When I arrived home from New York, the massive black
cage dominated most of our small living room. Looking
out from behind the bars was the blue-and-gold macaw
that my friend Stephanie had given me without cost because
of my track record in redeeming problematic or rescue
animals. "Peg Leg," as she had been named
by her previous owner, was a rescue bird, much larger
than I remembered and, according to her previous veterinarian,
vicious. I had seen her only once at Stephanie's wild
bird rescue ranch, but here in our ten-by-twelve-foot
space she seemed far more imposing. She was nearly two
feet tall, and her most impressive feature was certainly
her feathers, brilliant blues and golds that extended
to the tip of each two-foot wing. Then there were the
eyes, soft black inside a white mask streaked with black
lines like those of a Mayan shaman or African warrior.
The effect was dramatic and not just a little intimidating,
although not as intimidating as the beak, also black,
which from nose to crown measured nearly four inches.
She had only one foot. Her left foot had been cut off
by her captors while they tried to release her from
the parrot snare that had ended her life in the Amazon
basin. As I moved closer to the cage, her powerful gaze
asked only one question: Predator or prey?
The
bird I had originally wanted was an African Grey, far
smaller than a macaw and known for its high verbal fluency
and mild temperament. I had first seen one at a "Parrot
Weekend Experience" sponsored by Stephanie and
a group of breeders, rescuers, owners and veterinarians.
For three days I listened to lectures, heard amazing
stories of bird antics and adventures, while interacting
with both domestically raised and wild-caught parrots
-- from cherry-headed conures to cockatoos to African
Greys to the ultimate macaw, the largest of all the
parrots and the most temperamental. Given the size of
the macaw’s beak and the bird’s propensity
for biting, I was hesitant to hold one or have it perch
on my arm. Much more my style was the Grey I fancied,
who unfortunately already belonged to someone else.
This weekend had been a gift from my husband, Kerry,
who thought I would enjoy being exposed to these exotic
creatures far beyond my usual family of dogs and cats.
Something happened during that weekend, some strange
pull to these living relics from the dinosaur age who
seem to know what we have forgotten about being wild
and wise.
When
I was a child, lost animals always seemed to find me
-- mostly cats and dogs but sometimes hamsters or guinea
pigs. When I was six, I had a gopher friend for whom
I would steal carrots from the refrigerator, then sneak
outside to feed him in his burrow. Even after I became
an adult, cats and dogs still gravitated to me, along
with the occasional squirrel or raccoon. When I met
Kerry, my family was small -- one dog and one cat --
but I warned him that more would show up; it was only
a matter of time. Since our home is in the woods, the
possibilities were endless. I’d recently rescued
a baby squirrel who had fallen from its tree home and
landed in the middle of our deck, where my numerous
cats were circling for the kill. Wrapping him in a fluffy
washcloth, I carried him in a sling that held him against
my chest for warmth and a friendly heartbeat. I fed
him mashed up fruits, along with a little water, and
he slowly regained his strength. After a few days, I
took him to a stand of oak trees whose branches offered
many possibilities for both a new home and safety from
marauding cats.
But
I had never owned an exotic animal, believing firmly
that wild things belong in wild places. Peg Leg brought
the point home. There in her five-foot-by-four-foot
cage, her wings could not fully extend to their nearly
four-foot span. In the jungle from which she came, she
would have flown above the leafy canopy, following air
currents down to the river to take a drink or bathe.
She was now somewhere between four and six years old,
having been captured when she was approximately two.
She had not flown or bathed in all that time. The method
of her capture is no less sad. Although illegal today,
the preferred method of capture has been parrot snares
or nets, placed to trap unwary birds. In her case, the
left foot became hopelessly tangled in the mesh and
her captors were forced to cut off her left foot in
order to release her. From there she had been shipped
to a first-time breeder in Ohio who had illusions of
raising scores of little birds that would sell for as
much as two thousand dollars each. The illusion didn't
take account of the incessant screaming of two macaws
who hated each other and refused to mate. In retaliation
and frustration, the woman beat them with a stick poked
through the bars. Saddened by her own behavior, the
woman offered the birds to a local veterinarian who
had contacts in California for wild bird rescues. Peg
Leg and Asia, her mate, then made their way to Willits,
where Stephanie added them to her other sixty or so
birds, all wild caught and all living in cages. Her
aviary was under construction when I attended the Parrot
Weekend, but even when completed it would be able to
accommodate only fifteen to twenty birds; the rest would
remain caged and, to my mind, spiritually broken. Peg
Leg's scenario was even worse; she was sick with an
infectious disease, so her cage was in isolation in
a tiny laundry room. That was where I first met her.
When
I had left for New York, I was not yet convinced that
I could or would trade my African Grey dream for a macaw
nightmare. Kerry had offered to buy me a Grey, planning
to have the bird there for me when I returned. Still,
there was something about Peg Leg’s eyes that
captivated me from our first meeting; that proud bird
in a pitiful cage was beginning to unravel my dream.
I told Kerry that I would leave the final decision up
to him, since he was going to have to live with the
bird, too. Both he and I agreed that birds should not
be caged, so the temperament issue was crucial. Peg
Leg was vicious, trying to bite whoever fed her through
the bars. Was this a bird we could live with? What about
our other animals -- and those to come? What would happen
if things didn't work out and we had to return her to
Stephanie? What to do, what to do?
We
said yes.