A pandemonium of parrots, the revenge of crows, and me

I loved reading about Lily and Margot’s story last week. This was the story of two blue-throated macaws, who decided to go on a bit of a six-day jolly and get away from the hustle and bustle of London Zoo. Lily and Margot fly freely each day, but always return home to their enclosure at the end of the day. On the 21st October, they decided to just keep going. Eventually, they were found in a back garden 60 miles away. Reading the story, I couldn’t help but wonder if Lily and Margot had actively planned their trip, or whether it was a spur of the moment decision. Parrots are quite capable of coming up with a cunning plan and they have the patience of Job when it comes to getting what they want. So, I wondered if they had simply decided they needed a bit of a change, worked out how to do it, and away they went. However, once the zookeepers arrived to try and catch them, Lily and Margot simply flew to the keepers and tucked straight into their fruit and nut treats. I’m sure they knew they were safe once more.

I can speak from many years’ experience, as to how parrots operate. Our parrot, Billy, is well over 35 years old now. He has lived with me for all that time. Whilst he is not as pretty as Lily and Margot, he is super intelligent. He is a brilliant mimic, has a fabulous repertoire of words and phrases, but most all is totally aware of context, mood and presence. If he sees J and I hug, he makes the kissing sound even before we kiss. If he hears the front door open, he will say ‘see you later’. If he sees me walking into the kitchen with a bottle of wine, he will make the sound of the screw cap coming off and the sound of wine being poured into the glass. His favourite music is the blues and he will sing and whistle along to the blues for hours.

Over the years he has changed. When I first got him, he liked to fly about the house, but my goodness, he was destructive. I remember once coming home to find he had flown onto my bookcase, and had systematically stripped all the spines from most of the books. So, I started to clip one of his wings, but this was a real trauma for him and for me. Eventually, I stopped doing this, bought a much larger cage, and he has lived happily in this for the last few years. These days, Billy doesn’t try to escape, even when his cage door is wide open and I’m cleaning him and his cage. It is his secure place.

One of the other ways he has changed is in his acceptance of change. For many a year, if I went away from home for a week or more, when I came back, he would go into a sulk and not speak nor interact for a number of days. Billy would literally turn his back on me and I would be ignored. He would eventually thaw, but it could take a while. These days he doesn’t seem to mind at all and always greets me with a ‘hello Billy’ and a cry of exclamation – like ‘where have you been?’ He doesn’t bear a grudge at all, unlike crows apparently.

John Marzluff, a professor from the University of Washington, has studied crows for over 17 years. His research has shown how crows bear grudges against folk, who they feel have upset or threatened them. Even after many, many years, crows will attack those who they remember harming them, if they see them again. It seems to me that there might be many folk, who display the same behaviour. Last week I came up against three people like that. They appeared to be out to seek revenge for harm that had happened to them and/or their loved one, and harm that had occurred many years ago. Unlike with crows, I happened to be the person in the firing line albeit, I hadn’t directly caused them harm. My sin was simply to work for an organisation that, in their experience, had.

Now for as far back as I can remember, and certainly as a therapist and manager, I have tried to practice unconditional positive regard. Carl Rogers’ concept is easy to understand, but difficult to always put into practice. In a therapeutic sense, it requires the therapist to have a complete and non-judgemental acceptance in caring for and supporting their client, regardless of whatever the person says or does in the therapeutic interaction. Positive regard is not withdrawn even if the person does something, or says something that challenges the therapist’s sense of self.

Last week I experienced a similar challenge (and threat) to my sense of self from a number of different folk. Whilst I no longer seek or receive supervision, I’m thankful to have several very supportive colleagues. Along with the always listening ear of J, their support makes a difference and helps me maintain that sense of unconditional positive regard for those folk, who appear to want to harm me. Their support, and attentive listening, collectively helps provide me with my own secure space. Like Lily and Margot, at the end of the day, last week, I was grateful to tuck into their hypothetical fruit and nut treats.