You get to know a bird pretty well when it spends some time in the hospital cage. First, you find out a bit about their temperament. Some birds spend a lot of their time lying on the ground in a puddle of their own feathers. Some birds spend a lot of their time sitting on perches, clearly bored to tears. And some birds spend a lot of their time bashing themselves against the bars of the cage, trying to get the hell out. All these birds may be feeling equally poorly. Although you'd think a sick bird would take full advantage of a warm, private room with unlimited millet spray and spend all it's time relaxing, that isn't the case. Unless a bird is spending most of its time in a puddle of its own feathers, you can't really tell how sick it is.

Second, you learn the things that are most important to the bird. If a bird spends most of its time calling out for other birds, you know that it just loves companionship. If a bird spends most of its time trying to hide from you (especially when you're hovering nearby to try to figure out how sick it is), then you know it's a bit nervous, and likes to feel safe. That sort of thing.

Ovaltine apparently loves the nest boxes, and really needed one when bedtime rolled around last night. He did his uncoordinated best to get on top of the small cracker box I'd put inside the cage. It worked well during the day, when it made a nice hidey hole on the ground to nap in, but it wasn't strong enough to hold him while sleeping on top (he weighs 12 grams), and there were no nice plastic vines to keep him from falling off. I grabbed one of the less-used nest boxes from the Finsterium (much to the consternation of the other Finsters), and just barely managed to fit it through the door of the hospital cage. Then came the sweet moment of lifting Ovaltine off the precarious cracker box, and placing him gently on the nest box. He fell right asleep.

Ovaltine isn't spending all his time being a puddle of feathers, but more than I'd like. A lot more. Still, he's managed to give me a good laugh whenever it's time for medicine. He doesn't bite me, like Frank does (see here and here). Instead, he's more like Goober, who freaks me out by sitting on the ground, looking all pathetic afterward. But he's better at it.

Now, when I say he gives me a good laugh, I should clarify that by saying that I have a twisted sense of humor. Because, in fact, after I put a dose of medicine on or near his beak, Ovaltine plays dead. Legs splayed, head lolling, lying flat on the ground, doesn't move for a good five minutes, dead. DEAD dead. D E A D. It's a great trick!

Hahahahahahahaha.