t think they minded Pilov.
The last two birds were captive in the bedroom upstairs, 2 parakeets, whom the woman considered no match for cockatiels. I disagreed with that. I think budgies are tough little wily snips who can hold their own. Especially ones bought from the Five and Ten. I once had a roommate who had a parakeet who could push open doors! I said to the woman, it is winter and it’s freezing up here in the bedroom. These guys need to be in the warm room downstairs with the cockatiels. I was frightened for them, about the cold. I attempted to rehome them; a coworker from my office and her daughter got excited and wanted to adopt the parakeets. The woman initially agreed, but then said, no, they won’t know how to take proper care of the parakeets. So those blue and green little birds fluffed themselves, going nowhere.
***
The woman happened to be one of those lesbians who liked to join drum circles. She had some beautiful African drums which needed maintenance, tightening.
We parked right across from Zongo’s Drum Shop in Gowanus. It was a pretty summer day.
The drum shop was a small storefront, packed floor to ceiling with his collected African artworks: drums and wooden masks and sculptures and brilliant clothing. Zongo was from Ghana, traveled there regularly to visit his sister and retuned with his treasures to sell in the shop and at flea markets. He was a big generous welcoming kind of man, dark black and blue with a beautiful accent.
As we entered the shop, the woman and I couldn’t help but notice the green and yellow parakeet in the cage near the window. He was poking his beak at a mirror with a bell and munching on a seed tree. The black dots on his neck were sharp and exotic.
“Where did you get this parakeet?” the woman wanted to know.
Zongo laughed. “He flew over to the shop and landed on me. So I kept him.”
The woman was outraged, thinking Zongo was torturing this bird out of ignorance. While Zongo adjusted the drum, the woman told him how he was not equipped to care for this bird; instead, she was the expert. I thought the bird was fine there, it was hopping around, it was enjoying itself in the sun from the window. The woman was persistent, it became a mission to rescue this bird.
Zongo finally relented. “Yes, a pet is hard for me and I travel.”
We went back to the woman’s house with the drum and that bird. Now there were 3 parakeets.