Whisky galore!

One of the waifs and strays I've had over the years was a Sulphur Crested Cockatoo; his owner had died and the poor thing had been neglected.   By the time he got to us he looked like an oven-ready chicken, having pulled all his feathers out from sheer boredom.  He wasn't totally bald; he had feathers on his neck (obviously couldn't reach them to yank them out), but only one yellow crest feather which drooped sadly over his left eye.  He had bits of fluff on his bum, but nothing much anywhere else.

What Whisky was supposed to look like

Picture by: snowmanradio

Soon after he arrived, we let him out of his cage for a walk round the lounge.   We hadn't noticed the kitten hiding behind the curtain, but he noticed Whisky.  Assuming this was his new best friend, Dali bounced across the floor to welcome him.  Whisky was not impressed.  Wing stumps raised, head thrust forward, he shrieked "You NAUGHTY boy!"   At which point the astonished kitten hurtled off to the safety of the kitchen.

At their next encounter, the kitten displayed his utter disdain for Whisky by sitting with his back to the bird.  Big mistake.  Whisky marched up and bit his tail!

He was a prolific talker, but his language left a lot to be desired.  When I took the cover off his cage at what he felt was far, far too early one morning, he glared at me and snapped, "Bugger off".  Another time my two young children came giggling into the kitchen to tell me that he'd just told them to go away - only nothing like as politely as that!

Part of his diet advised by the vet was brown bread and butter.  Whisky would drop this into his food dish, then delicately take it back out and lick all the butter off.  Digestive biscuits were dipped into water before being eaten.  And as we ate a meal in the next room, the air would be punctuated with yells of "Is that mine?" or "What you doing?" or "You going out?".

He appeared to blame me entirely for his previous misadventures, even though it was me who cleaned and fed him.  Given even a breath of an opportunity, he would yank my hair out or take a chunk out of me.  But he adored my husband and the children.  They could play with him, he would ride on their shoulders or let them tickle his back.  But me - I was just the hired help.

He was quite old when we got him, but we enjoyed his foul-mouthed company for a few years before he died.  And he never did forgive me!