While Harley likes me well enough, he really likes Bruce. Which is fine, since Bruce is out of town so much. If they hadn't gotten along well from the start, it'd be much harder for them to establish a good relationship. But it does make for funny little rituals.

Harley has a habit of grabbing your fingers pretty tightly with his toes while he's sitting on your hand, and leaning in the direction he wants to go. Once or twice he has even fallen off, from leaning so hard. Apparently African Greys are known for this behavior. Since Harley is so Massive and Willful, we usually take him where he wants to go. Quickly.

When Bruce goes out of town, Harley and I often have to walk around the apartment so Harley can see that Bruce isn't hiding somewhere. Last night we had to walk around the apartment three times. Aw.

Just as we sat down to lunch today, we heard a big thud from the Finsterium. Either Cinnamon or Cassia had just fallen to the floor. The bird gasped a last few times in Bruce's hand, and then died. I still can only tell which bird is which if I see Cinnamon singing — I haven't heard Cinnamon's song since the bird died, but I haven't heard Szechwan (Pepper)'s song either. And it hasn't been too long. So I don't know yet if it's Cinnamon or Cassia that died, but I also don't know which bird is in this picture. (Non sequitur.)

There's a bit of Finster Guilt — but there's always a bit of that. The truth is, that neither of the humans in the house noticed anything amiss these past few days. We probably haven't paid as much attention to the Finsters since they got out of (Harley's) quarantine, but we also haven't ignored them. Usually, we notice if a Finster isn't feeling quite right. Not this time. The sudden deaths are a little easier, since hand-wringing rarely does any good. But it still sucks.

And we totally need more Finsters, but with the fear of quarantine in me, I don't know how to do it.

Update: Cassia died. I just heard Cinnamon sing his Hunka Hunka Burning Love song.

R.I.P. Cassia, ? — June 17, 2007.

Harley loves warm beverages! I mean he loves them! We've discovered that the drink itself doesn't matter, as long as it's warm. Lately we've been giving him a bit of chamomile tea, but I'm tempted to try plain, warm water and see what happens. He ducks his head into the cup and audibly glugs. "Glug, glug, glug." And he drinks so much he squirts his poops for a few hours afterward. I think the warmth reminds him of being fed as a baby, since parrots feed their babies warm barf regurgitated food.

Comfort drinks.

UPDATE: It is, in fact, a bad idea to give a bird chamomile tea too often, although it's fine as a treat. Other options are healthy fruit and vegetable drinks, no extra sugar added. Just warm it up a bit in the microwave, and watch your bird glug! Tea options include rooibos or honeybush teas. Trader Joe's, of all places, has an organic honeybush tea. I haven't yet found a version of rooibos tea locally without a lot of extra things added (cinnamon, orange, anise, etc.). You can read more about both of these teas (and buy them, too) at Lifespan Tea.

A little while ago I wrote about giving Harley the Most Scritches Ever while Bruce was out of town. Unfortunately, one night we ran into a snag. There I was, my back to the TV, giving Harley the Most Scritches Ever while he was sitting on the back of the couch, when suddenly, Everything Went Wrong. The tip of Harley's upper beak was just a little stuck in my thumb, there was a little bit of blood, and we were both in a bit of shock. Once we extricated ourselves, I cleaned up what turned out to be a small puncture wound, gave Harley a drink of juice to clear the taste of blood out of his mouth, and took a deep breath.

Obviously, I had done something wrong, but I didn't know exactly what. I couldn't fix it, all I could do was try to pay more attention next time. Which I tried to do just a few minutes later. But suddenly, Everything Went Wrong again.

Not such a big bite this time, no more blood, just lots of confusion on both sides. As far as I could tell, I was giving him scritches in the proper way, but something kept going wrong. After the third bite — and don't you think I was brave to keep trying? — I decided it was time to stop.

My best guess is that he had a new pin feather somewhere on his head, and when I inadvertently scritched that sensitive spot, it hurt him. Poor fellow. The thing is, we've both been a little wary of scritches since then. Bruce came home the night of the Bloody Event, so Harley and I had a few days' break before we tried again, but even so, despite good intentions, we've been a bit too skittish to let me really start digging in again. We have plenty of time to figure it out, but still, it's a disappointment.

The other day, after taking a pen out of Harley's mouth a few too many times in a row (there's INK in there, buddy!), I got the idea to give him a toothbrush, clean and fresh from the dentist's office. Instant success! So many textures, so squishy to chew, and those bristles! you can preen them! Plus, it makes a very satisfying "thonk" sound when you fling it against someone's collar bone. It's one of those toys we'll have to keep an eye on, though, since it looks like Harley might be capable of breaking some of the softer plastic into bits.

Then one day, Bruce and Harley enjoyed a bit of magical communication, and we learned what a tooth brush is really good for: SCRITCHES! Wonderful scritches! Lovely, lovely scritches! (Although the photo is pretty bad.)

Since then, every night, Bruce and/or I spend(s) the evening brushing Harley's head, neck, cheeks, and even under his "chin." Although you can't really watch TV while you're giving Harley Brush Ruffles, since it's a very delicate procedure, you can hear it, and since he perches on his table, I'm more comfortable than I was when he sat on the back of the couch. I still hope to get back to Six Finger Skull Massages one day, but for now, this is pretty good.