It's been nine long years since I had a young budgie in the house and it's like it's a surprise all over again. I don't remember Bandit being this fractious, even if he was a biter in his youth (several times he even drew blood).

I told Pidge last night he was a biker budgie, always looking for trouble. If I didn't know this is how young birds are, I'd be convinced he had the avian version of ADHD. When we're home, at least, he's almost never still: he's bouncing from one perch to the other, turning upside down on his perches, swings, and rings, singing boisterously. If I open his door he generally just climbs all over the cage, pecking at the other side of the food and water dishes, and playing with a button that says "Anything not nailed down is a cat budgie toy."

Occasionally he'll fly toward me--his primaries are growing in and he's getting more distance daily--but he won't sit still on my finger most of the time...instead he bites at my duster or nips my nose, climbs over my shoulder and chews at the pillows. He's fun to watch, but worrying, too; and now I have to keep him away from my computer desk and the door as well after the ant debacle.

He's still glaring at the ceiling fans warily, so hopefully I don't have to worry about that, too, when he's finally re-fledged.

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. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 9:51:00 AM

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