After a week of living with Harley, I can say with no small amount of confidence that if I were to take him through airport security now, we would both have a much easier time of it. I'm much more used to his size and weight, more familiar with the way he balances on my hand, more accustomed to spending time with a big, grey bird. He's still better at it all than I am — I am still in awe that this near stranger to me will "step up" on command (except for the few times I get it wrong). Gotta say that his Mom former Mom did a wonderful job of socializing this bird.

Despite this growing confidence, I would not want to take him anywhere near an airport right now, for fear the visit would reinforce his apparent joy in making the sound of the airport security beep. Bruce has spent a lot of time in airports lately, so was able to identify it immediately: a metal detector that's found a belt buckle, loose change, or something equally dangerous and terrifying.

The metal detector noise is loud, high and piercing — and quite startling when it's in your living room. The other day Harley started making the airport beep, and another beep that we couldn't identify. Loud, but a bit lower on the musical scale, with a nasal tone; this one isn't so piercing, and in fact I like it. I call it a "boop." "BEEP! BEEP! BOOP!" Let's just say, Harley might be a little more likely to forget the security beep if the boop didn't make me laugh every time I hear it.

So far, no neighbors have complained about the noise, but Harley can be quite loud. On a couple of occasions, when he's made very loud, obnoxious noises I've tried to distract him by making less annoying noises with him. This has been relatively successful — at least, when I don't start laughing at him. He can whistle (I can't, but I try), he hisses, he clucks his tongue, he makes kiss noises, he says "What'cha doin'" (although not very clearly), "no" (to which I always reply "yes"), and one day, distinctly and completely out of context, he said "you're welcome." He also says "are you ready for bed" when it's bedtime, in a voice that hardly sounds human, much less like his former Mom.

Apart from his capacity for being louder, and his ability to chew up thicker paper products, Harley's size makes a big difference in how I can handle him.

Peanut was so tiny I had to be very gentle with him, or I'd knock him right over. In comparison, Harley is quite solid and sturdy. I notice this most when I get to give him scritches.

IN YOUR FACE, BRUCE!

Yes, night number one Harley preened Bruce's beard, night two Bruce got to give Harley scritches, but night number three (with Bruce out of town) I got to give Harley the Most Scritches Ever. He was sitting on the back of the couch when I reached up to bring him back down to my knee. But instead, Harley twisted his head around, asking for scritches. He rested his beak on the couch for stability, and I started gently ruffling his feathers. But as time went on, he leaned into my fingers, and it soon became clear that some spots need rubs, not gentle touches. In fact, there is nothing gentle about scritching the crown of his skull, or around his nostrils. It's an amazing experience.

I met Harley's Mom and her friend at the airport on Friday, where we found a spot in the middle of everything and brought Harley out of his travel cage and sat him on my knee. In the middle of the airport. Out on my knee. Let me repeat that. In the middle of an airport. Out. On. My. Knee. This was to prove to me that Harley was a much better, calmer traveler than I was, and that he'd handle going through security just fine. It was a remarkable experience — at least, I thought so. Harley just sat on my knee, looking around, as if nothing amazing at all were going on.

He was both bigger and smaller than I remembered.

He got lots of stares from admiring passers-by. Most people walked by slowly, watching him the whole time. But two children, both under five years old, crept up slowly toward the travel cage, trying to peer inside. Finally their mother pointed up to my knee, and the older child did a double take that would have put him on America's Funniest Home Videos if there had been a movie camera around. There was a camera phone, so if those pics (of Harley! not the kid) come out, I'll post them.

We visited just long enough for Harley to learn and practice making a new sound: a very piercing beep from a security machine. We'll see if he keeps that one in his repertoire.

After a quick introduction to putting Harley in the travel cage (move quickly and watch his toes), I checked in at the counter, and got ready to go through security. It wasn't too crowded, and there were two lines, so I picked the one closest to where Harley's Mom was watching (ready to leap over the barrier and pummel the TSA employees if the bird needed saving), and warned everybody that I had a live bird. I put my shoes and few belongings into a grey bin, and then I don't remember anything except Harley's Mom making sure we were both walking through the metal detector and not an X-ray machine, Harley's Mom advising me to hold him closer to my body, holding Harley's toes, and putting him carefully back into his box.

I think the Transportation Security Administration people all admired him, and asked me what kind of bird he was, and I think I even managed to reply coherently, and one of the TSA people helped me make sure I had the cage closed correctly before I walked away, they were all very nice, and I remembered to gather my shoes and other things, and wave goodbye to Harley's Mom. And then I spent about two hours in the airport, talking to myself Harley the whole time.

(As I stood in line to get on the plane, a fellow asked me what kind of animal was in the box. He guessed it was a ferret. I told him it was a bird, "the complete opposite of a ferret." Not to be mean to ferrets, of course. Back in Detroit another man asked me if I had a tarantula in the box. Who are these people, and what kinds of pets do they have?)

Luckily there was an empty seat next to me on the airplane, so I was able to bend down every few minutes to talk to Harley. The man in the next seat over very wisely pretended to sleep the whole time. (No, he was actually very friendly, and only pretended to sleep some of the time.) Harley was very quiet during the trip, although I don't think anyone would have noticed if he made noise, since there was an unhappy infant behind me.

Trip over, Bruce met us as we walked out of the airport, and we drove home.

Where Harley almost immediately established his dominance by climbing to the very top of his cage.

Harley has been remarkably content at times. About three hours after arriving here, Harley was resting on Bruce's knee, one foot tucked up, and grinding his beak. Remarkable! He's been eating and drinking and pooping and playing and even making a bit of noise. He's introduced us to pinning — some varieties of parrots can make their pupils get bigger and smaller and bigger again when they're excited about something. The best thing was pizza sauce, although scrambled egg, apples, pears, and preening Bruce's beard also rated pinning eyes.

You read that right: Harley preened Bruce's beard his first night here.

So yes, Bruce is winning. He even got to give Harley scritches last night — only his second night here! Harley's Mom was amazed! (Yeah, don't worry. Bruce is still commuting to DC three or four days a week, so I'll win eventually. Bwa ha ha!)

But bedtime is hard. I'm sure that's when Harley feels the most vulnerable and alone. He's used to sleeping in a room with other birds, and with the Finsters in the office in as close as we can get to quarantine, all he has to keep him company are the noises from the light timers, refrigerator, and the occasional neighbor. He's ended up going to bed very late for him (although his time has changed by an hour), and it's taken several tries to finally settle him down, no matter how many choruses of "Rock a Bye Harley" we sing. The worst was last night, when he dozed a little hanging on the wall UPSIDEDOWN!

But we got two new perches today and changed his cage a bit. He preened for quite a while on one of them, so hopefully he'll settle down there a little more quickly tonight. And we have a lot of time to figure it all out.

And he's already taught Bruce how to eat toast:

Close-up of Harley on the cage (pops).

I called the Transportation Security Administration today. The fellow asked for my name and phone number so he could add me to his permanent list of "interesting people" so he could call back if we got disconnected, and revealed that I might have to take Harley out of his travel cage in the airport so that the cage could go through the security scanner. You know, so they can make sure I'm not hiding explosives or small children in there.

This seems like a really bad idea. You get an airline-approved cage, you put the animal safely inside, and then you have to take it out in the middle of a crowd? In an enormous, open building? You could probably sneak a leash onto a dog, but cats have sharp claws and could easily get away from you — and lost in the airport forever! Harley's wing feathers are clipped, but if he got really scared he could get himself into trouble, or bite somebody, or something like that.

But I am trying my best to remain calm. Harley is good at stepping up, he is good with people and traveling, and I know the "hold the toes" trick so he can't get away so easily. Plus, the TSA fellow said I could ask for a "private screening." I don't know what that means, exactly, but at least if it's really crowded, I'll have the option to go someplace quieter.

And the calmer I am, the calmer Harley will be.

Visualize whirled peas.

Despite the bits of snow we're getting this week, it's Spring, and Szechwan (Pepper) knows it! He always sings his Hunka Hunka Burning Love song, but lately he just can't get enough of the nest building. So I accommodate him with bits of timothy hay. I've discovered that if I give him the grass every other day, he gets so desperate for it by that second day that I can open the Finsterium door to take a picture without him freaking out too much.

That sounds mean, doesn't it? This tiny little creature loooooves his nest building, and I withhold the grass just so I can take a few pictures. Bad pictures, I might add. Well don't worry, now that I have my pictures, I'll stop torturing him. Grass every day now! The wider picture is a little better; you can pop up a bigger version.

While Szechwan (Pepper) is the busiest, all of the Finsters are building nests. Ginger, who is in the background of the wide photo, also seems to like to play with the timothy, and eat it. There are some stalks of grass with seed heads still attached. I can't tell if there are any seeds left, but Ginger likes to look for them. She'll stand on one end of the piece of grass, and pick at the seed head on the other end.

One day, Ginger and Szechwan (Pepper) were fighting over the same piece of grass. Szechwan (Pepper) took a piece of grass up to his nest box, but since the end still sticking out of the box had a seed head, Ginger snatched it right out and started looking for seeds. So Szechwan (Pepper) stole it back, and took it back into the nest box. But since the end still sticking out of the box had a seed head, Ginger....

Well, you get the idea. Good times!

Harley is 5 years old — he either is, or is on the verge of being, an adult bird. He could live to be 50, or even 60 years old. He has the intelligence of a 5-year-old human, and the emotional skills of a 2-year-old human. Approximately. (These skills won't change.) This is not the kind of pet you can take lightly, this is the kind of pet you have to put in your will. The decision to take him in is similar to having a child (congratulations, Jen!). Or adopting one.

For all these reasons, and out of respect for the bird and his humans, with whom he has lived for about three years, Bruce and I cashed in frequent flyer miles to travel about 1,000 miles to spend an afternoon together. As it turned out, we got along really well. Within an hour or two, Harley was sitting on both of our knees, one foot tucked up, resting and comfortable. That suggests he is an adaptable creature, and that his current family has socialized him very well.

But Harley isn't the center of attention right now. He lives with a few other birds (including a macaw who likes to stick his tongue out at you!), quite a few dogs, and a bunch of fish. It's a lively, lovely home, but African Greys like to be the center of attention. And his family loves him enough to recognize that, and wants to find him a better place. For him.

Re-homing a bird is always a hard decision. But thanks to the internets, we found out he likes to watch TV with his people — and there we were. Sitting with a generally calm, generally quiet bird, who came very close to knocking a tall glass, full of water, right over! RIGHT OVER! Oh, and he likes to chase toes. Who could resist that? Not us, that's for sure.

The Big Day is April 20. A few more frequent flyer miles, a small kennel tucked under the seat in front of me, and Harley will take over our lives.

This is Harley:


He's a Timneh African Grey.

His poops are about the size of a Finster's head. On average.

We're going to bring him home with us, in a couple of weeks. We have to rearrange the living room first. He has more furniture than we do.

My head is going to explode.

You know, in that good way.