tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post4462486681363335040..comments2023-10-03T11:41:21.191+01:00Comments on The Truth About Lies: Jock Tamson's BairnsJim Murdochhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-65307826114463998292013-08-25T23:06:53.096+01:002013-08-25T23:06:53.096+01:00I love that. Thanks for taking the trouble. I love that. Thanks for taking the trouble. Ken Armstronghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-19941751581605945272013-08-25T17:20:21.216+01:002013-08-25T17:20:21.216+01:00I’ve actually not written that much about him, Ken...I’ve actually not written that much about him, <b>Ken</b>, but you might want to have a look at <a href="http://jim-murdoch.blogspot.co.uk/2008/08/our-cockatiel-loves-woody-allen.html" rel="nofollow">Our cockatiel loves Woody Allen</a> and <a href="http://jim-murdoch.blogspot.co.uk/2011/05/member-of-set-of-imaginary-writers.html" rel="nofollow">Member of the set of imaginary writers</a>. He does get other nods here and there but I haven’t written in depth about him anywhere. Carrie’s off to the States again—rather her then me—and so it’s just us lads for the next nearly three weeks. Which means I’ll have to give his cage its quarterly going over. I should sort it out more often than I do but time just slips by besides he loves to root around in the crumbs at the bottom. I can’t be nearly as lax with the fish who I’ve always assumed was a male but who can tell? Both have made their way into poems—one apiece—and that’s more than any other pet I’ve had. <br /><br />The bird’s very much a creature of routine which is good for me when Carrie’s not here though I do let him stay up later than usual—it’s bed at 11pm with us and wakey-wakey at half-nine in the morning. He’s used to these times and'll start to remind me by tapping his mirror once it gets close to time; if I dally the car alarm starts. He’s not in such a rush to go to bed. The first task is to build his castle. I have a selection of cardboard boxes and each morning I arrange them atop the bird’s cage: someplace new for him to explore. I can get quite creative. Cockatiels are destructive wee buggers and so the boxes are perfect. He tears holes in them and makes nests for himself. It’s all preprogrammed. He runs on automatic and once you realize this it gets easier to cope with him. <br /><br />He is an individual for all that and he has his likes and dislikes. He loves the theme tune to <i>Boardwalk Empire</i>—all those scratchy guitars—and always gets excited when it comes on. He loves getting his head scritched and if he’s desperate he’ll run over to the front of the cage as I’m passing and try to catch my eye. He used to fly over but since I’ve become better at reading him we’ve developed a routine. Cockatiels are also nomadic. That’s hard being stuck inside all day but his version of that is to investigate different parts of the room for a while. At the moment it’s the carpet. Before that it was my dad’s writing bureau which now had a sheet draped over it to protect it. It may be an ugly piece of furniture but that’s no reason to let the bird at it. He took to clambering down onto the fish tank for a while too but seems to have lost interest in that and it’s been a long time since he’s flown into my room. He had his spots in the kitchen and bathroom and sometimes heads off to one of them if he gets a fright.<br /><br />Sometimes in the afternoons Carrie’ll take him in for a nap with her. Mostly he cooperates and he has his box and mirror in our bedroom. Occasionally he gets antsy and flies onto the bed or down onto the floor with the lights out I usually have to go and extract him. He’s bonded more with me than Carrie. It’s nothing against Carrie—the two of them used to be tight—but he has a very utilitarian philosophy of life: I’m the one who does stuff for him and so I’m useful and worth palling up to. Carrie not so much. Her frequent visits to the States don’t help and that’s when we noticed the change in him. He doesn’t get on with my daughter but she’s scared of him and he can tell. We call her the blonde bird.<br /><br />Surprisingly his poo is much less of a problem than you’d imagine. He tends to stick to the same areas and so if we protect them—adding cardboard undershelves that jut out a bit—we’ve no problems. Just as well we’re not house proud. He does sing but he’s a lousy mimic. I sing him his night-night song every night and I’ve been doing it so long that you can tell when he’s copying me, singing to his mirror, but he’s not very good. Carrie caught him practicing seagull in his cage early one morning a couple of weeks back. He likes gulls. At least from a distance.Jim Murdochhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/12786388638146471193noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6327348657265652781.post-1252448223167958212013-08-25T15:06:17.686+01:002013-08-25T15:06:17.686+01:00I'm going off to download the taster and have ...I'm going off to download the taster and have a taste. It's funny, I was replying to you over at my place and typing 'you should write more about your bird' when I realised it was over there that I had read it.<br /><br />Knowing you, you *have* written much more about the bird and what goes on behind those eyes. Point me to it, if you would be so kind.<br /><br />It's hard to comment on reviews. I read all yours and remain in awe of the care and attention you give to the reading and the consideration of the books. But how does one comments. "I haven't read it but this review was very good... 4 stars." :)<br /><br />Anyhoo, keep up the good work. I read one of your short stories every day and will scribble about them after I'm done. I have to have Strumpet City finished (read) in the next few weeks so I better knuckle down.<br />Ken Armstronghttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07775956557261111127noreply@blogger.com