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!
