Posts Tagged ‘Indian Ringneck Parakeet’

I’m trying hard to be patient, but Frodo and the parrots are doing my head in! The latter are obviously unfamiliar with the concept of being seen and not heard, and the former has personal hygiene problems, not to mention the omnipresence of the vacuum cleaner lately, thanks to all 3 of them!

I think the parrots are getting louder. My bedroom (which I let my mummies share) is right above the conservatory, where the parrots live, and we have a wooden floor which isn’t quite so good at buffering noise, and when the window is open I get it in surround sound! If they talked sense or sang something catchy it wouldn’t be so bad, but they just yell and squabble all the time, having only a brief interlude when Mummy El replenishes their food bowls.

Frodo and I had been getting along better since, for the most part, we’d been staying out of each other’s way, but every time I go into the living room where he resides (he’s too noisy at night to live in our room) to escape the squawking and get too close to his cage… Well, let’s just say when you get too close to Frodo you resent having nostrils.

Luckily, the stink is localised. Unless you’re right in front of him you can’t smell it, which is a relief, or my mummies would have a real problem on their hands. Who wants to live in a place that smells of rodent?! They take his cage apart every weekend and scrub it with antibacterial spray and hot water, but within hours of its reassembly he’s stunk it out again. They even give him a good rub down with antibacterial pet wipes at the same time, but it makes no odds. I think he was just born that way, poor chap.

Frodo getting his weekly scrub

The most disturbing thing about it all from my perspective though, is the amount of work the hoover is having to do these days. Being a very house-proud rabbit I understand that the vacuum cleaner (or Henry as he’s known in our house) is an essential tool in the fight against grime, and I’m mentally prepared for his presence a couple of times a week, but lately I’ve been seeing far too much of him.

Now, I consider myself to be quite a brave boy considering my size and lack of ferocity. I’m oblivious to creepy crawlies and take no issue with the dark or small places – in fact I positively encourage them! – but the hoover… The hoover terrifies me. As I said, a couple of times a week, whilst I’m safely in my hutch I can just about deal with, but it doesn’t seem to be away lately.

The parrots are, apparently, moulting again. I haven’t seen it for myself, but Mummy El said the conservatory looks like the scene of an explosion in a pillow factory on a daily basis, hence Henry, and Frodo insists on throwing saw dust all over the floor around his cage.

Moulting Maxi

The parrots are a law unto themselves so there’s no point talking to them about the noise, and I’m quite the moulter myself, so I’d have no leg to stand on there, but I thought I’d maybe try to help Frodo out with his predicament a bit, and help myself and my mummies along the way. A little known fact about us bunnies is that we are extremely clean. I house-trained myself from being a baby and apart from when I’m trying to make a point I always use one of my 2 loos. Frodo, on the other hand, is fairly indiscriminate about where he goes, which I think is half of the problem with the smell.

Anyway, the other night I bobbed my head into his doorway to give him a couple of pointers and help him find a suitable place to go and the little blighter slapped me! Right across the face! No signs, no warning, just: smack!

Now, I ask you, is that any way to treat your brother?

I’m trying hard to keep my cool, but sometimes it’s a trial being me.


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Right, after the stress of yesterday’s discovery I decided that the best thing to do was to be honest and have it out with my mummies. I was a brave boy and I just asked them outright if it was true, if I was really adopted.

They sat me down and told me what I already suspected. It’s all true.

I asked how it all came about, so they put the kettle on and we had the much needed chat.

It was actually just by chance or more by fate really, that we found each other. My mummies had gone shopping in town, which they don’t do all that often, but they’d parked just out of the centre, which meant a bit of a hike back to the car. On their way they happened to pass by a pet shop and, on a whim, they decided to go in. The parrots had grown a bit and were struggling to fit into the bowl they insisted on using as a bath soMummies El and J wanted to see if the shop had a nice big bowl for the birds.

Now Mummy El is a bit wet when it comes to animals and can’t help but go and make cooing noises in front of every cage in any and all pet shops they visit, so she headed straight past the parrot accessories to the back of the shop where all the fluffy people were. Apparently, our eyes met and it was love at first sight. Well, for her anyway. She said she can’t remember any of the other animals she saw that day, she only had eyes for me.

Now, the next part of the story shook me a bit, so prepare yourselves. I’m not her first bunny. There were bunnies who came before me. And I don’t just mean 1 or 2. Including her sister’s pet bunnies and some accidental babies we’re talking more than a dozen. Add to this that my other mummy, Mummy J, has had 3 other bunnies too, I had quite a bitter blow. I’ll be fine. I’ll get over it. It just came as a bit of a shock. The point is, Mummy El’s last bunny died when she was 11 or 12 so it’d been a long time since she’d had one around, and all of her previous rabbits had lived in the garden. It had never occurred to her or Mummy J as grown-ups to have a bunny, they always thought of them as children’s pets, although Mummy El had known a grown-up with a pet rabbit who lived in the house, and she’d liked the idea.

Anyway, Mummy J finally managed to drag her away from my cage and out of the shop, parrot bowl in hand (I think they paid for it first!) and off they went home.

All the way home they talked about me and neither of them could get me out of their heads. They’d never seen a Netherlands Dwarf like me before and when they got home they got straight on the computer and googled my kind (other search engines are available!). They compared every picture they looked at with me and decided (correctly) that I was cuter than all of them. It was too late for Mummy El, she’d gone past the point of no return and was in love with me.

She started researching the practicalities of having a house-rabbit, toilet training, what sort of health care I’d need, how much I would cost to feed and house… She knew she had to make it work – she needed me.

Anyway, as fate would have it, it was 2 days before Mummy El’s birthday and Mummy J hadn’t got her a present yet, she hadn’t been able to find the perfect thing. She’d seen the look on Mummy El’s face when she saw me for the first time and she saw the look on Mummy El’s face then, looking at hutches and pictures of not-so-devastatingly handsome members of my breed, and knew what she had to do. She asked Mummy El if they should go back to the pet shop the next day and bring me home. Well, Mummy El’s eyes welled up telling me about that part so I can imagine what a state she would have been in at the time. The shop had been shut for about half an hour when Mummy J put forward her proposition, so they couldn’t phone up right then to find out if anybody else had taken me home already, so they had a long wait until the next morning to make sure they made me theirs.

They set an alarm for 8:30am – unheard of for a Saturday – and waited anxiously, phone in hand, for the clock to tick over to 9am so that they could ring the shop. Mummy El couldn’t stand the wait though and decided at 8:50 that someone would be there by that time to get things ready and open up, so she dialled the number.

What luck! Someone answered! Mummy described me and asked if I was still there: I was. She asked if I was still available: I was. She asked if I was ready to move out of the shop into a new home: I was. She asked if she could reserve me: She could. The lady asked Mummy how long I needed to be reserved for and Mummy told her, as long as it took to neck a slice of toast and drive there.

Now, the memory is fuzzy, but when my mummies told me about the next bit, something started to come back. Not as a thought or picture, more as just a feeling. When they got to the shop the lady lifted me out of my cage and put me into Mummy El’s arms, and she held me whilst the lady put some saw dust into a box to transport me home in, and packed my new belongings that Mummy J had bought me into a bag. I remember feeling warm, safe and loved.

Mummy J drove home very carefully, and they told me that they remember listening to Barry White on the way. I would say that there’s no accounting for taste, but they had just chosen me, so I’ll reserve judgement.

They set up my new house, made it all cosy and put my new things in it for me, and Mummy J carefully helped me move in.

The first ever photo of me, being helped into my new hutch by my Mummy J

I’m so glad that it was them that chose me. Apparently I’ve got a real brother who was in the shop with me, but he was mean and bullied me – I’m glad I don’t remember that part. And can you imagine if I’d been chosen by people who weren’t as kind and gentle as my mummies? I could be sat somewhere getting my ears pulled and my eyes poked right now, or I could be sharing outdoor digs with another rabbit, or worse, a guinea pig!

Anyway, I’m glad that I had that talk with them and it’s all out in the open now, but it has to be our little secret; I’m not to tell Frodo. I was right, he was adopted too, and my mummies don’t think he’d take the news as well as me. Geordi knew all along that he was adopted and I think that we’ll make sure that the puppy knows from day 1 too, I don’t want him to stumble upon it one day by accident like I did.

Now that I know the whole story it makes me feel even more special knowing that I was adopted. I’m the central part of the best family in the whole wide world, and my life is exactly the way it was always meant to be!

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I’ve had a nasty shock. I think… I think I’ve uncovered a family secret. I think… I think I was adopted.

My face says it all

It never really occurred to me before, I can’t remember living anywhere other than here and I don’t remember anyone other than my mummies taking care of me, so I didn’t really give any thought to where I came from. I suppose it makes sense though because Frodo (who’s technically my big brother since he’s about 10 months older than me) calls our parents ‘Mummy’ too, but families come in all shapes and sizes and I didn’t think there was anything stranger about mine than the next one.

Anyway, I was going through some of Mummy El’s papers this morning, looking for something to shred, and I found a form from a pet shop with my name on it, and it said “Age at Adoption: 12 weeks”.

I’m not really sure what to do with this information. I mean, it all makes sense now; the fact that I’m so much smaller than them, I have bigger ears, a furrier bottom, I walk on 4 legs, oh, and I have a tail. I suppose this means that Frodo was adopted too… What about the parrots? I think I may have opened a can of worms here.

I thought Frodo and I were an integral part of the family and that the birds and fish were all of our pets. I mean, hierarchically, that’s certainly how it feels. The birds live in a cage, except for on Sundays (I think that’s mainly due to how messy they are) and the fish never come out of the tank… Wait, I think the reason for that’s been explained to me… Anyway, the point is, I’m a free-range rabbit, only in my hutch to sleep, and Frodo’s allowed to run around in his ball when he can be bothered.

So, where do I go from here? Do I pretend I never saw it? Do I talk to my mummies about it? I wish my big bro, Geordi, was still here – he’d know what to do. Oh my goodness. Geordi. He must have been adopted too!

You know what? The more I think about it, the less I think it matters. Geordi was my bro and my best friend, Frodo and I don’t always see eye to eye, but he’s my brother too and I’d never hurt him, and I know my mummies love me more than anything. I’ve got a warm bed right next to theirs, I’ve got hay and nuggets and lots of yummy treats, I’ve got the run of the house, cuddles on tap and the best view of the fish tank.

Family is family. It doesn’t matter where you come from, all that matters is where you end up, and I think I’ve landed squarely on my big fluffy feet.

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Hello readers – all 3 of you, I expect! I’m Tino, and I thought it was about time that I got into this blogging lark. I’ve made a lot of canine friends online lately, I love reading about their daily happenings, their points of view and the mischief they get themselves into, and thought people might enjoy reading about the trouble I cause too. I might not be as big as them, or have as many teeth, but I have to say, where mischief and mayhem are concerned, I can claim some serious bragging rights. There was the time I jumped in a pot of green paint, the time I decided I fancied a bubble bath, I’ve even binned myself on a couple of occasions! I could regale you with numerous tales of me getting under beds and sofas… Needless to say, I’m a pro.

Well, you already know my name, but I suppose I should introduce myself properly. What else do you need to know? I turned 2 a couple of weeks ago and I live on the South Coast in Hampshire. I only know this because I’ve been told; I’ve never been to the beach to have it proved to me, I’m only allowed in the garden and on twice yearly visits to the V-E-T. I’ve got 2 mummies, and we all live in a very multi-cultural household with the other pets. There’s Suki and Maxi, they’re Indian Ringneck parakeets;

Maxi and Suki

Frodo the Chinese Dwarf Hamster (although he prefers the term ‘height-challenged’),


fish from all over the Indian and Pacific Oceans;

View of the tank from my hutch

I’m a Netherlands Dwarf,

Me looking grumpy when I binned myself

and one of my mummies is German!

My German mummy, Mummy J.

We all get along famously (well, Frodo and I have strained relations – it’s a long story), and although we all originate from different countries and cultures from around the world we all share the same core values, respect one another (except Frodo – not to labour a point!) and love each other very much, which is all that counts. It helps that we all speak English too (except the fish. I’m not confident that they speak at all; it’s hard to tell through all that glass and water), I know technically I’m Dutch but the language is all Double Dutch to me! I’m a Fareham boy, born and raised.

Well, I think I’ve wittered on enough for one day; thank you for taking the time to come and meet me. I’ll be back tomorrow to report on the latest goings on from my part of the world!

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