Something you may not know is the amount of time you spend on the floor when you are sharing your life with a parrot. One of Piper’s favorite things to do is throw his toys on the ground. If he is alone he won’t do it but once we are in the room, off they go, because he knows we will pick them up. Should we not do so in a timely manner according to our Lord and Master, his soft coos will escalate into screams which, when translated, mean, “PICK UP MY TOYS!!!”
Piper has a wooden toy that hangs from the penthouse of the mansion; in the block’s holes are blue popsicle sticks that he can pull out and chew or hurl into the air. It is such a common occurrence that the soft ping they make when they hit the wood floor no longer phases my husband or me. Once we do notice that most, if not all, have been projectiled in every direction, Mister Rain will gather them up and put them back into the toy. This requires getting down on all fours, looking everywhere for the blue sticks.
Piper is either keeping us young or aging us rapidly. I imagine the orthopedic surgeon asking if we have had an injury or played a lot of sports in our lives to warrant busted up knees and tendonitis in our wrists.
“No. We have a parrot.”
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