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
|Here's my US domicile. A shocker,
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
||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
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.