Harley's fascination with the kitchen faucet continues. And why wouldn't it? It's shiny (albeit a little covered in water spots), it has two perches that both move, and it dispenses water. What fun!


Yeah. So now he wants to be there all the time, his poops keep getting squirtier and squirtier, and he tore off the button that says "Kohler" (marked in pink). It landed down the garbage disposal.

Now on the shopping list are epoxy to try to stick the button back in permanently (hahahahaha), and a drainer thingy to keep stuff from falling down the garbage disposal. (Because then Harley will be able to play with pony beads everywhere!)

Oh, and I need to get a new faucet, as well. The next thing to go will be the aerator. I can tell.

Do they make bird-safe faucets?

Harley likes the little table that sits in front of the couch. No, let me clarify: Harley loves the little table that sits in front of the couch. Oh, sure, the table usually holds his perch, which provides a perfect location for watching TV (picture pops). But mostly, he likes to crouch under it and lurk.

And crouch.

And lurk.

I'm sure the spot is very nest-like, and makes Harley feel secure. Plus, the piping is SO CLOSE and good for chewing. But maybe it also provides a good spot for watching the monsters that are hiding under the rug...or something. What else would hold his interest for fifteen minutes at a time?

Like the alluring cupboard at the old apartment, we've had to curtail Harley's time under the little table. He likes it just a little too much. And even if he weren't likely to nip my fingers when I try to move him, there's that enticing piping to think about.

1. Despite the fact that the Finster cage and its lights-on-timers still aren't set up, Harley knows when 7 a.m. is, and lets us know all about it.

2. Harley can say "potato chip."

3. When small creatures say words clearly and while staring at me over a bowl of potato chips in context, I am just as weak as Bruce is.

It turns out, if you leave Harley clinging to the side of his cage at bedtime, miserable and not ready to go to bed, turn the light out, and walk up the stairs with guilt gnawing at every cell in your body, he will eventually climb around to his Sleeping Perch and stay there, sleeping, for the rest of the night. I had to do that to him last night because he just wouldn't go to bed.

My fault, entirely, for not being Bruce.

This past week, in the new place, Harley has had a hard time going to bed. The trick that's worked the best is to take him up to the bedroom with us, lie on the bed, turn out all the lights except for the TV, and have Bruce give him scritches until he's practically asleep. Then I take him downstairs, deposit him on his Sleeping Perch, run to turn out the light before he can climb off his Sleeping Perch, and go upstairs.

As the week wore on, Harley has gotten closer and closer to Bruce's head for the requisite scritches. What used to be Loves On The Bed (picture pops) have turned into Loves On Bruce's Chest — sometimes Harley will rest his beak right on Bruce's cheek.

As absolutely, amazingly cute as this is, I knew I'd be in trouble when Bruce went out of town. And I was right. It turns out the Loves part was easy last night: after a few stops and starts, Harley grudgingly climbed up onto my chest, and then stayed there, mesmerized, for scritches. But once he realized that I could give him Loves, he sure didn't need me to take him anywhere else. I took him downstairs, he climbed off his Sleeping Perch, I took him back upstairs for more Loves, I took him downstairs again, I used the stick, back and forth, and by this time it was really late and I needed to get some sleep. Without a bird on my chest.

But as it turns out, Harley will eventually climb to his Sleeping Perch if you are mean and callous enough to leave him clinging to the side of his cage, forlorn and unloved, at bedtime. Here's hoping I'm not overcome by guilt tonight.

The next time you move, be sure to hire a couple of really strong men, particularly if one of them is 6' 9". Wow! (That's 1' 3" taller than I've ever wished to be!) It makes the whole process much easier. Mind you, even a couple of strapping young men can't make up for the fact that moving is really annoying. Oh, it's not just the boxes of stuff everywhere, it's also the strangeness of the new space.

The first morning, the Finsters — who are still in the "hospital" cage pending the cleaning and rebuilding of the Finsterium — were seen sleeping inside the bath dish. Inside the bath dish! Poor, damp Finsters. You can pop up a picture of that bath dish here, but don't get your hopes up — we still only have two finches. This photo is from when Ginger and Cinnamon were among the big batch of new Finsters back in September, 2004. Usually when subjected to the cramped quarters of the hospital cage, as many finches as can fit there sleep perched on the entrance to the bath, facing in. And that's where Ginger and Cinnamon have been sleeping since that first night.

The first night, Harley was so nervous about the new place that we had to wait until he was practically asleep before he'd stay on his Sleeping Perch for the night. He still isn't convinced about bed time. And the first morning, Harley was apparently so startled at seeing new surroundings that he fell off his perch. (We can run downstairs very quickly, as it turns out.)

But everyone is starting to settle in now, at least during the day. Here are Bruce and Harley, watching TV, and drinking beer and apple juice. You'll notice I didn't take a picture of them hanging around in their underwear — but they do both have their feet up. We have a new couch for the living room (with piping that's just perfect for curious beaks), but you'll notice Harley is still in the middle of everything.

The living room and the kitchen are set up the best. Our bed is made, but that's about it for the bedroom. The basement is still full of boxes — although the network is set up. The den/bird room won't be completed until the Finsterium gets set up again, which is taking longer than we'd planned. But it's partly their own fault for pooping so much — silly me figured with less than a handful of Finsters in there since the last big cleaning, and several new nest boxes along the way, I wouldn't have to make a whole set of new ones. But I was very, very wrong. How can such tiny creatures poop so much?

Here's Harley on the breakfast bar Harley bar. Along with the counter in the bathroom, and the top of the shower door, this is one of Harley's favorite places to be so far. At first we thought the main attraction to the Harley bar is that he can drop things off of both sides — and that's pretty darn fun! He's dropped spitballs from the box everywhere, and squished carrots from several meals both into the sink and onto the chairs. I'm sure he'd love to throw some pony beads around, but I'm not sure the disposal would handle them very well.

But it turns out that the real attraction of the bar is the faucet. Who knew Harley likes shiny metal things as much as I do? Here he is being KING OF THE FAUCET. Even if he weren't so possessive of this spot that we need to resort to using a stick to get him off it, there are a few obvious reasons why this could be really, really bad.


Go ahead, list them for yourself.

As I predicted, there's still stuff left at the old place. A surprising amount, in fact. It's hard to believe we managed to stuff so much...stuff...into such a small space. Of course, it might not seem like such a mess if there weren't so many spitballs floating around. Everywhere. I can't imagine where they came from.

Can you?