Usually I get Lettuce For Lazy People — handy bags of washed and torn lettuce, packed with nitrogen, ready for dropping into a bowl and splashing with oil and vinegar. But the Finsters get a nice, fresh, whole leaf of organic lettuce every day, usually romaine. Yes, the birds eat better than I do.

Since the Finsters only like the bigger, outside leaves, I end up with the hearts of the lettuce taking up room in the vegetable drawer of the refrigerator. So every now and then I dust off the lettuce spinner and put it to work.

Since Peanut is so good at flicking things like paper strips and corn, he decided to flick the pieces of lettuce from the spinner into the bowl. He was pretty good at it, even on the first try! I didn't get any action pictures, but you can click here for a bigger version.

P.S. Turns out it was good I didn't mention this to Bruce. He was a bit taken aback at the thought of the bird playing with his food. Probably not the best idea, but it's not like birds have spit. Besides, it's a great game!

Although not a beautiful as could be, feather damage can come in quite handy when you're hovering over a bird to see if it's eating. That ring missing around Ovaltine's neck made it easy to see if there were any tasty seeds in his crop.

I tried to find other, softer foods that might be easier for Ovaltine to eat with that chipping beak. Unfortunately, he stuck to the millet spray. But the other Finsters checked out the dishes, particularly when I added a few soaked seeds to the mix. Although I didn't see who did it, once the shredded lettuce disappeared completely. Probably into a nest box, for some nice comfy bedding.

I think Goober's time spent with the Floor Bird was companionship, and not just the irresistable draw of millet spray. She's spent a bit of time on the floor today.

It happened just as I expected: his lower beak kept chipping away, until I was sure he couldn't eat anymore. Took him to the vet when the tip broke off, and she agreed. Rather than let him starve to death, I got him the shot of poison.

I am shocked, devastated, when one of my Finsters dies. It's the very same emotion as when a person dies, although it doesn't last as long. I suppose lots of people don't understand that. It's just a bird, right? But I say: It's a bird. Exactly. And I say: If you feel nothing when a bird dies, then you're missing something about life. That's what I say.

Some Random Ovaltine Notes:
Best. Name. Ever.

Except at bedtime, when he'd flutter-and-climb his way up to a nest box, Ovaltine spent the last of his time in the Finsterium as a Floor Bird. Goober spent a good part of her day down there with him. Part of that could be the unlimited millet spray surrounding him, but we'll call it companionship.

We set up a light to shine onto the floor of the Finsterium, so Ovaltine would have a warm spot to sit in. But when he kept clinging to the side of the cage so he'd be closer to the light — and NAPPING — we went to the pet store to get a heated rock designed to keep lizards warm. As we'd hoped, it also works for birds. Ovaltine spent a little less time clinging and napping, and a little more time tucked up next to the rock and napping.

Goober spent a good part of her day being Queen Of The Rock. Part of that could be that she simply likes to be Queen Of Things, and part of that could be that she liked to keep her feet warm, but we'll call it companionship.

There is no spot in the Finsterium where a heated rock won't get covered in poop. Part — but not all — of that is Goober's fault. Part of it is just gravity.

I miss Ovaltine and his crowing. He was such a lively bird.

R.I.P. Ovaltine, ? — February 15, 2005.

Remember when Comdex was good? (Remember Comdex?) I picked up this nifty give-away from the friendly folks at ViewSonic a few years ago. On a whim, I decided it should live on top of Peanut's house. Since the stuffed birds occasionally give him tiny bits of millet spray, he's accepted them as friends. Stingy friends, but friends.

"I did not bring you over here so that you could Mind Control Bruce into giving you tasty seeds!"

"Ow! Freckles are not tasty seeds."

"Ow! That's my finger, not a tasty seed."

"I did not bring you over here so that you could Mind Control Bruce into giving you tasty seeds!"

"Shoulder...shoulder...shoulder.... That's my Shoulder Boy!" accompanied by hand gestures that gently herd the bird up to my shoulder

"Ow! Quit it!"

"Don't make me take you home!"

"Biting me won't turn me into the Big Sweaty Hand."

"I did not bring you over here so that you could Mind Control Bruce into giving you tasty seeds!"

"Ow! Ears aren't tasty seeds."

Yesterday, Ginger spent most of the day on the porch of the new plastic nest box, and several Spice finches spent quite a bit of time rearranging the plastic vines on the roof.

Then came nightfall, and the box apparently underwent a Mr. Hyde transformation.

Late last night, after a couple of hours of Finstipations, the nest box results, from left to right, were: Ovaltine and one or two Spice finches, Oolong and a Spice finch, Frank (with Earl Grey and Goober inside), and NO ONE. The rest of the Spice finches are apparently still on their way to Malaysia.

So I asked Bruce, "What am I supposed to do, leave old, poop-covered nest boxes in there for years at a time?"

He said, "If that's what it takes."

I suppose he's right.

The Finsters got two new nest boxes today: one was the old-fashioned brown "kraft" paper box, and the other was another of the plastic boxes. This time, I modified the plastic box even more by replacing the supplied perch with a more familiar dowel; a quick visit to the drill press and an extra dab of hot glue was all it took. We put the plastic one in the top right corner of the Finsterium, since that is the most popular spot, and generally has the most Finsters piled on top of each other at bed time. The plastic is just a bit wider than the paper box, so I figured they'd like it.

Unfortunately, even after a day of sitting on the dowel porch, and trying to rearrange all the vines on top, it turns out that THE BOX IS EVIL.

Not that this really surprises me. But it sure makes bedtime difficult. There have been flutterpations and Finstipations on and off all night. Finally, the top four nest boxes, from left to right, have Oolong and two Spice finches, a Spice finch, Frank, and — this is the EVIL one, remember — no one. No One. The box that usually has five or more birds on it is empty. Earl Grey and Goober are inside their usual box, the same one Frank is on top of. Ovaltine is sleeping on top of one of the nest boxes on the lower row — all alone, but off the floor.

Since I can't tell without using the Evil Flashlight Of Evil Looking, I can only surmise that the other Spice Finsters packed up in disgust at the new nest box, and are on their way back to Malaysia.

I didn't see it happen, but Bruce says that Ovaltine is sleeping INSIDE the nest box with Earl Grey and Goober. It just doesn't get any better than that.

Well, maybe if Oolong were in there with them. And Frank, of course. But Frank is on top of the box, and — as far as I can tell without using the Evil Flashlight Of Evil Looking — Oolong is on top of another box with a couple of Spice finches.

Still, lucky little Ovaltine! All nice and warm, hanging out for the first time, ever, in Earl Grey and Goober's house.

Peanut's molting clipped flight feathers and his growing adventerous nature have led him to a few new places in the past weeks. Like his forays toward the hospital cage, I've tried to curb this behavior by taking him home right after he's landed. Ahem. Right after I've taken a photograph. And it's working. Apart from a continuing — though lessening — fascination with items on top of the refrigerator, and a new interest in the top of the open refrigerator door, he's stopped most of his exploring. Unless he's, you know, in one of his moods.

Watch out for the almost-perfect photo in flight, it's pretty big.

Due to the vagaries of gravity, Ovaltine spent at least part of last night sleeping on the floor of the Finsterium. He was there at 4 am, when I woke up for no clear reason, but probably because I somehow knew that there was a bird on the floor that needed looking over. In fact, despite getting up to nest boxes at least twice yesterday afternoon and evening, he started out the night sleeping on a perch, so I wasn't really surprised he ended up on the floor.

So far today he's spent most of his time napping on the floor, and living on the millet spray — both eating it and just being near it. Much as I'd like to spend all day fixing him gourmet meals and all night giving him Warm Toasties, I'm afraid he's simply at the end of his life. The only question is, will he be more comfortable in the Finsterium with his friends and unlimited millet spray, in the warmer hospital cage with unlimited millet spray, or does he need sped along a bit, to put him out of his misery?

Not that last yet, but clearly one of those other two.

Ovaltine is back in the Finsterium, having received his last dose of steroids (and another dose of lactulose, since I had him in my hand) this morning. Unfortunately, he's pretty uncoordinated. I'm hoping some of this is from lack of exercise, since that hospital cage is pretty small compared to the Big House. But so far, he's been just as badly coordinated as he was before his 16 days of medication. He can't fly very well, and ends up fluttering-and-climbing up the walls, often falling to the floor before he makes it to a perch or a nest box. Poor little guy goes straight up under a nest box, bangs his tiny head on the bottom, and plops right down! He's spent a lot of time on the ground eating millet spray (why not when it's right there), and he's napped on the floor and napped while clinging to the wall.

The Finsterium is pretty big, so that "thud" gets a little unnerving, but I've already added two low perches, and I can add more as I figure out his patterns. And, there's nothing wrong with having a Floor Bird. The main things to watch out for are if the bird is reasonably content (i.e., not chirping constantly, trying to get places), and that none of the other birds pick on him. In those respects, he's doing okay. But the situation is a little distracting, since I keep looking for him, worrying. A permanent stay in the hospital cage is still an option, but I'll see how he does for a few days, before deciding.

The good news is I can put milk thistle in the communal water dish — it'll continue to help Ovaltine, and won't harm the other Finsters. They'll only get the big bath dish a couple of times a day, but that shouldn't be a problem. The bad news is that Ovaltine's beak is still growing at the tips, but is now chipping off in the middle. I took him back to the vet yesterday afternoon, and she seemed a bit concerned. Well, obviously, since he needs to eat with that beak. She trimmed it again, but couldn't do a perfect job. He's doing fine with millet spray right now, and I think soaked seeds are easy to eat, but I'll have to find some soft food that he likes. No luck so far, apart from those bad-for-livers eggs.

All in all, not great news. But at least he's not playing dead.

This is Thing 1, a tiny, 9 gram male zebra finch who lived with Nance in Florida. He died today after a long (for a bird) struggle. Five days ago Nance took him to the vet to be euthanized, because he was in such bad shape. But they called her up a little later saying he was flying around and doing fine. For five days, his new name was Lazarus.

He was a good bird.

Ovaltine has been in the hospital cage — in the office — for twelve days now. That's a long time for a social creature to be stuck in a small space all alone. So far, two days longer than most birds — since a course of Turn-Me-Pink antibiotics only takes ten days. And he'll be in there even longer than his last experience, when he and all the other new Finsters were in "quarantine" for two weeks. It'll take 16 days to wean him off the steroids — which, I'm pretty sure, weren't doing much for him. I think 16 is a record.

He's stopped playing dead, which hopefully means he's feeling better in general, and instead is doing a pretty good job of getting away from the Evil Hand of Catching and Dropping Medicine on or Near Beaks. He's stopped spending so much time sleeping in a puddle of his own feathers, and is even hanging on the bars of the cage, trying to get out. Unfortunately, I know he isn't "cured," and probably never will be.

He's still on the lactulose and milk thistle, but the current plan is to put him back in the Finsterium after he's had his last dose of steroids. Since one of those three medications has been making him feel better, his condition will likely worsen. We'll see how bad it gets, and how quickly. If it becomes clear that the meds were helping, we'll have two choices. Either have him live in the hospital cage where I can catch him every day — probably with Oolong, since living alone is not an option. Or, have him live in the Finsterium most of the time, with vacations in the hospital cage for a few pick-me-up doses of medicine. Neither of those options are great.

Peanut has been very curious about the hospital cage, and has flown toward it several (that would be ten) times in twelve days. Once or twice he's landed on the bookshelf above the hospital cage, two or three times he's landed on the workbench in front of the hospital cage, and the other times he's gotten flummoxed and flown a loop around the office. The thing is, the office is really too small for even a small, green bird to fly a loop around in it. So sometimes he's landed on my head, once he landed on top of the drill press, and once or twice he's landed here, flew off and landed there, and took off and landed another where.

Clearly, this is potentially dangerous. Clearly, Peanut needs to get his wing feathers clipped. But even when that happens he'll still be able to fly from his play gym to the workbench. Since that's not fair to the sick Finster, I'm trying to teach him not to do that. Specifically, when he flies toward the hospital cage, I pick him up, tell him that's not safe, and take him home where it is safe.

Flight number ten (today) notwithstanding, I think he's learning. Either that, or he's teaching me a new signal for when he wants me to take him home. Birds are much smarter than non-bird people thought (see here or here or here).