Terminology

There are some pets you own, and there some pets that own you. I am owned by birds. Anyone who reads this blog knows this. I am bias and can go on and on about the topic of my birds or birds in general. I thought it was needed to list some bird terms so down the road you won’t get confused or rather you’ll have a reference to come back too. The following words are common terms which have been used in my stories.

fids- a term to describe our feathery birds, which in time tend to be loved like our own kids. So feather kids aka fids

preen-it’s a birds way of grooming their feathers using their beak or tongue-they will groom, arrange and care for the feathers from top to bottom

hen-female bird

crop-a pouch inside the bird where food is stored for later digestion or to regurgitate to feed one’s young

avian vet- a vet that treats birds

clutch- the number of eggs a bird will lay

molting- when birds cast or sheds its feathers for new growth

crest- feathers for my cockatiels it’s the feathers on the head that looks like a Mohawk

fledging-when the bird is out of the nest but not feeding itself

nest box- a box that one can use in place of a nest or bird house

bonded pair- two birds that pair up for reproduction, can be short-lived or they can bond for life

blood feather- any feather that still has a blood supply- crucial to know when trimming the wings

chick- a new born bird

weaned bird- a bird that is out of the nest and eating on its own

The boys from the hood

These are the boys.

Left to right –

BJ is  named after the breeders, Brigitte and Johnny

Angel was suppose to be BJ’s mate but ah hmm she turned out to be a he. 

Twopiece is the first bird I have ever owned, he became part of my family in 1998

Nye is the son of  Twopiece

Sensory Exercise

Sensory Exercise:

 

My 4 year old nephew Henry was making such a ruckus. His shoulders were heaving as his little body shook all over. One could see a stream of tears running down his face. His baby blue eyes were red where he had rubbed them with his small little hands. That sound he kept making sounded like someone had run over his favorite dog on the highway in front of him. He didn’t stop when I offered my silk handkerchief as he blew his nose and returned it to me. The loud pitiful wails that came out of his mouth were heart wrenching .When I asked what was wrong, he stuttered and tried but no distinguishable words escaped his mouth. I didn’t think it was possible for a small child to shed so many crocodile tears. It turned out his sister had gone for a bike ride and declined his request to tag along. I didn’t sense an end to his crying or pain in sight . He wiped his face on the sleeve of his white stained t-shirt. One could hear him make quick baby sniffles. The kid was stuck with me, we were the only ones in the house. Coming up with an idea I approached my sad little nephew. “How about some vanilla ice cream?” I suggested. Henry’s eyes lighted up like fourth of july fireworks. “With sparkles? he asked eagerly. I nodded as he ran to give me a big hug. He then proclaimed that I was the bestest aunt in the whole wide world. All was forgotten, well for the moment anyway.

 

 

 

The line I had to describe was the sounds of Henry crying.

The Musings of A New Englander