three months apart and to different mothers. Technically speaking, my Mom and Frank Ed's Mom were sisters-in-law, but blood could not have knitted together two women any more closely. Frank Ed and I had the two greatest Moms in the world and shared them amongst ourselves every chance we could get.
Betty Bob is a queer duck. S/he sits in a cage in the north-facing back room window, issuing staccato, monosyllabic squawks at what must be max volume for a bird that size. Attempting to squawk back does not help without a firm grasp on his/her lingo. More often than not, trying to communicate with Betty Bob pisses him/her off more than anything else.
The sum total of my knowledge of cockatiels equals bigger, louder, nastier than a parakeet. The folks at Cockatiel.com say the guys have greater vocals than the gals and tend to whistle a lot, which tends to make Betty Bob a Bob. On the other hand, same folk say females hiss and attempt to bite much more frequently and with determination to bring home meat. That says Betty decidedly is Betty!
Plain and simple, the bird is mean and, regardless of what I was told, was NOT hand raised ... he is not a people person. That's OK. We get along by keeping our distance - except for the two or three times a day I try to get him to sit on my finger. We do chat back and forth while I sit at the computer, although I have no idea if the conversation is friendly. I may be just adding fuel to the fire
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