The Life of a Bird Dad

Saturday Morning, 8AM.

My eyes shoot open, the sound in my ears is a siren-like screech. It's not an alarm clock, and there is no snooze button. It's our parrots.

They are awake.
They are energized.
They are ready to go.

First Steps Into Pet Ownership

I mostly grew up without pets. My parents had two dogs when I was born, but they both passed away when I was still very young. I don’t really have any enduring memories of them — just some photographs and stories passed down. And for the rest of my childhood, we never had another pet.

I didn’t miss having pets, exactly. It’s hard to miss something you’ve never really experienced.

That changed later, when I lived with my first wife and we had cats. They were my first real introduction to pet ownership. They were loyal and loving companions, they were comic relief, and sometimes they were irritating little roommates. Each one had a different personality, little quirks that made them unique. They taught me how to take care of someone other than myself — maybe even gave me a little practice for parenting.

These days, life looks a bit different. My second wife and I share our home with three parrots — specifically, three conures. And I have to say, bird ownership has been a bit of a culture shock.

The Way of the Bird

Cats are generally pretty quiet animals. They'll meow when they need something from you, but they’re usually content to keep to themselves.

Birds... are not like that.

Birds chirp. They trill. They whistle. They squawk. They honk. They mutter. They scream. Sometimes they sound like little R2-D2s, and sometimes they sound like malfunctioning smoke alarms. They talk to each other, to us, to their toys, to the birds they see outside the window — maybe even to themselves. It’s not constant noise, but it’s fair to say it’s a very vocal household. You get used to it, but you never forget about it.

Beyond the noise, birds are also a lot less self-sufficient than cats. Cats are low-maintenance: fill the food bowl, scoop the litter box, and they’re good for the day. Birds, on the other hand, are feathered toddlers. You wake them up, move them from their sleeping cage to their daytime play area, serve them breakfast, check their food and water throughout the day, give them dinner, maybe offer them a little mist shower, then tuck them in at bedtime. And they won’t just sit in a spare room and entertain themselves — they want to be with you. They're social creatures. They see us as part of their flock. We’re just the strange, giant, featherless members.

They’re also smart. Really smart. And cautious. Earning their trust takes time, especially when you consider the size difference — me picking up a conure would be like a 100-foot-tall giant scooping me up. But once you’ve earned it, they’ll sit on your shoulder and snuggle up to your cheek. You can scratch the back of their head, and they’ll melt into it like a sleepy kitten. It’s surprisingly tender.

And that word — pet — takes on a different meaning. I always assumed it was about the act of petting. But now I think it’s more about the relationship, the care, the trust. And birds? They’re the best at that.

A Day In The Life

Walk upstairs. Open their bedroom (it's a closet). Retrieve the birds, one by one, take them to their tree to answer nature's call (yes, they're potty trained). Then pick up all three — two perch on my shoulders, one gets carried in hand — and we descend two flights of stairs to the kitchen to prep breakfast. The early-morning trills start to give way to screeches of anticipation. Breakfast is serious business.

Once they’re in their daytime cages — which are less “prison” and more “custom playroom with food” — they settle in. They know these are their spaces. In fact, they’re territorial about them. Even though we set up the cages and fill them with toys, they own them. Luckily, I’m a trusted member of the flock, so no defense is necessary.

Throughout the day, I’ll pop down to visit. Lunchtime, errands, or just passing through — they’re always eager to interact. They like being involved in whatever we're doing. Even mundane things like washing the dishes become social activities. One or two might perch on my shoulder just to observe and feel tall for a while. It’s oddly charming.

After dinner, it's time for a shower. We installed a little perch on the shower wall just for them. They don’t need to bathe daily, but they clearly want to. Skip it for too long, and they’ll start trying to bathe in their drinking water out of protest.

Once clean, it’s family time. We all head upstairs, and they hang out on their tree in the computer room while we play or watch TV. And when the sun goes down, they let us know — loudly — that it’s bedtime. “Tuck us in!” they screech — as if we could forget! Then into their sleeping cage, lights out, and another day in the bird household comes to a close.

Meet the Flock

I mentioned before that cats have their own personalities — birds are the same, except even louder about their differences.

Ollie, the Watchman

Ollie is a sun conure — bright yellow, orange, and red, with a scream as loud as his plumage. He’s the oldest of the three, and from the moment the second bird arrived, he stepped into the role of flock leader. He’s alert. Anxious. Always on the lookout. I think he’s made it his personal mission to warn us about everything.

Hawks outside the window? Danger.
Unfamiliar sound? Danger.
A bird is on the floor? Definite danger.
And he will let you know, in no uncertain terms.

It can be... a lot. But there’s something endearing about it, too. He’s not screaming for the fun of it — he’s protecting us. It’s his job, and he takes it seriously. When he’s calm, when the world isn’t ending, he’s sweet and gentle and loves to just hang out and be near you. But you get the feeling he’s never fully off-duty.

Paris: The Rogue

Paris is a green cheek conure and, as the middle child, she absolutely acts like one. She gets along with both of the others individually — she snuggles up to Ollie and looks after Northie — but those two do not get along. Paris is our "buffer bird," she ends up playing peacemaker more often than not. And maybe that role has shaped her personality.

She’s mischievous. Not malicious, but... let's just say, if I were to describe her D&D alignment, she's a definite chaotic neutral. If she thinks we're coming over to see her, oftentimes she'll fling herself out of her cage and scramble under the dining table, leading us on a full-blown game of “keep away.” She’ll sneak up to us and nibble our toes for fun. She’s agile, fearless, and hops from perch to perch like a tiny feathered ninja. She’s also affectionate, when she wants to be. But mostly, she’s a trickster — and we love her for it.

Northie: The Enigma

North — usually called Northie — is our youngest, a black-capped conure with a soft demeanor and a quiet intensity. She’s smaller than the others and moves with a gentleness that’s hard to describe. She also has a bit of a past: she lost a toe in a scuffle with Ollie years ago, and... she has not forgotten. Or forgiven.

She is sweet, no question. But she can also be surprisingly fierce. If she decides it’s time for revenge, she lunges like a tiny missile of vengeance. And yet she’s often calm and cuddly. She’s hard to read — sometimes inviting scritches, other times warning you off after letting you get close. She’s complicated. But she’s also incredibly special.

Final Thoughts

Bird ownership isn’t for everyone. It’s loud. It’s a lot of work. There was definitely some culture shock in the beginning, and even now, four and a half years later, I still learn new things about them.

But despite the noise and the chaos and the occasional toe-nibble ambush, they are wonderful companions. They're funny. They’re affectionate. They’re weird little people in bird form. They’ve become part of the rhythm of our lives, and I honestly can’t imagine our home without them.

Living with birds — it’s not always easy. But it’s absolutely worth it.