Last weekend I was away from home for — I think — the fifth time since we got Harley, to gather with almost all of my immediate family to celebrate my mother's 80th birthday. I've left this photo deliberately small to protect the innocent.

[Two notes: 1) Pictures of the two missing grandchildren will be Photoshopped onto those computer screens. Oddly enough, we did nothing about the two missing Significant Others. 2) Why yes, I'm afraid this is one of the best group photos. Sigh.]

You remember our nightly routine, right? Bruce, Harley and I all go up to the bedroom to watch TV in the evening, humans on their respective sides of the bed, Harley in the middle, and the bird gets scritches until he falls asleep (adorable picture pops). We wake him up a little so he can climb onto Bruce's chest, where he dozes for a few more minutes. Then I wake him up just enough to take him downstairs again, and he sleeps in his cage. It's taken awhile to get to this point, mind you. A little over a year ago I was regularly leaving Harley clinging to the side of the cage while I crept upstairs in the dark — and you can't imagine the unhappiness on Harley's part, and the guilt on my part, when Bruce was out of town. No doubt we could correlate tornadoes over Kansas with some of Bruce's trips out of town, if only we had the patience to do the research. But while Harley still has his occasional fussy nights, we do have a routine now, and it's usually pretty easy.

Well, apparently Harley was really upset that I wasn't home this past weekend. He wouldn't stop moping around on my side of the bed, calling out for me, or fussing, and he refused to go to his cage for bed. Refused. Re. Fused. REFUSED. After several tries, Bruce finally moved the perch usually reserved for the window onto the headboard, and let Harley sleep there.

It turns out that when Harley goes to bed about three or four hours later than normal, he talks in his sleep. Who knew!?! (Bruce couldn't make out any recognizable words, but I'm pretty sure Harley has started practicing "kill all humans." I'll let you know.)

The next two nights, with me still away, were the same. Bruce started letting Harley settle onto the perch on the headboard earlier, though, so he started sleeping a little more soundly, and didn't talk in his sleep so much. Bruce and I discussed the possibility of putting a more permanent sleep option up in our bedroom for future trips — it was that hard. But we decided to wait and see how the next few days went.

As it turned out, Harley was fine with the normal routine on Sunday night. We all went up to the bedroom, Harley fell asleep to scritches, he climbed up onto Bruce's chest for awhile, I woke him up and took him downstairs, and he climbed right up onto his sleepy perch. To sleep. No clinging to the side of the cage, no "kill kill kill" mumbled under his breath, and no guilt on my part.

Still, we weren't out of the woods yet: Bruce left Monday afternoon for two nights away from home.

Surprisingly, all was fine. Sure, Harley spent a little time moping on Bruce's side of the bed, looking for him. But he settled down soon enough for scritches, he fell asleep, I woke him up to take him downstairs to his cage, and he stepped up onto his perch to settle down for the night. No muss, no fuss, and the world didn't end. So, I don't know what Bruce's problem was! Oh, wait — yes I do: Bruce is much weaker than I am, and he just wasn't prepared to leave Harley clinging to the side of the cage. Assuming, of course, he was able to scrape him off his hand in the first place.

Here's Harley playing with the new toy Bruce brought back for him, because, don't you know, Dad always has to bring back a toy!