I have a used bird. He was my friend, Brenda's, bird. Briefly. It was a used bird for her, too. Chicky is a budgie. He is dainty and a very pretty white, which makes the fact he likes to throw seed 50 feet a little less stressing.
I have a hardwood floor (I live here because of them based on the fact I have this used, never, ever quiet bird). Hardwood floors must be swept. So must birdseed. My broom is blue.
A daily, counted-on routine in my household, is the floor gets swept. Only the time of day might get changed.
It gets old quick when everytime you approach the bird cage to sweep, the volume of the chirps increases ten-fold and you have to endure watching some moron bird bang it's self repeatedly in to the wrungs of the cage. It is one of those everyday, mild annoyances that makes you want to drink coffee.
But today I found myself looking at Chicky with a brand-new thoughtfulness, all the while holding the broom(he really cannot get anymore retarded anyway). The fact remains, this bird is used and I do not know his history. I do not know what horrific broom accidents he may have previously encountered. Maybe he was poked by an over-zealous, 8 year old boy daily. Maybe a broom knocked him over and his life flashed before his eyes and he realized he had never seen any other room in the house where he lived. Maybe he just likes living having his filth spread far around him.
Whatever the case, I decided to like my bird a little bit better today. I made a pact with myself to remember to feed him more.
I have a hardwood floor (I live here because of them based on the fact I have this used, never, ever quiet bird). Hardwood floors must be swept. So must birdseed. My broom is blue.
A daily, counted-on routine in my household, is the floor gets swept. Only the time of day might get changed.
It gets old quick when everytime you approach the bird cage to sweep, the volume of the chirps increases ten-fold and you have to endure watching some moron bird bang it's self repeatedly in to the wrungs of the cage. It is one of those everyday, mild annoyances that makes you want to drink coffee.
But today I found myself looking at Chicky with a brand-new thoughtfulness, all the while holding the broom(he really cannot get anymore retarded anyway). The fact remains, this bird is used and I do not know his history. I do not know what horrific broom accidents he may have previously encountered. Maybe he was poked by an over-zealous, 8 year old boy daily. Maybe a broom knocked him over and his life flashed before his eyes and he realized he had never seen any other room in the house where he lived. Maybe he just likes living having his filth spread far around him.
Whatever the case, I decided to like my bird a little bit better today. I made a pact with myself to remember to feed him more.
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