I just realized something and am I ever chagrined. I am also reminded why I didn't pursue a career that required math. I always did fine in math, but it took me a few beats longer than usual to "get" a math problem.  This time it was a few months longer...and please feel free to correct and berate me if I'm wrong.

I just realized that my parrot is 21 years old and not 20, as I've been thinking all year. I've always put his hatch date at April 1st. Most likely he actually hatched in may, but that's beside the point. I got him in August of 1986. He was a few months old and still begged to be hand-fed. He was a cute little devil.

In August of 1987, he was a year old, so in August of 2007, he's 21. D'OH! Holy cerebral flatulence, Batman!

So, for his twentieth birthday...er, hatch day, I got the little brat a new cage and I'm building him a kick-ass play area. A year late. D'OH!

Maybe I ought to let him have a beer, too? Why not? He's legal.

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My Twenty-ONE-Year-Old Parrot in the Cupboard:

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Here we are (both much younger). Gabby plays dead when you point your finger at him and say, "BANG!"