Her name is Cassia. She is a female (probably) Spice finch, with very nice feathers. At least once I thought she was singing a variation of Cinnamon and Ovaltine's song — which would suggest she's male. But I can't be sure. Cassia and Cinnamon are impossible to tell apart by eye, if you can't see Wasabi's leg band he looks just like them from the front, and Ginger looks just like them from behind. Who can tell?

I also think she's the bird that got out of the Finsterium when Bruce caught Ovaltine the other day. Actually, I have no idea which Spice finch got out that day, but why not Cassia? Adventure Girl! She flew right to Bob (the ficus tree)!

Cassia is an aromatic bark, similar to cinnamon. Cinnamon is often used for sweet dishes, or ones requiring a subtle flavour, and cassia for strong, spicy dishes. But in many countries the two spices are used interchangeably, and in North America cassia is usually used (it's less expensive), though generally sold as cinnamon. When sold in stick form, cinnamon rolls into a single quill, while cassia is rolled from both sides toward the center.

I have cassia scrolls in my cupboard, labelled "cinnamon." In the middle of the night, when no one's looking, they sing.

This morning I caught him, put drops of two different medicines near his beak (you try getting 0.01 ccs into a 12 gram bird, twice), and popped him into the travel cage while I cleaned the hospital cage. He didn't play dead then, and when I caught him to put him back into the hospital cage he ran around, doing a great job of getting away from me. But once back in the hospital cage, there he was, not moving except to roll a little on the floor, DEAD. Hahahahahaha.

Ovaltine is still alive, and possibly doing a little better now that I'm giving him lactulose and milk thistle. Both of these can help reduce the amount of ammonia that accumulates in the blood of patients with liver disease. The problem with these medicines — really it's the problem with the disease itself — is that you have to keep the patient on them forever. In Ovaltine's case, that means playing dead twice a day living in the hospital cage for the rest of his life. Which isn't a great prospect, in terms of quality of life.

Well, not time to make that sort of decision. I sure do miss that early morning crowing, though. Much better than the Playing Dead game!

You get to know a bird pretty well when it spends some time in the hospital cage. First, you find out a bit about their temperament. Some birds spend a lot of their time lying on the ground in a puddle of their own feathers. Some birds spend a lot of their time sitting on perches, clearly bored to tears. And some birds spend a lot of their time bashing themselves against the bars of the cage, trying to get the hell out. All these birds may be feeling equally poorly. Although you'd think a sick bird would take full advantage of a warm, private room with unlimited millet spray and spend all it's time relaxing, that isn't the case. Unless a bird is spending most of its time in a puddle of its own feathers, you can't really tell how sick it is.

Second, you learn the things that are most important to the bird. If a bird spends most of its time calling out for other birds, you know that it just loves companionship. If a bird spends most of its time trying to hide from you (especially when you're hovering nearby to try to figure out how sick it is), then you know it's a bit nervous, and likes to feel safe. That sort of thing.

Ovaltine apparently loves the nest boxes, and really needed one when bedtime rolled around last night. He did his uncoordinated best to get on top of the small cracker box I'd put inside the cage. It worked well during the day, when it made a nice hidey hole on the ground to nap in, but it wasn't strong enough to hold him while sleeping on top (he weighs 12 grams), and there were no nice plastic vines to keep him from falling off. I grabbed one of the less-used nest boxes from the Finsterium (much to the consternation of the other Finsters), and just barely managed to fit it through the door of the hospital cage. Then came the sweet moment of lifting Ovaltine off the precarious cracker box, and placing him gently on the nest box. He fell right asleep.

Ovaltine isn't spending all his time being a puddle of feathers, but more than I'd like. A lot more. Still, he's managed to give me a good laugh whenever it's time for medicine. He doesn't bite me, like Frank does (see here and here). Instead, he's more like Goober, who freaks me out by sitting on the ground, looking all pathetic afterward. But he's better at it.

Now, when I say he gives me a good laugh, I should clarify that by saying that I have a twisted sense of humor. Because, in fact, after I put a dose of medicine on or near his beak, Ovaltine plays dead. Legs splayed, head lolling, lying flat on the ground, doesn't move for a good five minutes, dead. DEAD dead. D E A D. It's a great trick!

Hahahahahahahaha.

Ovaltine has gotten less coordinated in the past couple of days, and ended up trying to sleep on the floor early this morning. So we caught him up (Ovaltine was sadly easy, and only one Spice finch came out and [pretty] quickly flew back into the Finsterium) and took him to the vet. The trip itself was difficult, since it was only 9 degrees out. I put a towel and a heating pad in the bottom of a box, put the travel cage in, and then put another towel on top. It worked. Unfortunately, the vet wasn't really sure what was going on. Her best bet was liver and/or kidney problems, because of the overgrowing beak, and because of the weakness suggested by his coordination problems. So, he's in the hospital cage now, on the steroid prednisone. But it doesn't look like he'll make it.

1. His Name Is Wasabi
2. The One With More Proof Of The Conspiracy Against Me
3. The One Where I Mention I'm Not Going Crazy (Really)

His name is Wasabi. He is a male Spice finch. His feathers are in good shape, although he has a bare spot at the back of his neck. He has a blue band around his right leg. So far. He doesn't bite at it to try to make it fall off. So far. Of all my male Spice finches, he's the one that comes closest to having a Hunka Hunka Burning Love dance. His Hunka Hunka Burning Love song goes a little like this:

I'm not positive I have this diagram correct. I've drawn it several times over the past few weeks, and it always looks a little different. Part of the problem is that when Wasabi sings it, he uses those three descending whistles at the beginning. But when Peppercorn (Mélènge) sings it, he precedes it with a long string of nearly silent and unpronounceable whistles, and usually uses four descending notes at the beginning. Interestingly, when Peppercorn (Mélènge) sings Cinnamon and Ovaltine's song — primarily that first part, with the descending trill — he also adds a lot more nearly silent and unpronounceable whistles both before and after than any of the other birds do. Just today, I caught him practicing Earl Grey's song. Suddenly, he's singing all the time!

Obviously, I'm going to have to kill Peppercorn (Mélènge). It will be easy to twist his tiny little neck, with all those missing feathers....

Lucky for him, he looks almost exactly like Szechwan (Pepper), and since Szechwan (Pepper) is kind enough to sing the same song the same way all the time, Peppercorn (Mélènge)'s life will likely be spared.

(And I should mention: lucky for me that I found that broken pink leg band. Otherwise I would still be looking all over the apartment for a small, brown bird with a pink band on his left leg, and obsessively counting birds in the Finsterium.)

(And I should also mention that Bruce says the new Finsters couldn't possibly be making me go crazy, since I already am crazy.)

I'm pretty sure that Wasabi's Hunka Hunka Burning Love song is almost as unchanging and dependable as Szechwan (Pepper)'s song. Once I get Peppercorn (Mélènge)'s song sorted out — assuming that's possible, of course — I'll pin down his song.

Ovaltine really loves eggs. He sees the dish coming, starts chirping, clings to the wall, and gets all twisty in anticipation. Then he drops to the floor and trips all over things to get to the dish. Oh, other Finsters like eggs, too, but not as much as Ovaltine. Ovaltine loves eggs as much as Peanut loves tasty seeds, which is saying a lot.

You can click here to see a close up of this picture — the object that looks like a hole in his head (outlined in pink) is his ear. Kinda gruesome, if you haven't seen a bird's ear before. The picture also clearly illustrates his feather damage, and the fact that his lower beak is currently a little longer than his upper beak. This happened in the past few weeks.

In my (rather limited) experience, an overgrown beak can mean two things: liver damage, or inbreeding. Not much to do for either of them: liver damage suggests a lower-protein diet, but since he's living in a community flight, it's difficult to do. I'll have to stop giving him so many eggs, poor thing, but he likes millet spray almost as much. As for the inbreeding, the only thing to do is make sure he doesn't breed himself. Also difficult to do in a community, but since I'm not encouraging any breeding in the Finsterium (no nesting material), things should be okay. Of course, if that beak gets much longer I'll have to catch him and trim it.

If I had to guess, I'd say that the more likely culprit is inbreeding. His feather damage most likely comes from zealous preening by the other birds, but his lack of coordination suggests he's not the strongest of birds. His wings seem a little droopy sometimes, too. He also has a funny habit of fluttering his wings. At first I thought he was cold, or feeling poorly, but then it clicked: he was begging for food like a baby! I don't think this behavior has anything to do with either inbreeding or liver damage; maybe he's still very young. Or a little crazy.

Unfortunately, he's been looking a little under the weather lately. He seems to be eating more, and sleeping more, and I've hardly seen him singing his Hunka Hunka Burning Love song, and dancing his Hunka Hunka Burning Love dance. The Arctic breeze coming through Michigan makes it practically impossible to take him to the vet, but his condition finally motivated us to arrange a basking light in a useful, permanent spot that doesn't jut into the kitchen and take up any of the precious space not already taken up by the Finsterium.

You can click here for a big version of this second photo of twisty Ovaltine.

1. His Name Is Peppercorn (Mélènge)
2. The One Where I Prove The Conspiracy Against Me

His name is Peppercorn (Mélènge) — the "Mélènge" part is silent. He is a male Spice finch, although until about three days ago I thought he was a hen, since I'd never heard and seen him sing. No diagram of his song yet, though I may get one some day. It's long, it has several parts to it, and a few of those are nearly silent and unpronounceable. He has quite a bit of feather damage, in the same pattern as Szechwan (Pepper) — naked around the neck, and at the back of the head. In fact, I've seen the two of them together, aggressively preening each other's heads, no doubt so that they look more alike. And they do like alike, almost exactly alike, except for Szechwan (Pepper)'s pink leg band.

Which, I should mention, fell off this morning.

Here's half the band, clearly not on Szechwan (Pepper)'s left leg. Clearly. Not. When I first introduced him I mentioned that he chewed on it a lot. At the time I wasn't worried about him losing it. But frankly, that was before I realized that without it, he looks almost EXACTLY like Peppercorn (Mélènge). That was before I caught all the males singing indiscriminately to other males, so I'd think they were females. That was before Cinnamon dramatically changed his song for a few weeks so I'd think he was another bird altogether. That was before Peppercorn (Mélènge) revealed he only sings his Hunka Hunka Burning Love song once every three months, so I'd think he was a hen. And that was before all the new Finsters started lining up in a row and whispering "the truth is in here" in perfect unison. Well.

I'll get over it. Szechwan (Pepper) is the partly naked bird that sings, and Peppercorn (Mélènge) is the partly naked bird that doesn't. See? That's easy.

Now, I know that the "Mélènge" part in Peppercorn (Mélènge)'s name is questionable, but first of all, it's silent. Plus, there's a certain logic to having the two partly naked male Spice finches named in a similar manner, especially now that they look almost exactly alike. Because, if you'll recall, Szechwan (Pepper)'s pink leg band FELL OFF this morning. And considering how the two of them are banding together (no pun intended) (really), it's unlikely that anyone will beat him up over it. What can I say? I like names with two words, and the bother of typing out every time I write about him.

I think I'm just going to have to go ahead and introduce the last three Spice Finsters. I was thinking I had them all sorted out, when they went and messed up my little head. The third Spice finch with noticeable feather damage? I was sure she was female, until I heard him sing two days ago. For the first time, ever. A sweet, meandering song that will clearly take another few months to sort out. The second finely feathered finch? I heard him singing often enough that I can make a diagram of his song now. I was just getting ready to do that when he started tacking the second two parts of his song onto the end, proving that he is, in fact, Cinnamon. Apparently, he's a moody fellow, or likes variety, and tends to keep the various parts of his song separate. And apparently, Cinnamon's song doesn't sound as much like Ovaltine's as I first thought. Not that I would really be able to tell, since lately I haven't seen Ovaltine singing much — and unless I can see who's singing, I can't really tell which bird it is. It doesn't help that most of the Spice finches stop singing when they know I'm watching, that they don't usually sing their complete songs at any one time (Szechwan [Pepper] is an exception), that they often sing indiscriminately to things like other males and tasty seeds, and that they sing their songs many times a day — but not all day. Not that I'm complaining. Apart from the mild paranoia, they certainly keep me on my toes. But before I name the last three, let me clarify Cinnamon's song:

Mind you, he often — but not always — inserts several beats' worth of nearly silent, unpronounceable whistles before each of the three parts, but this diagram gets pretty close. (Not too much different from the original.) He'll sing the first part by itself once or repeated several times, and the third part by itself once or repeated several times; the second part is usually sung only when he's doing the whole thing. It was that first part that had me thinking it was a different bird altogether. The third part is just like part of Ovaltine's song.

Um, unless they're totally messing with my head. After all, if Ovaltine and Cinnamon can sing similar songs, why not another Finster, too? Maybe they all sing each other's songs, all the time.

The piles are getting smaller. Piles of new Finsters, that is, sleeping on top of nest boxes. When they first arrived and settled in a bit, a pair of Spice finches slept on top of one nest box, and all the 7 other new Finsters slept on top of Finsters on top of a four inch square nest box with plastic vines hot glued around three edges taking up precious space. Now, all four of the highest nest boxes have birds sleeping on top. From left to right it is — as far as I can tell without using the Flashlight Of Evil Looking — Oolong, Ovaltine and possibly a Spice finch or two; a pair or so of Spice finches; Frank, sleeping on top of the box that Earl Grey and Goober sleep in; all the rest. There may even be a Spice finch or two sleeping inside a nest box sometimes, although with their dark little faces I can't say for sure. They're practically invisible when they're completely inside, but I have seen a nicely-feathered Spice finch sticking his head outside after lights out.

Where there are Finsters sleeping on top of Finsters — which still happens regularly, both at bed time and during daytime naps — you can be pretty sure that Ovaltine will be on the bottom.

A two inch square sticker of the sweetest little fawn, all curled up, sleeping in a woodland glade, is — when affixed to the front of your T-shirt — Pure Evil. So says Peanut, who refused to come out of his house yesterday while I had it on, and kept stretching as tall as possible, turning his head to one side, staring at it. I took it off, folded it in half, tore it up in front of him, and all was right with the world again.

My newest favorite sound is Earl Grey, sitting inside his nest box, singing his Hunka Hunka Burning Love song, with Frank standing on the nest box's porch, head and half his body sticking inside. Makes for some very interesting acoustics.

A jar chock full of a new batch of crumbles is hard to pour into Peanut's tiny dishes, so I used a spoon. Not the Awesome Blue Spoon of Seedy Goodness, just a regular teaspoon. But despite the ordinary silver color Peanut was still drawn to the spoonful of possibilities, and as per usual I put some crumbles in it and held it steady while he ate. Once he was finished I once again used the spoon to fill up another dish — or, at least I would have, except that Peanut was once again drawn to the spoonful of possibilities, and ate some more crumbles. I wonder if he could be so drawn to spoons that he'd eat enough to explode?

Szechwan (Pepper) can totally sing his Hunka Hunka Burning Love song and poop at the same time.

I've pretty much named all the new Finsters, but I still can't quite tell them all apart. Thus the incredible delay in formal introductions. I'm working on it.

Although I usually make kissy noises with Peanut, I go through phases when I sing to him. Many years ago, I wrote "The Peanut Song." The lyrics are:

Peanut Peanut,
Peanut Peanut,
Peanut Peanut,
Peanut Peanut,
Peanut Peanut,
Peanut Peanut,
Peanut Peanut,
Peanut Peanut!

Scintillating!

The melody, I was warned by one of the few people ever allowed to hear it, was very similar to the Oklahoma University football team's fight song. Alas, I just discovered that this is true. Believe me, I never meant to plagiarize, and since I'm not a football fan I'm not sure how I even heard it. But The Peanut Song is so similar to Boomer Sooner that I will never sing it again. (That link will play the MP3 for you. This link goes to a collection of football fight songs.)

Don't worry, there's always The Tasty Seed Song!

Either that, or I'm losing my memory. You choose.

About three years ago I got a new cholla perch for Peanut. After carefully introducing it to him (as with most introductions, this involved several tasty seeds) I put it on the roof of his house. Here's a photo I managed to snap at just the right moment, of Peanut ON the cholla perch.

And where is that cholla perch now? you ask.

Why, it's inside Peanut's house.

And when did that happen? you ask.

Why, I have no idea.

And did Peanut wake up in the middle of the night screaming because there was something new in his cage?

Why, no, not that I recall.

So. It seems that my trepidations from a few days ago when I put the new sun deck in his house were unnecessary. Apparently, I am more obsessive compulsive stuck in my ways than Peanut.

You can see a bigger picture of Peanut's house, if you'd like. You may think that Peanut doesn't have many toys in his house, and I'd agree with you. In fact, he doesn't play with all the toys that he has. But since he's out of his house most of the time, playing with me, I don't worry too much.

The other day I was rearranging some bird things in the cupboard, and forgot to put the extra patio sun deck away. I attach a cuttlefish bone to one of these for the Finsters, but even the small version is really too big for my small birds — the bars are spaced too far apart (I ordered them through the mail, so didn't realize). The second one has lived in the cupboard since I got them, until the other day when I was too lazy to put it away.

Instead, I showed it to Peanut, who immediately started squeaking, biting it, and otherwise checking it out. So I hung it on the outside of his door, and he immediately climbed onto it, and walked around on it (awkwardly), all the while squeaking away.

Now, this is the same kind of non-stop, happy squeaking sound that Peanut makes when he's discovered a sunflower seed hiding in his coconut, or when I'm feeding him breakfast, or when he's first settling down for Warm Toasties. This was one happy bird. The only thing I can figure is that he had one of these when he was a baby.

So I put the sun deck on the outside of his cage for a couple of days. And yesterday, on a whim, I removed one of the perches from his cage and put it inside. WHAT AM I THINKING?

For more than 6 1/2 years his house configuration has been the same. It looks like this. Oh, sure, a year ago he stopped sleeping on perch D, and started sleeping on perch C, but still. 6 1/2 years with no furniture changes, and suddenly I remove perch D entirely and put a sun deck in its place? This for a bird who gives me scary beak faces when I put a new toy in his house? Really, what am I thinking?

But he climbed onto it all squeaky and happy when I first put it in, he's been on it a couple of times, the fact that it completely changes how he gets around that corner of the cage now doesn't seem to phase him, and he didn't wake up in the middle of the night screaming because his room was different.

Could it be that I am even more obsessive compulsive stuck in my ways than Peanut?