From the Last Exit before the Toll:

Hieronymus (H) and I have been joined with a very sweet Triton Cockatoo named Kayla.

         It all started when my friend Mary at work told me her friend Larry had a rescue cockatoo he was having trouble placing, a big Umbrella named Rio. I said, “Maybe I should take it,” something I never expected to say in my life. I like Grey parrots, and thought of getting another one, if any bird at all. I never gave a thought to owning a cockatoo!

         Over the years, people have given me gifts with parrots on them, and often they were white cockatoos, and I had wished the gifts were of Greys. I’m not a “cockatoo person,” I thought. Now, with all the madness going on with my life, I volunteer to take one! They are massive, aren’t they? A little loud? It came out of my mouth like someone else was doing the talking for me. Mary said she would arrange it.

         On October 23, 2010, a huge Umbrella came into my house. It was like I brought home a mentally impaired football player in drag that could make operatic screeches louder than a police siren, and had a temper and could tear a place up within mere seconds.

         I can hardly convey what kind of shock to our system he was. When I brought the travel cage in, I set it on the couch, and said to H, “Look, we have a new friend.” H was interested, but within a few days, he would give me this look, like “WTF?” He managed to convey that look with only a beak and one staring eye at a time.

         Rio wanted to raise hell, and tear shit up like a frat boy. He’d jump on the couch, and “Chomp,” take out a chunk of wood. He was affectionate like no bird I’d ever known (actually a cockatoo trait), but if I let him out of his big cage, he would climb on to Hieronymus’ cage and scream and thrash.

         After two weeks, Rio hissed and lunged at H, who was, thankfully, in his cage; so Rio had to go. It was unfortunate because I had bought the cage and toys for a cockatoo, and I had actually grown attached to the fucker.

         I took Rio to Mary’s and Larry would pick him up (he would find a good home right away). Her hands were full with fifteen birds, and she offered me her favorite cockatoo, Kayla.

         I had no idea I would have such a sweet magical bird that only wants to hug and kiss, but she is also loud. Good God.

         I’m glad Mary and her daughter gave me an introduction to her, so I could understand her better. Mary and I sat on her bed about three feet from each other. Kayla would run back and forth between us, and jump in our laps, jump straight up and down, put her beak to my nose and raise her crest (it was important I knew this was normal. It would scare the hell out of a non-bird person). Mary gave her a cracker, and she ran over and jumped up and down in my lap with it, ate a little, then dropped it. Then she would take her beak, and knock on my knuckles or wrist bone to produce a knocking sound, like when they look for hollow trees. Then she picked up the cracker again, jumped up and down in my lap with it. She is also a very big bird, but her beak is smaller and she’s more cute-looking than Rio, a little more like a cute cockatiel in the face. She is the kind of bird Baretta had.

    As soon as she wakes up, she wants H in her room and the TV on, and she will try to call me to come in, too. That’s the other odd thing. I am so squeezed for time, but I enjoy petting her and am so happy.

         Both birds watch TV. H is more oriented to the sound, and Kayla notices colors and action. She watches and reacts to it. If something is too bright, loud, or fast, she makes actions like karate moves and raises her crest. She is a total drama queen.

         If a chair squeaks or someone farts, she goes nuts. She does not understand what it is, or where is. She will do an all-out cockatoo display of aggression, raising her crown, arching her neck, make diving gestures, and beating her wings, as if she is saying, “I don’t know what you are or where you are, you better not fuck with me!”

         I asked my neighbors if they could hear her, one said it was faint and the other said he couldn’t, unless they are at their parking space in the morning, when she is at the window. She barks like Mary’s two dogs, a Chihuahua and a Pit Bull. I hear her bark as soon as I come in from work in the morning, when I pull up in front of my house. No one would ever believe the Pit Bull barks were from such a pretty fluffy white girly-bird.

         She will eat everything, like a sea gull, even sushi or salad. She loves to eat, more than H, who picks. She savors. She also likes to crack open big bones and dig out the marrow (so does H, but she is effortless).

         The two big problems with cockatoos are the noise and the dust. I have to keep her away from the painting room, and do like Dali said, to not allow dogs, cats, monkeys, or parrots near the paintings. I will need at least two bedrooms wherever I wind up, one for them. H wasn’t that bad before with two air filters in the big room, but they want to be in the same room. I have four air filters and one is a heavy duty Austin near the big Poe, but the office room will look covered in ’too-moon dust in two days. Some of their feathers are clear but are only white from the dust. H’s cage is too big for the doorway into Kayla’s room.

         You know these parrots live 60–100 years.

         Kayla is so nice and loving, the person who had her seventeen years must have been gentle. Mary, had her three years, was also. She hasn’t known mistreatment; that must be why she doesn’t actually bite. Both she and Hieronymus are both about twenty-years-old.

         I was sitting in a chair with her the other day, and I had a deep thought about our relationship. Many scientists believe birds are living dinosaurs, their direct descendants, and we also know now, many dinosaurs had feathers. Birds are physically so different from us, so very bizarre.