Birds don't like swimming. Or do they? Every since Jimmy was a chick, he's liked a good bath. What started off with the odd cursory run under the faucet soon became a healthy dunk in a deep dish. Now, Jimmy is so impatient to get a sousing he'll throw himself into a sink by hook or by crook, and woe betide I waste valuable time moving the bolognaise pan out first. It is true, I have in the past had to rinse flecks of dinner out of his feathers on more than one occasion, or fished him out the Fairy liquid with a ladle. These days, he loves nothing more than to run around, or float around a sink inches deep in water, until he is nothing more than a pathetic, pruney parrot. And he loves nothing more than to get a good splashing from his mother, whilst simultaneously trying to savage any fingers that might prematurely pull the plug.
Once he has been satisfactorily soaked, and both myself and our vicinity feeling like Tsunami victims, he will sit shivering and feeling incredibly sorry for himself. When his baths were only superficial, he'd make do with a quick rub in a towel to soak up the excess. Now, not only does he have to spent 10 minutes wrapped up in a towel, looking somewhat like the baby Jesus or ET, he now has to spend 15 minutes under the hairdryer to make sure he doesn't catch pneumonia. Blow-drying a bird I think is quite possibly the apex of my parrot-loving madness, make no mistake. But the little bugger loves it. It's like an instant parrot pacifier, like slipping him a heavy sedative. He does from feisty, grumpy, keep-those-finger-out-of-my-reach-so-help-me-God chomp-monster to the meekest of the meek.
Jemima, on the other hand, used to have the bathing habits of a six year old child - only under duress could you get her within a 2 metre radius of anything that would clean her. However, after watching a Jimmy-washing last weekend, and being the recipient of the ensuing spray, she decided to take the plunge. The accidental full body immersion didn't go down tremendously well, but on later investigation, she has discovered she can sit for a good ten minutes solid under a streaming tap until she's soggier than Spongebob Squarepants' undercrackers.
As proud as I am that Jemima is no longer the bird equivalent to Pigpen from Peanuts, now this double bathing and drying ritual takes a good hour out of my week, since Jemima too has also discovered the therapeutic properties of my Babyliss 5000. For a parrot who normally careers cavalierly about the place like Haribo-fuelled toddler, the ability to sedate it through the power of warm air is, to me, truly phenomenal. For the mean time I shall entertain their bathing habits, and will embrace their cleanliness wholeheartedly. However, the day Jimmy asks for a perm and Jemima wants her nether regions waxed will be the day I put the Funny Farm on speed dial.
Once he has been satisfactorily soaked, and both myself and our vicinity feeling like Tsunami victims, he will sit shivering and feeling incredibly sorry for himself. When his baths were only superficial, he'd make do with a quick rub in a towel to soak up the excess. Now, not only does he have to spent 10 minutes wrapped up in a towel, looking somewhat like the baby Jesus or ET, he now has to spend 15 minutes under the hairdryer to make sure he doesn't catch pneumonia. Blow-drying a bird I think is quite possibly the apex of my parrot-loving madness, make no mistake. But the little bugger loves it. It's like an instant parrot pacifier, like slipping him a heavy sedative. He does from feisty, grumpy, keep-those-finger-out-of-my-reach-so-help-me-God chomp-monster to the meekest of the meek.
Jemima, on the other hand, used to have the bathing habits of a six year old child - only under duress could you get her within a 2 metre radius of anything that would clean her. However, after watching a Jimmy-washing last weekend, and being the recipient of the ensuing spray, she decided to take the plunge. The accidental full body immersion didn't go down tremendously well, but on later investigation, she has discovered she can sit for a good ten minutes solid under a streaming tap until she's soggier than Spongebob Squarepants' undercrackers.
As proud as I am that Jemima is no longer the bird equivalent to Pigpen from Peanuts, now this double bathing and drying ritual takes a good hour out of my week, since Jemima too has also discovered the therapeutic properties of my Babyliss 5000. For a parrot who normally careers cavalierly about the place like Haribo-fuelled toddler, the ability to sedate it through the power of warm air is, to me, truly phenomenal. For the mean time I shall entertain their bathing habits, and will embrace their cleanliness wholeheartedly. However, the day Jimmy asks for a perm and Jemima wants her nether regions waxed will be the day I put the Funny Farm on speed dial.
