December 22nd 2014
I always liked birds, but I haven’t owned many. They’re messy. Peggy doesn’t mind having birds around, but the feathers bothered her.
This is Lunch Time, and he’s native to South America. He got his name because every time I walked out on the upper deck of our gallery and called his name, he’d fly over and land on my arm. I could throw a chicken leg up and he’d snatch it in midair.
I didn’t wear a glove until one day he clamped down on my arm with all eight talons. I didn’t know what to do as blood spirted all over my clean shirt. Finally I put him on the floor and started to put my foot on his neck. That’s when he turned loose. That didn’t happen to me but once because I’m a fast learner. After several years I released Lunch Time in the mountains east of Santa Fe. I think he’s feeding on turkeys now.
Someone gave Sinbad to me. His talons were docile, but once I offered him a drink of Coke and he broke the bottle with his beak. He had the run of our gallery and liked to hang out on an old buckboard we had in a back room. An elderly lady was looking at some things we had in the wagon and didn’t see the macaw walking toward her. He bit her on the thumb and it was terrible. Fortunately she blamed herself for not seeing Sinbad approach. Whew! I don’t remember what happened to Sinbad, but I’m glad it did. If you want to give me bubble gum I’ll accept it, but please don’t give me any more scarlet macaws.