This morning I brought Blake for his annual well-check, the first time I have accompanied him in at least three years. In 2002 and '01, he had his check while boarding, and maybe in 2000 as well. He's healthy and I know it, but he is not a plant.
I usually bring him in his entire cage, which is tall enough that from the highest perch he can see out the car window. This time I decided on the much more convenient (for me) travel cage, about the size of a cat carrier. Stupid me: he could not see out the window, did not like that one single tiny bit, and let me know it the entire way. Sorry, buddy.
His veterinarian, whom I maybe haven't spoken to in that long, commented again on what a great personality he has. He asked if the bird is as outgoing and friendly all the time as he--Blake--was being with with him, who is, as an avian vet, very much a parrot person. Pretty much. When he encounters non-bird people, mutual nervousness compounds into a hopeless relationship--my sister, Nebra, Lou, and CoolBoss--but when he meets anyone who shows the vaguest interest or even calmness around him, he's Mr. Sociable.
The weekend after I cut my hair the shower wouldn't drain and we had to have a plumber come in. On a Sunday morning. After the plumber had snaked the last of my two-foot hairs from the drain (the picture of the tail that I donated disgusted my sister enough that I didn't bother to take a picture of that clump), Blake insisted on meeting him. Two years ago when a police officer was in the house taking a statement after we had been burgled, Blake wanted to meet him too. Hi, please take us seriously, and if you could just ignore this yelling thing that rules the roost.
His plumage is in great shape, his eyes and ears and nares and vent are clear, he chucked enthusiastically and bowed to his doctor, he weighs 93 grams ("medium to medium-plus, which is fine"), and the vet observed without further comment that he is eight, so I guess I don't have to worry about his age yet.
I tried to be good. First I went to the Bookies, the unfortunately named but independent children's book store. They had ordered a scant nine and those nine were, surprise surprise, gone, so I contented myself with books for shorties instead. What does an almost-seven-year-old read, or have read to her, after having had The Silmarillion read to her, by her choice, after hearing first The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings? Then I resorted to Barnes & Noble and bought what I was after. I had a coffee and read some there; I looked for a non-bar with outdoor seating along Pearl Street and decided I would shiver anyway; so, yes I'm a terrible person, I went to the mall and ate in the California Pizza Kitchen. Which I pronounce at least half the time as "California Pizza Chicken" because I am a latter-day Spooner.
Also I bought a pair of shoes, of girl shoes. I realized that the shoes I want for the new pants are Dansko clogs, of course, but they cost more than I was in a mood to spend. I bought a much cheaper pair of shoes in the meantime, at no savings at all because I will get the clogs as well, some time this fall.
I'm pleased to report Lemony Snicket hasn't lost his touch yet. I have just decided that it is my new tradition to take myself out to dinner with every new Unfortunate Event (only three left, malheureusement!). There I sat, innocent as a lamb, reading away, when the book made me snort and cackle. I giggled. A woman at the next table was laughing at me, with me not at me. Wordlessly, with a slightly abashed expression, I flipped up the book to her ("See, it wasn't me, it was the book!") and she made an inquiring face back. I'm still lisa, somewhere in here, so I nipped over to her and her companion to answer the inquiry.
I introduced the book in a fraction of a minute, "See, there're these three orphans who have all these unfortunate events happen to them, starting with their parents being killed in a fire, and villainous Count Olaf is after their fortune and they're trying to elude him and solve various mysteries through this, the tenth book (there are going to be thirteen of course). The older two are young teenagers but Sunny's a baby, just learning to speak, and only her siblings understand her; but right now she's been kidnapped by Count Olaf," and I pointed to the passage (not a spoiler, since Carnivorous Carnival ended with her in his clutches, separated from the older two, though in my opinion the funniest bit in the book):
I had sized them up correctly before I nipped: they laughed. I don't recall that Daniel Handler has done anything that overt before, so part of my laughter was surprise, but mostly it was sheer love for Sunny.