Not Just A Parrot

My favourite picture of Abby and I aboard aboard SV Maple Leaf.

It has been nearly a year since losing Abby, and I still get choked up just thinking about him. But it’s time to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) in a tribute he so very much deserves.

From Rescue to Family

In 2018, Abby (Abalone) arrived after a ferry and car ride: an emaciated, sickly, feather-plucked, approximately 30-year-old 'female' Congo African Grey (with rescues, the age is always a guess). He (as we later found out through DNA testing) came from terrible conditions, but even then, he seemed eager to please with an assortment of words, phrases, and noises, ready to explore (and chew) every corner of the house.

He had been one of many parrots rescued from the World Parrot Refuge (WPR) in Coombs, BC; one of the largest exotic animal rescues in North America. Greyhaven Parrot Rescue did an outstanding job providing care, food, and, over time, new homes for hundreds of birds. Heartbreakingly, there were many birds who did not survive.

Abby was one of the worst affected; his fragile health and permanent scarring telling the story of his past. While I was volunteering, few thought he would make it through the year. But then, as I chatted about a kitten I had just adopted, one clear voice out of dozens “meowed” at me. When I found Abby among the flock, he head-bobbed as I asked, “Was that you?” Then he climbed down from his cage, looked up at me, and lifted his foot for “up.” In that moment, it was clear: despite his fragile state, he showed such vigour, and more importantly, he had chosen me. There was no question that 'she' was coming home.

Learning Safety, Love, and Potatoes

Abby soon discovered that life had changed: he was safe, loved, had his favourite foods whenever he wanted, and freedom to explore the house under supervision (the destruction possible in just seconds was surreal). He “helped” in everything: tasting while I cooked, pruning while I gardened, or shredding as his contribution to office work.

A typical breakfast experience.

Life with parrots means constant cleaning, learning the trickiest of home renovations to cover up the damage, and a willingness to adapt. But whatever effort I provided for Abby, he returned tenfold. His intelligence was staggering. One night when he was being noisy, I quietly scolded, “Do you know what time it is?” Without missing a beat, he whispered back in response, “What time is it?” He stunned me with his unbelievably insightful comments and interactions that left me undoubting about him being a sentient being.

Mischief and Tenderness

We switched to bird friendly decorations: popcorn and cranberries.

In our Victoria, BC home, Abby made daily life unforgettable. He slid down stair railings, dropping “GAPS” ("Gross-Assed Poops" as coined by my husband Brandon) from the highest point to maximize splatter. He bathed in the dog’s bowl, sending water flying in all directions. He undecorated Christmas trees at lightning speed; efficient enough to hire, if only this didn't incorporate the sound of smashing glass and chewing wood.

He shredded anything in sight: papers, purses, shoelaces, baseboards. Yet he was revered by Briggs and Fin (our cats), Kody (our dog), and even the backyard chickens. When Kody fell ill, Abby became gentle and attentive. When I cried, he tucked into my shoulder and licked my tears. At first, the sight of that beak coming toward my face was alarming, but trust grew. Eventually, kisses on his beak, head, and wings became natural and were expected.

Abby was always along for the ride and wanted to be part of every experience.

We danced, napped, gardened, and even sailed together in Victoria’s Inner Harbour, where Abby gleefully played pirate’s first mate and took the helm when offered. He liked to 'help' when using screwdrivers or ladders. He came along to neighbours’ happy hours and dinner parties, and was well-known by friends, vets, and shopkeepers alike.

A Bird With a Passport

When work took us to the U.S., Abby got his own passport. At border crossings, he charmed officers with a perfectly timed “Hello,” “Uh oh,” dripping water sounds, or whistling Take Me Out to the Ballgame. A blunt “Goodnight” (our code for piss off, I want my cage) was often mistaken for a sweet greeting.

He adjusted with ease during our travels, unlike our carsick cats. I worried he might reject the huge new cage we bought in Seattle, but he marched in with such enthusiasm; defending the space ferociously, even when I was only trying to clean up his mess. There was no doubt about his excitement for life.

Fin's face said it all! While the cats (Briggs and Fin) weren't sure about moving to Seattle, Abby settled right in.

Words, Whistles, and Rituals

Abby talked constantly: during meetings, while I was studying for school, or saying "Goodnight Ray" and laughing or whispering creepily after lights out. He mimicked everyone he met, ensuring their voices became part of our household forever. The appliance repair man was immortalized with a wolf whistle after bending over (the guy initially thought it was me!); a sound Abby delighted in repeating at inopportune moments.

He adored his favourite people, calling out at the mere mention of their names (Leah's "Woo Woo WOOOOOOO" was heard right until the end). After our first year together, I finally shifted his "Goodnight Ray" to “Goodnight, my love.” Then, he began initiating the ritual himself, especially if he felt I was staying up too late.

Brandon’s Test

Abby napping while Brandon watched football, even though sometimes he blocked the view.

Abby tested Brandon thoroughly before allowing him into our fold. “Revenge poops” became a thing; always followed by hysterical laughter (and Brandon’s decidedly unamused look). He stole bites of Brandon’s meals, or sometimes an entire chicken leg, without a hint of apology.

In time, though, he accepted Brandon and became his biggest fan, laughing at jokes while I rolled my eyes. The two would spend hours watching football, with Abby often dozing on Brandon’s chest in “tripod position”: beak down, sometimes even snoring softly.

Of course, our wedding day could not have been complete without a family picture including Abby and the cats.

Health Battles

From the start, I knew Abby was sick. His seizures could have been calcium-related, heart-related, or stress-induced. Despite diets and medications, the seizures worsened. Finally, our avian vet, Dr. Anne MacDonald, suggested that companionship might be the best medicine.

Abby was always the scruffy looking one.

On New Year’s Day 2024, Echo... another Congo African Grey... joined us. Abby responded by being a total menace. He bullied Echo mercilessly, and they fought often (imagine trying to pull apart two balls of feathers locked in combat, armed with beaks strong enough to crush bone). Yet over time, they became reluctant companions. I often overheard them conversing from their cages with distinctive whistles, beeps, and even laughs. We even had group dance parties, each bird showing off their own moves. Remarkably, Abby’s seizures almost disappeared.

But in September 2024, they returned with devastating force. After 12 seizures in less than six hours, I faced the hardest decision. True to form, even at the vet, Abby was full of character: between spells he was shredding Kleenex, tossing supplies from the desk, and greeting Brandon with an exuberant head bob and laugh as he arrived in tears; just in time to say goodbye. Abby showed us his spirit until the very end.

While I was committed to giving him the best year of his life, it turned out that he gave me seven of the best years of mine.

Our morning routine was snuggling while I had tea.

A post mortem autopsy revealed a rare brain tumour: a choroid plexus papilloma, almost certainly the cause of his seizures from the very beginning. While considered rare, it’s not something that can be diagnosed without an MRI (an expensive and invasive procedure). It’s impossible to know how common it might truly be in African Greys. Even if we had known earlier, nothing could have been done. I know I did my best for him.

The importance of the post mortem information is that it contributes to the avian veterinary community’s understanding of conditions that remain poorly explained. Dr. MacDonald wrote us a heartfelt note of thanks, acknowledging that many people understandably choose not to pursue post mortem exams because of cost or grief. Abby was one of her favourite patients, and she helped us piece together his earlier life. This includes the likelihood that he had been wild-caught, which explained much of his unique behaviour. She also discovered that Abby had once lived with a parrot breeder named Ray, whose passing eventually led to Abby being sent to the WPR. That explained the “Goodnight, Ray” and the creepy old man laugh that we heard until his last day.

After Abby

Thank you to Greyhaven Exotic Bird Sanctuary (Delta, BC) for rescuing him, to Elk Lake Veterinary Hospital (Victoria, BC) and the Center for Bird and Exotic Animal Medicine (Bothell, WA) for their care. However, we are especially thankful to Dr. MacDonald and the team at Night Owl Bird Hospital (Vancouver, BC), who supported Abby through some of his darkest hours. Even Dr. MacDonald was charmed into making him special omelets when he had sleepovers in her care.

A close up of Abby's eye revealed how intricate his feathers were, and more importantly that he was always watching.

As I said at the beginning, this past year has been rough without Abby. What we didn’t expect was how deeply Echo would mourn the loss of his arch-enemy. He stopped dancing, and even getting him to eat became a struggle. After nearly two months of watching such a sad little bird, we brought home Shadow: a 38-year-old Timneh African Grey (different from a Congo Grey in many ways: smaller, with subtler colouring, and often chattier).

Echo and Shadow still don’t like each other, but the arrival of a new rival has restored Echo’s appetite and given him fresh purpose. He now takes great pleasure in being a menace to Shadow, just as Abby once tormented him. It’s oddly comforting, and a little bit hilarious, that the torch of being a jerk has been passed on.

“Goodnight my love.”

Abalone (Abby): 1988–2024