Meet Cookie!
They call me “Cookie.” I met Them back in Spring of '02.
I recall a leering face with long hair invading my personal space. I'm polite so I just turned my back and tried not to make eye contact.
Next thing I knew I was in a room - a gringo version of a cantina. I thought it was kind of cute of Them to try to celebrate my heritage. I soon discovered They have a rather obvious talent for retrieval. I have Them fetch a lot for my own entertainment.
My needs are simple. Two fresh square meals and vacuum-packed pellets preferably in the bright fruity shapes. Don't even think of waking me before 9.
Once I knew They could meet my exacting standards, I settled in and though They seem to delight in poking my fluffy parts, I welcome the itch relief They provide to certain areas of my crown.
After 3 years I think I have Them wrapped around my little talon. I've trained Them to steer me in the right direction with a little leaning and a kiss if I must. Sometimes, I like to freak Them out by saying something in their language. “Luv yoo” seems to get a rise out of Them for some reason. Is that normal?
Okay, what is it with the little box with the flashing light pointing at me every few minutes. I mean I know I look good but this paparazzi…I tell you.
Oops - must go, I have a Cardio-jingle-ball class to teach. My two students, not only talented in fetching, can also juggle for me and then hand feed me my dinner afterwards. Then, hopefully, They'll leave me to unwind in peace and catch a few z's.
| Much care and consideration goes into keeping a flighted bird safe. Cookie lives in a very controlled environment. |  |
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The Infamous Eyeball Rub! |