I’m giving Jo up for adoption. I placed a listing on craigslist, and within a day I had 8 responses, several of which look very good. I placed an ad a few weeks ago For Sale – guess i did not use the magic word of “Free”. I had so few decent responses that i was ready to place Jo in a shelter in Tucson, which would involve a trip down in the truck and giving them her cage ($2-300) and probably a donation. This will be far better for me. I did also, however, mandate in the ad that someone provide me with a summary of their experience with large birds, expect an interview and screening, and included a photo of Jo. All of which made me look more serious as well. And as we know — having shelled out gobs to adopt Kila and gobs to send Turtle to the vet and gobs to get Mancoon gassed at the Shelter when he wouldn’t stop pissing on the carpets — its amazing what people will go through for a pet. Especially if its free.

How did it come to this, after 26 years?

Its been coming on slowly for about the last 20. Jo’s first years were everything a parrot could dream of. She was the center of my attention, and a large part of my family’s attention. She had her cage in the kitchen; she went everywhere on my shoulder; she ate dinner with us from a little bowl on the table. The years I was in college were the start of the decline – her life was still good, but being the nexus of my world became less. I tried in the years after college to have her with me – some good experiences, some bad, she moved from place to place a lot and became as much a responsibility as a pet. My first group house in Arlington, VA she lasted about 2 months before the roomates told me they hated her, and me. And again soon after with my next roomate. Her screaming and obsessiveness started to show, as did my anger at it. Things got better once I moved in with Beckie; Jo did not get all the attention she had in the first few years, but lots of it when we were home and she warmed up reasonably well to Beckie. She rode across the country to Arizona on my shoulder, but when we got Tsaina, Jo made it clear that she would not embrace new members of the family.

She would snap at the dog, and then at Kyler, if they approached while she was with me. And if she was not with me, she would scream. And if we tried to mix it up and give her partial time, she got crazy! Pacing and gnawing and shitting on the furniture, chewing my glasses or my earrings, and humping our heads. So she got less and less time, and got crazier and crazier. And her cage got moved to the bedroom, and she got crazier and crazier, and started walking around on the floors and spending all day in the cabinets destroying and filthifying everything, chewing up baseboards, crapping on things. And we spent less time with her, and she screamed. And got crazier and crazier.

This went on, more or less, for 10 years. A long slow descent into darkness for Jo. And for me. Her screaming has become a button into my rage. I hear it and see red, and have come to take it out on her with violence. I am ashamed at this, but unable to control it. Jo is immune to reason, even when it comes from beatings. She has no natural enemies, she has pea-sized brain, and she has no fear. And she screams. Jo screams and screams and screams, and she screams for me non-stop when I am home. I tell her I hate her and beat her into silence, and her refusal to stop screaming enrages me more. I soak her with water, I shut her in her cage in the dark, and she screams and screams and screams. I ignore her, and she screams. I pick her up and let her be with us in the office, and when i move from my computer she screams. What can you do with an animal that gets hit into a wall, then does it all over again, and again and again and again?   Eventually you become numb to the emotions of her screaming, and the hits you are dishing out to shut her up.   This is very bad, but she is quiet.

We’ve tried to make it work, making an effort to let her be with the rest of the family and sit with us. And it works for a few minutes, then she screams. I put her away and try again the next day, and she humps heads, and screams. I lock her in her cage, and try again, and she screams. I let her out of the cage, and let her spend time with us, and she climbs into the cabinets, and screams. Jo can not be stopped, or silenced, except by death. Which is an inevitability if she stays with us, as just as she can not control herself I too can not. I hear her scream, and I see red; i never understood that phrase until these last few years and the screaming driving me mad where the only thing I can think of is silencing the horrible monster who is screaming at me and taunting me with her screams which she knows will get her hit. If this goes on she will die. I feel terrible. The only thing that makes Jo stop screaming is me not being near her. Beckie said she was quiet and friendly and sweet the week I was in Fruita. We have, in the back of our minds, known this for some time.

So after 26 years, it has come to this.

There are people out there who want her. The responses to the ads I placed and the few people I interviewed made this clear. Some of them are cheap, and even if they are caring, I resent them; i don’t understand how i earned $400 as a 12 year old and they would not pay $350 today to adopt from a Shelter.   Some of them   sound like freaks, virtually deifying the hardwired acts and behaviors of an animal with a microscopic brain and a rigidity that has nearly led to her own demise. They are straight out of this book, and I think they are as crazy as Jo. Then I reread the emails I sent to RESCUE when we wanted to adopt Kila, and I have to swallow my self-righteousness earned over 26 yearrs of parrot-parenthood and bearing the brunt of her screaming, and I accept there are happier homes for Jo.

I think of all the history we have together, and dwell on the fact that she has known me longer than anyone outside my family. I have toy parrots from boyhood that G now plays with, parrot-art from long ago that still hangs on some walls, my AIM screenname of JoParrot2. Jo is on the quilt that Beckie’s SRP coworkers made when G was born, she is in photos dating back years, she is the first thing we see when we wake up every morning, she is the inspiration for my bong’s name of “Smokey Jo”, she is part of G’s guys along with tiny stuffed Turle and tiny stuffed Kila.

How did it come to this after 26 years?

I think back on the nicknames and phrases we’ve had for Jo – in her early years it was “Green Feathered Thing” and “Shoulder Warmer.” It then became “Surly Green Parrot” and “Parrot of Hate” and we talked of her “black reptilian heart.” Why did none of the cats kill Jo? Because ‘hate’ tastes bad.

There is a sweet parrot still in there, and when I try again I still see it. The parrot who will sit on your shoulder for hours and shit in the 30 seconds you tell her to shit and then get right back on your shoulder, the parrot who lowers her head so you can preen the feathers on her neck, the parrot who still will not bite no matter with how much hatred i swing at her. Jo deserves a better home. As hard as it will be on both of us, there is a better life out there for Jo if we work for it.

I steel myself in this waning time. I push her away so that my last memories will be of her…crazy and obsessive, not content and sweet. I want to have her disassociated, so I will be rid of her with hatred in my heart and not regret. She was sweet once, but I force myself to not remember.

I do not know how to place a bird, so I am talking to people and relying on my instincts. I am a good interviewer. I know what Jo needs, a home with only her and someone who wants her. No children, no other animals, no distractions. I have asked for a $100 deposit, to weed out the total flakes. If you are not willing to put up $100, you do not really want my bird. I feel like I have failed Jo, and I do not know what to do. I have failed Jo, I continue to fail Jo, and each day I do not focus on her to the exclusion of Beckie and G and Kila I fail her, or them, in her mind. Damn zero-sum reptile! My parrot will not sit with me and my daughter, what am i to do?

She will not change, and I eventually will kill her. She can be sweet, but I am no longer the one to bring the sweetness out of her. These are facts. I am doing the right thing.

Maybe we can all find a happier home.