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The Back Room

You never know what's back there

By Meredith HarmonPublished 2 years ago 9 min read
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Yes, I know. But I took this picture many moons ago, so no copyright issues.

It had never occurred to me before, really.

I've had blind spots like this my entire life, plus, I'm not really one to peek and pry into corners, or behind Employees Only doors. Everyone is entitled to places where they're not on display for my personal benefit, so why should I go where I don't belong?

So when I walked into the pet store, I wasn't thinking about back rooms.

I don't know why I went in, really. I live in an area that has a lot of greenhouses, and I love walking through them at all times of year. Breathing the scents, feeling things growing, letting life quite literally bloom around me....these are things that are good for my soul.

I love zoos and aquariums for the same reasons. I like waving at the well-fed, healthy creatures, who are staring at me with as much curiosity as I return to them. And growing up with a nature lover in our house, I learned from an early age to figure out what animals are saying. They may not have speech, but they sure can communicate, if you're paying attention. It's made for some interesting interactions over the years.

But this day, on a break from college, I happened to be back in the nearest town to my home village. I had some time on my hands, I had finished the errand I'd come to accomplish, and noticed a pet store next door that I didn't recall before.

So I went in.

Technically, I guess, it was a pet store. A few hamsters and gerbils, fewer rabbits, some fish. But along three of the four walls, cage upon cage upon row, were birds. Huge, colorful, amazing birds, and all of them calling down a happy squawking chorus of welcome for the person who came to visit.

So, visit I did. My nature knowledge is deep, but narrow, and the bulk is for the natives in my area, not these exotic dinosaurs in the flesh. Red-tailed hawks, sparrows, finches, screech owls, robins, cardinals, blue jays, crows - those were my speed. These shimmering wings and tails and bobbing heads and...ohhh, yep, that's *intelligence* staring back from those clever beady eyes...

The owner rescued me. And them, actually. The pet shop, she explained, was the public-facing side of an animal rescue she was a part of, that specialized in birds. There were quite a few people in our area that could give a loving home to these living gems once they were rehabbed, and part of that was having them in the shop to see how they interacted with the public.

Some were actually people's pets, come to visit in the upper tier cages to see if they got along with any of the rescues. Prominent signs showed which ones were not for sale, and which were adoptable.

For my part, I was baffled by birds. I'd been rehabbing wildlife all my life, and making sure they returned to the wild as soon and as safely as I could. (Please don't panic, there weren't any wildlife rescue centers in our rural area at that point. The world has changed greatly in the past thirty years.) But birds? They were difficult, and my rescues had all been screech owls that had bonked into cars and I would find them dazed by the side of the road. Those were relatively easy to care for, and now that I've worked in actual rehab centers, I have better knowledge and skills. But, parrots?

They take a particular type of person, that's for sure. The Mark Twain quote is very apt: "She was not quite what you would call refined. She was not quite what you would call unrefined. She was the kind of person that keeps a parrot." Not that I think parrot people are neither refined nor unrefined, but that they are a third point that pulls away from our linear normal perceptions and have a distinct, unique perspective on the world.

They see the world like birds do.

I was a great disappointment to the owner. I was just visiting from college, with a career path and goals that drew me away from being a perfect parrot rehabber. With no preconceived notions, and no bad habits to undo, and loving creatures the way that I do, I would have been ideal to take and teach with all these happy trainers making comments from the three-sided gallery. I learned some excellent information about diets and exercises and habits, but it was idle chat, and I had to get home.

But as an additional incentive, she showed me the back room.

And it broke my heart.

You see, I didn't think. On display, for an appreciative public, were the birds that were ready to go. They had recovered from the houses they'd been taken from, given proper food and bigger cages and toys and clever puzzles to solve. Like any other pet, some people buy certain types of pets for status reasons, not for companionship, and then neglect their status symbol when it doesn't perform on cue.

There were seven in that back room. Not that you could tell; they looked like living plucked chickens. The room was nice and warm, but they shivered on their open perches. Only a few tufts of feathers where clever beaks couldn't reach showed what colors should have adorned these poor things.

Front and center - where he could see the owner through the one-way glass - was a scarlet macaw.

His back still had feathers, and a few small ones on the wings, but the breast and tail and primary wing feathers were all gone. It showed all too clearly the dents in the wings' flesh from a too-small cage. Indentations on the legs also showed where he had been chained with a too-small ring. He had a ring now, but it was so loose he could have easily pulled it off. A brand-new toy hung at the side, untouched. Two or three of the toys on the other perches were completely shredded, and she'd just put them out that morning.

The owner was gently teaching them how to be parrots again. Nutritious food, room to stretch where wings will grow, eventually how to fly again. How to be curious, how to explore, how to tolerate other parrots. How to tolerate good humans.

She let me see this, to see if I could be a good human.

The other six didn't want me nearby, so I kept my distance, but I waved and said gentle hellos to them all. To the beauty in the center, I faced him squarely, with the owner off to my side in mute support.

Do you know how to say "hello" in bird speak? You lean in a bit from the waist, do a double head bob, and say "hello!" in a soft voice, hands at sides or behind your back like deformed wings at rest. Most birds of any sort will at least pay attention to you at that point; you may have a bad accent, but you're at least understandable. Most wait quietly, to see what you'll do next. This one - flinched, a little. Like he was afraid I'd hit him next.

I looked at the owner. Her face was hard. She knew the details of this one's surrender, and she didn't want to share. "He used to talk, I was told, before the previous owner," she grated.

I nodded, and started talking softly to him. About good food, and pretty skies, and how he shouldn't stress now that he's here, and let those feathers grown back instead of plucking them out with anxiety. Birds do that, as they slowly go insane, they develop stress-induced trichotillomania. You see it a lot with chickens who are cooped too tightly. But these eyes, usually so intelligent, were more than a bit crazy. She said he was doing so ever much better than when she first got him, so I can imagine the love and care needed to pull this one back from the brink.

I couldn't pet him, of course. The owner was the only one he'd permit near without damaging. So I stayed a polite distance away (for a bird) and talked softly, as she described some of what she'd been doing with these back room dwellers. How some out front had been just this bad, and how prospective buyers were thoroughly vetted, and how even the taste of fresh fruits was enough to bring them around over time. Very difficult to do with birds so abused you can't even cuddle them for a good long while. We even touched on the industry, which she loathed, and how it had come to this. And what she was doing to change it.

When we left, I waved goodbye to all of them, and especially waved to the macaw. I was through the door first so the owner could close it - and just before the door snicked shut, at the very last second, we heard a soft "hello."

We stared at the door, then stared at each other. Then the owner smiled. "That's the first word he's said since I got him. There's hope." We said our goodbyes, and I traveled home.

I always wanted to get back and visit, but my college schedule and internship always prevented it. And once I graduated and came back, the store was gone.

That was thirty years ago, and I still think of that lovely bird. Not lovely because its plumage was taken away by neglect, but because there was an unbroken spirit in there that was just re-emerging.

Owner, if you're out there, that day made an impact like you will never know. A few of my good friends are parrot owners, all rescues, and I've treated those birds as handsomely as I can. Harry was introduced to blood oranges and pomegranates....and I may have slipped him an extra pizza bone when he was a good boy. Sparky also shared my pomegranates, but wasn't a big fan of the blood oranges, and was too small for pizza bones. Jasper I loved sharing my super-fresh peaches with, and the big reveal when I would overtly sneak something in a paper towel over to the sink to wash, then come back while she was trying to catch a glimpse of it, wiping it down, only to whisk the towel off before her eyes - and she'd gasp! - is a bright memory I treasure.

I'd teach them songs too, much to the dismay of their owners. Apparently my voice still pops out of them halfway across the country with an earworm the humans can't get rid of.

All because of a scarlet macaw, and a back room.

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About the Creator

Meredith Harmon

Mix equal parts anthropologist, biologist, geologist, and artisan, stir and heat in the heart of Pennsylvania Dutch country, sprinkle with a heaping pile of odd life experiences. Half-baked.

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