This is not a scholarly piece on parrot intelligence. One evening I was sitting by the Christmas tree giving my Senegal, Dewey one of a countless number of the head rubs he loves so much. He likes a certain routine and has taught me, through deft use of body language, exactly how he likes it done—with no variations, please. If I don’t follow his routine, he shakes his head telling me, “No! Not that way!” Then he bends his head down, telling me I must start from the beginning: rub the top of his head, both toward and against feather growth; move my fingers down to his neck and rub deep under the feathers; then move from one side, then the other, rubbing gently around the cheeks and eyes; with his head bent all the way back, rub the neck feathers up toward his head; and finally, smooth the feathers by gently petting him in the direction of feather growth—then repeat the process as often as demanded. For doing this, I am treated to throaty, kitten-like purrs that indicate the depth of his pleasure.
Dewey has learned that an early morning or evening racket is unnecessary when he awakens or before he goes to sleep. A few soft chirps and a gentle, “Hi, Sweetie” in the morning and some soft “nite-nites” will bring me into his room—but not at too early an hour. He certainly knows my routine. Of course, he is not totally angelic, and will make some demands known, using ear-shattering screeches.
Originally, the little fellow was a one-person bird and threatened anyone who came near me with growls, pinned eyes and menacing beak. Of course this behavior was unacceptable and gradually he learned he had to share me with others. At first, he only liked women. He would challenge any man to a biting fest or beak fight. He especially loathed my brother, perhaps sensing the bond between us. But my brother would sit in front of the cage and talk philosophy with him. Dewey may not have retained anything about Kant or Schopenhauer, but he surely fell in love with my brother. He also greets other men with great enthusiasm and chatters away, perhaps expounding on his own theories of philosophy.
Dewey loves a good challenge. It took years, but he finally figured out how to defeat the “birdsafe” locks on his cage door and feeders. I added large stainless steel quicklinks for security, but he figured those out as well. One evening, loud, triumphant laughs brought me into his room. One very large and heavy quicklink had been unscrewed, dragged into the cage, and hung on the end of a toy! Now he wants me to look for something else to defeat—it seems his toys are not challenging enough. Any foraging toy is a piece of cake for him.
At the age of seven weeks, he managed to climb up and out of the bin he shared with three siblings, probably stretching his little body out as far as he could, he climbed up my sweater, settled on my shoulder, and would not get off. The more the breeder tried to remove him, the more stubborn he became. Evidently he somehow knew I was the companion human for him—offering him the stimulation and challenges that would nurture his bird brain.
Copyright©2009 Rosemarie Riechel
