My parrotlet is the cutest.
Some bird owners might disagree (!) but I think Ptak is just the most precious tiny blue bird, particularly when I wake him in the mornings. I say ‘wake.’ He’s always awake when I go to get him up – I have yet, in the past two months, to catch him sleeping when he’s supposed to. When it comes down to it, I’m under the impression that he simply never does, save for power naps on my finger.
But I digress. Each morning, I pull off the birds’ covers and, oh-so-adorably, Ptak pipes his own name.
It’s very, very cute. There is nothing more likely to make me give in to anything he wants and he knows it. Think a 30 gram bird isn’t capable of manipulating someone? Think again. He doesn’t need his beak to get me to give in.
Bedtime is another time when our parrotlet is likely to squeak his name. As I pull down the cover and tuck him in, he’s almost guaranteed to say, ‘Ptak… Please?’
Melts my iron heart. Every single night, he manages to delay bedtime by at least five minutes, sometimes more. On goes the cover, and out come the adorable peeps. Suddenly he’s on my finger, snuggling against my thumb, because he’s got superior powers of manipulation.
He uses those powers for great evil.
Earlier, this is what he said after I put him in the cage:
‘You silly bird,’ Ptak said, ‘Wanna open the door?’
I was ignoring him, but he knew I was caving, so said, ‘You silly, pretty bird.’ And out came the big guns: ‘Ptak. Ptak.’ With the big eyes.
Not the big eyes.
I let him out. How can you resist the tiny little robot voice and the eyes?
The answer is, you can’t. He was obviously made for this.