My parrot ate my keyboard

Sometimes he just wants attention. And sometimes he just wants to cause mayhem.

Sometimes he just wants attention. And sometimes he just wants to cause mayhem.

One of the great joys in life is having pets. The unconditional love, the snuggles, the excitement they show when you get home — these things add an emotional fulfillment to daily existence that can’t be achieved in another way. I think everyone’s life would be better with a pet (or two) in their lives. It’s an incredible experience. Except for those few times when it isn’t.

Both my wife and I work from home, and in a two-bedroom Los Angeles apartment with a kid, two dogs, and a bird, we’re constantly in close quarters. Kiyo, our Senegal parrot, has the best view of us all with his cage situated at a corner wraparound window in our living room. It allows him to get the most sunlight possible, and also act as our notification system, as whenever someone we know walks up the front path he lets out a loud and distinctive squawk. My daily workspace, where I spend my time researching and writing for you, is only a few feet away from the door to his cage (I wasn’t kidding about close quarters). It swings open when we want to let him out, which is on a daily basis.

It’s a nice cage. Inside is a perch swing, some stiff ropes that stretch from one side to the other, three to four toys that we rotate out (or replace when Kiyo inevitably destroys one), a water dish, and some small cups for food. On top of the cage is a platform with even more toys and another perch for when he wants to be outside of his cage’s interior. There’s a lot to keep his attention. But then, a mere two feet away, is another “toy” that lights up and grabs his attention — my laptop keyboard.

Usually I notice him before he wreaks any havoc. He holds onto the edge of his cage and leans out toward my desk, almost taunting me with his intentions. Or if the curtains are close enough, he’ll grab on and climb over toward the side of my desk. My main concern is always the power cable, either one directly from the wall or a Thunderbolt from my monitor that charges my MacBook Air while sending video for an extended screen workspace.

You’d think I might have learned something 10 years ago, when I returned to my desk to discover my Razer Anansi keyboard missing nearly two dozen keys. They were strewn about the floor surrounding my desk; there, my Chihuahua had decided to get in on the fun and finish the job. Thankfully she only chewed on them and didn’t consider them a crunchy treat. But no, there was no lesson learned that day.

Instead, in mid-July, I caught Kiyo red-beaked as he sat on my laptop’s touchpad, spacebar in his mouth. My exasperated “Kiyo!” was met with him tossing it aside and loudly squawking at me. (Could there also have been some satisfaction behind that exclamation of his? Perhaps I’m jaded by my anger, but yes, he was immensely happy with himself.)

Now, maybe this was a blessing in disguise.