Ever since I can remember, I have loved birds. First chickens, then the love spread to encompass the visiting neighbourhood birds (song thrush, sparrows, blackbirds) and finally to parrots, or rather parakeets.
What started with one bird has now, over the years, become a full aviary. Most (if not all) of the birds I have are rescues or adoptions. One elderly lady decided she couldn't care for her two cockatiels, Tinny and Tammy. When I drove over to collect them, her elderly husband said she had gone to sit in her bedroom so she wouldn't see them leave.
Other aviary residents have disappeared for a time to finally emerge with little fluffy offspring. I keep telling them there's simply no room now for that carry-on. I have a cockatiel, Clencie, who is 24 human years - amazing. I adopted her a little over 12 years ago. Every morning I wake up and look out the window and am delighted to find she is singing for another day.
Today was (not so fun) aviary cleaning day. Lucy can't resist helping, but as it turns out she isn't entirely sure about Hobson, the singing cockatiel, on her head and then her shoulder. He really took a shine to her, much to her dismay.