Allee
Well-known member
As some of you know, Several weeks ago I started wondering if Popeye was actually a male as we had been told. Monday morning I ordered a sample kit for DNA testing. I chose the feather test because in spite of working for a vet for three years, I just hate the thought of making a bird bleed on purpose. I was on my way out to do errands and was running late. I checked the mail and found the sample kit. It occurred to me that next week is Thanksgiving and I should probably get the feather sample in the mail today. I thought I'd just run back inside and grab the feathers, fill out the form and send it on it's way to the lab.
Hahaha. I went back inside, quickly did the paperwork, read the instructions. You have to send freshly plucked feathers, four of them. I knew that, makes sense, right? The detailed instructions promised this would not harm my bird. I took Popeye out of his cage, he needed a hug as always, and placed him on his stand. I read the instructions and the promise to him. He was confused to start with, because he had just been confined to his cage a few minutes before. Good thing I was in a hurry or I would have talked myself completely out of collecting the feather samples. I felt like a MONSTER. I gave him a piece of papaya, chose a feather and used the band-aid method. He didn't flinch or squawk or drop his papaya or even seem to notice. I did it three more times. While I was plucking feathers, my darling quaker was dancing on her perch, saying, Give Up, You're Wearing Me Out, and Be A Good Boy. I told her she was lucky I already knew her gender. I played catch with Popeye to make sure he was okay, gave him a couple of extra hugs to make up for the awful betrayal and went to do errands.
After driving alone for half an hour the guilt was really getting to me. At the first pet supply store I visited, I bought the biggest toy I could find. I did the rest of my shopping and rushed back home to see about my baby. Apparently the whole event hurt me far more than it hurt him.
For me? Thanks Mom!
And just for fun, in case anyone wants to see how quickly a U2 can trash a clean cage. Right after the daily cleaning.
Ten minutes later. Popeye does this every evening when he goes back into his cage.
And his pretty gray crest after wrecking his cage.
Hahaha. I went back inside, quickly did the paperwork, read the instructions. You have to send freshly plucked feathers, four of them. I knew that, makes sense, right? The detailed instructions promised this would not harm my bird. I took Popeye out of his cage, he needed a hug as always, and placed him on his stand. I read the instructions and the promise to him. He was confused to start with, because he had just been confined to his cage a few minutes before. Good thing I was in a hurry or I would have talked myself completely out of collecting the feather samples. I felt like a MONSTER. I gave him a piece of papaya, chose a feather and used the band-aid method. He didn't flinch or squawk or drop his papaya or even seem to notice. I did it three more times. While I was plucking feathers, my darling quaker was dancing on her perch, saying, Give Up, You're Wearing Me Out, and Be A Good Boy. I told her she was lucky I already knew her gender. I played catch with Popeye to make sure he was okay, gave him a couple of extra hugs to make up for the awful betrayal and went to do errands.
After driving alone for half an hour the guilt was really getting to me. At the first pet supply store I visited, I bought the biggest toy I could find. I did the rest of my shopping and rushed back home to see about my baby. Apparently the whole event hurt me far more than it hurt him.
For me? Thanks Mom!
And just for fun, in case anyone wants to see how quickly a U2 can trash a clean cage. Right after the daily cleaning.
Ten minutes later. Popeye does this every evening when he goes back into his cage.
And his pretty gray crest after wrecking his cage.
