White On White Memory

Day 24 (double feature): If you have ever lived with a psitticine bird, you will know exactly what I mean when I say that it's an unforgettable experience. You quickly realize that you, mere human that you are, are not nearly as smart as you thought you were. Imagine if you will a perpetual four-year old genius with a mischievous sense of humour and a penchant for playing jokes. Limit this creature only by taking away its opposable thumbs. Imbue it with a talent for mechanical engineering and an undeniably endearing personality. Give it some knowledge of speech, and accept that its reasoning capacities are at least equal to if not greater than your own.

Having lived with a selection of parrots over the course of my life, my husband suggested getting a Cockatoo when his special friend Carlo passed from the Earth. Carlo was "Papa's Parrot!" and would tell you so volubly, as if you had any doubt, and tolerated me only in Papa's absence. We got along fine as long as Bruce wasn't around, but Carlo became very possessive as soon as he walked through the door. However, things changed when Cocoa entered our lives. He was a trusting little fellow who greeted all and sundry with the same cheerful love, but it was to me that he attached himself most firmly.

He has been gone a number of years, and the memories I hold of him are strong and precious...the visits to my fishing buddy's where he ate neatly from the bowl of pistachio nuts on the kitchen counter, returning each empty shell to the dish...imitating me in applying mayonnaise to artichoke leaves even though it meant a walk around from the other side of the table...trying to fly off with a newly opened can of tomato sauce...making himself purposefully dizzy by spinning on the kitchen scale and then going all silly when he tried to effect the drunkard's walk along the narrow space in front of the sink.

He did not have an erect crest as many Cockatoos do. Being a Goffin, the long feathers on his head lay flat against it until something provoked his curiosity. Then he would raise it, revealing a peach-pink base which was invisible when it was recumbent. We called it his "Question Mark," for such was the duty it served, and this feather, treasured among my possessions, is one query from a bright child who is now a memory.