I open my eyes to four tiny eyes watching me.
I share my bedroom with two of my birds: a 36-year-old Amazon parrot and a 3-year-old green cheek conure. Romeo, the Amazon, watches intently for any signs that I may be awake. Billy, the conure, will sleep as long as I do, but if my eyes open, somehow his do too.
No one is making any sounds, and I appreciate the consideration. I peek at Romeo, careful not to move my head. He is perched in the spot where he can see me best and is scratching himself on the neck. He will allow a bit of movement from me, but once he’s sure I’m awake, he locks in. His foot slowly lowers, and his body goes stiff with anticipation. He’s no longer self-soothing; he’s waiting. I try to drift back off, but in his mind, I’ve started my day, and for some reason, I’m still just lying here.
First comes the little “ahhhh”s every couple of minutes, and then finally “hello?” He has the cutest voice, and I am thankful it’s not a squawk like the macaws or a scream like the cockatoo, but I still don’t love being pulled back out when I was drifting back to sleep.
At the first hello, my husband also wakes up and looks around, further convincing our feathered roommate that the flock is indeed rising for the day.
For the next little bit, I try to stay as still as possible to grab a bit more sleep, but something as small as a hand moving reignites his passion. “Hello?”
I love that he feels like we are a family, and that he waits patiently and is somewhat considerate each morning. I also love that he can use words to communicate. What I don’t love is that he can’t tell that small movements do not mean the day is starting.
This makes me think about all of the places where I may misread signals in my life. Are there places where I assume I know what is going on or what is coming next, and act without getting further evidence?
I’ll have to think about that and let you know. For now, I have a “hello” to attend to.
