Some of us, at one time or another, fancy having a
parrot for a pet. Sulfur crested cockatoos are a popular choice. The first
thing most of us do when we meet a pet parrot is try and talk to them. And
we’re delighted when they talk back. Usually the conversation isn’t riveting
with “Hello” and “Who’s a pretty boy?” being as far as we go. How we can keep
saying that for minutes at a time is a wonder of nature.
In the wild, cockatoos stick together in a tight
flock and are rather raucous, especially over breakfast. I can recall a stay in
an apartment in Canberra where, outside my bedroom window, there was a rather
nice tree. This was on the local flock’s daily peregrination and they had been
brought up to have a very strict routine. They arrived precisely at six o’clock
every morning and stayed for 30 minutes, no more, no less.
The screeching from a large flock of cockatoos when
it’s much too early to be shaking off the effects of the previous night’s wine
tasting is a uniquely painful Australian experience. No one, and I mean no one,
was a “pretty boy” during those 30 minutes.
There is a new development that has shown up around
Sidney suburbia as the food supply has shifted north. Shears in his Daily Mail
report (1) tells us that the locals at their barbies are staring in wonder at
their tinny of the amber fluid as they hear “g’day darling” coming from the
trees.
It seems that a significant number of escapees, who
have learned to talk Strine, have joined up with the roving bands and taught
their little ones to speak. Mr. Robinson of the Australian Museum has been
documenting this new phenomenon, although he is a little concerned that no new
ones turn up who have been taught to swear.
