An update on Winnie the parrot

Editor - Having written two previous accounts of Winnie, the yellow-headed green Amazon parrot who has taken to flying in through my bedroom window (July 9, 2005, and Oct. 28, 2006), and having had heartwarming responses from readers, I thought I would share some subsequent developments in her story.

Winnie has gone from being a local celebrity in my Berkeley neighborhood to being an international one. The editor of the magazine Papegaaien Journaal, published in Oostzaan, Netherlands, wrote to ask if I would submit something about her. For another, I have commissioned Aiko Damrow, a Walnut Creek artist, to do a portrait of her birdness, and it is coming along beautifully. Third, Winnie and I have entered a new, more committed phase in our relationship through biting therapy. After the first article appeared, numerous people who own or have owned parrots wrote me lovely, interesting letters that included the ominous prediction "sooner or later, she will bite you!" This was frightening, and it smacked of the kind of bragging that veterans often engage in at the expense of neophytes. I resolved to make sure she didn't bite me, and whenever she showed any hint of displeasure, I snatched away my hand and waited until she seemed settled before reaching near her.

One of the respondents who didn't issue warnings was a dentist in Oregon who owns four parrots and is engaged in bird protection, rescue and adoption. He became a long-term e-mail correspondent, and finally this April came to meet me and Winnie in person. She took to him, let him feed her by hand and touch her, things she hasn't suffered from anyone else.

After watching me with her for a few minutes, he said: "You know you have to let her bite you."

"Oh, right!" I said.

He explained that that's how parrots relate to each other and form bonds and that she was probably frustrated by my being so "touch-me-not." The idea seemed to be that if I wanted her to trust me more completely, I had to trust her. He assured me that "it doesn't hurt that much." Oh, yeah, I've seen how her beak shatters pieces of wood a lot thicker than my fingers.

However, I finally decided to give it a go. After three or four sessions of biting practice, I did sense a whole new trust and relaxation on her part. Although some of her initial approaches look like lunges that are going to go right to the bone, she pulls up at the last minute and is careful with my skin. Once or twice it has been painful, but after I cried ouch, withdrew and looked at her reproachfully (as she has done on the couple of occasions when I have inadvertently hurt her), she appeared contrite and was extra gentle.

She stops in briefly early in the morning, and now that the days are long and the sun sets late, she arrives around 6 or 7 in the evening and stays for an hour or more. Whereas she used to go right to the food, she now sidles up to me on the dresser drawer for a long neck and shoulder rub. As masseuses say, she is "carrying a lot of tension in her neck and shoulders." She has issues with the crows in the neighborhood, who seem to be growing in numbers and apparently suspect her of threatening their eggs. (I used to think this was paranoia on their part until I found out how much she likes scrambled eggs.)

Apart from that, I don't know what she does with the rest of her days and nights. A neighbor sees her in a redwood tree in the BART parking lot on his morning commute. I've seen her in the tallest palm trees on the next street over. She's getting older, and the wild life must be harder and harder, if my own experience with aging is anything to go by. I keep thinking it would be great if she would spend the cold or rainy nights inside. I have provided a nesting box, which she explores for short periods. Her goodbyes are getting longer and longer. Our whole relationship seems miraculous to me - something I fantasized about but never thought could happen, so maybe one day that too will come true.

MARILYN PON

Berkeley