I just added another parrot household to my mental map. I went for a run before work, and there it was, the undeniable parrot sound bite: the “come here” whistle. This is my equivalent of bird watching … parrot listening while out and about. I know just about every parrot household within a one-mile radius of my home because, let’s face it … parrots are vocal! You never know when or where a parrot is going to pop up, and unless the bird is in a visually accessible place, such as a front porch or window, you only have its calls to go by as a way of identification.
I’m guessing the one I heard this morning was an African grey parrot, or possibly an Amazon. But, for the record, I’m going with a grey because its calls seemed a smidgen more refrained than a boisterous Amazon. I’ve never been owned by a grey, but I always imagine them as the type to make an attention-grabbing sound and then playing it smug when the intended target turns around.
So now I have the house on Santa Ana Ave. to add to my list of bird homes in my neighborhood. Of course, I’d have to jump a couple backyard fences to pinpoint exactly which house on Santa Ana has a parrot, but with a little effort, I could narrow it down (i.e. whistle back and hope for a reply).
I can’t help but feel a sense of camaraderie whenever I hear a parrot calling from its home perch. The people inside know the joy of having a companion that not only talks back, but also has no qualms about talking or whistling to strangers. Every neighborhood could use a calling parrot.