Aussie (Davies) Coolidge - Cockatiel - Born (? not sure) - Adopted  8/3/2002 ----      (narrated by Aussie himself because Aussies are used to pulling their own weight)


Aussie and Bubba go House Hunting

(Update: in 2006 I immigrated to Australia with my husband.  We were not able to bring our American birds with us, due to import restrictions, and had to find homes for everyone.  Aussie (and his best pal Bubba) now live with my good friend Carolyn, who tells me they are both as ornery and cute as ever.)

G'Day, Mates!  I'm Aussie (for you "yanks", it's pronounced: "ozzie", not "ossie" or "assie").  I'm the Davies household's most senior avian resident, and the only representative here of the land down under.  AH!  Wait.  My Dad just corrected me.  I'm the only AVIAN representative of the "You-Beaut Country".  (Dad is an Aussie born and bred, and a dyed-in-the-wool St. Kilda Supporter just like me.)

As you can see, I am no ordinary parrot.

Now, I'm no tall poppy, but fair dinkum, I'm the best flier in the house. When it comes to acrobatic flying, I leave the others in the shade (I could be in the Roulettes).  Actually that's why there aren't many photos of me here.  My humans don't have photographic equipment equal to the task of catching me in action.  Maybe I'll give them a break later on and let them snap a few photos. (yeah.. you HOLD YER BREATH!)

Check out the antenna on my head (aka: "crest").  I receive regular transmissions from my home planet through these delicate and carefully trained receptors.  You drongoes think it's just window dressing... but the folks in "Area 51" know the truth: The 'tiels have landed...

Here's my US domicile.  A shocker, ain'ee? 


Totally missing the wide screen TV and Jacuzzi.   Well, I've tried to muck in and make the best of things.  I contribute as I can to the decor, but Mum seems to take offence and regularly carts my creative contributions (aka: "droppings") away. 

Here I am humoring her by pretending passing interest in this daggy toy she hung.  As you can see, this thing is blocking my view of the tucker bowl.  Mum is a dopey Sheila but we forgive her - after all, she's the one who supplies the fried rice, and the stomach is more important than the ego...

A bloke has got to have mates.  I mean, really.  When "you're in the trenches"  and the cat's at the window, it's yer mates who pull you through.  For me, that's Bubba.  He's the only bloke (outside of Dad, of course) who truly understands my inner parrot.

As this photo shows, Bubba is an obliging and helpful cobber who will help a lad out of a jam.  Here he's attempting to remove a bit of Mallee grit.  Of course, the fact that I live in Ohio is irrelevant - and let's not have any awkward questions about how Mallee grit  might blow from northwest Victoria to Ohio and adhere itself malevolently to my own innocent neck feathers.  Just take my word on this one... (Bubba did, as you can clearly see.. Ok, he's just a galah, but he's my mate so no remarks from YOU!)

Bubba and I go walkabout in the house from time to time.

Here we are in the window of Mum's office.  This photo was take in mid spring.  I've just told Bubba there are tasty  witchetty grubs in the tree below us, and that he should go down and eat one (None for me, thanks. I'm far too refined for bush tucker).

Yes, I'm good looking. Can't deny that.  All the girls go wild for me.  It takes a lot of attention to detail to keep a physique like mine in trim, but as you can see, Mum and Dad installed new triple-pane windows this year which make regular inspections so much more in-depth.