So a few people have pinged me, both publicly and privately, to see what's been up. I haven't written in the blog in — what — a month? I've even had the nerve to ping another blogger, to see why they haven't written in so long. Geeze Louise! Well, I have three reasons.

First, I am a Lazy Slug. What, you didn't know this?

Second, Harley is a Giant Walking Dust Mite. I like to think that I've become a little cleaner, generally, than I used to be, but I wouldn't bet my life on that. I do a pretty good job of keeping the birds clean, though, and then there's all the bird food that I have to obsess about, and then there's all the bird toys I have to order, and then there's all the time I spend talking to Harley, and — well! I'm sure you'll agree I'm pretty busy with this new bird.

Third is probably the biggest. You see, Harley isn't Peanut. I don't remember the early months with Peanut. And probably, when I first got him, I figured Peanut was just a Big, Green, Finster — and in this case, "Finster" specifically means "finch." Something to watch, not a companion. It took an unknown amount of time to realize that Peanut was a creature entirely capable of ruling my life, and it took just a bit longer than that to embrace Peanut as the Master of my Universe. And then, of course, there we were. There we were. What I do remember is that Peanut became a joy in my life, and that I still miss him. And I probably always will.

The experience with Harley is completely different. I know right now that he can be my friend, and that he can be the Master of my Universe. And I know right now that one day he WILL BE the Master of my Universe (even if he continues to be Best Buddies with Bruce, because "best buddies" isn't the point). But he isn't yet. We're still working that out. And occasionally, the fact that he isn't Peanut still becomes a big deal.

We have established different rituals, of course. No Warm Toasties, but lots of scritches, very different games, very different interactions. Oh! And Harley can hurt me (although he hasn't very often). Big, not tiny. Grey, not bright green. Curious, not shy. He has a wide variety of sounds, but he doesn't indulge in the drawn-out, happy, and sometimes indignant chittering that Peanut did. He doesn't fly (not enough space here to let that happen). He doesn't land on my head.

Actually, the most shocking moment was when he climbed onto my shoulder. This hasn't happened often — the bigger the bird, the less you should let them on your shoulder, since that opens up a whole "who's the boss" scenario. Once, at the vet's office, he climbed onto my shoulder because that was the closest spot to the door, and after getting poked and prodded Harley was just about READY to get the heck out of there! And occasionally when I try to give him a bath by spraying him with the mister, he'll climb up my arm to keep from getting wet. Once he actually made it up to my shoulder — and oh! He was so heavy, compared to Peanut.

Not Peanut. No.

Nor should he be. Nor will he ever be.

But hey! He's still a bird. It's good to have a bird around. We play, we talk, we sing, we watch the Finsters. Remember the impromptu play gym I put together for Peanut? It kept him occupied for about three minutes.

This is Harley's. It kept him occupied for about the same amount of time, despite all the things inside. My sister says, "What do you expect, from the bird equivalent of a human 5-year-old?"

I dunno, seven minutes? Look at the snacks! Look at the toys! Looook at the pink pony bead! You can click here for a slightly larger version, with the snacks labeled.

In case you were wondering, Harley gets all the Scritches and Ruffles he wants. Yeah. What was I thinking?