So, here's the deal: I met someone with a pet squirrel and I began to want a pet squirrel, mind, body and soul. Taking advantage of the army of cousins ages four to thirteen that are always available to do my bidding, I gave them the mission of catching me a squirrel. Well! A week later I was holding a squirrel wrapped up in a bed sheet, the same sheet that had been used as a trampoline when they shook the squirrel out of the tree. I was the happiest squirrel owner on the planet, I knew the novelty of this could never wear off. I thought I had my Volunteer reputation made – from now on when Trainees came to Costa Rica, the training facilitators couldn't help but jokingly mention, “One Volunteer even had a pet squirrel! So you see, some things happen only in Peace Corps Costa Rica.”
Then my squirrel got repossessed. How many more times will I say the following in my lifetime?: The squirrel actually belonged to someone else and I had to give it back. A neighbor came by and said, “Hey, heard you caught my squirrel that got loose.” And I said, “No, my cousins caught a squirrel for me because I wanted one as a pet.” And dude said, “Why do you think it was so easy to catch, dummy, it was domesticated.” So without any fast evidence of this squirrel's wild origin, I had to give him back.
And I was so. Mad.
But whatever, plenty of fish in the sea or squirrels in banana trees, as it were. I didn't think it would be too long before another squirrel would be caught, my little cousins are pretty with it when it comes to trapping wildlife. What I didn't expect was that someone would make me an offer of another pet that I literally could not refuse.
Let me preface the rest of this story by saying that I am desperate to integrate into my community. I'm falling over myself to please people and I'm trying to work my way into the heart of anybody that shows even the slightest interest in my life or work. With that knowledge, when my sister said that someone had an extra baby parrot available, my first response was, “No thank you.” Then she said, “Ah, well, she wanted to give it to you as a gift because she knew you were heartbroken about the squirrel.”
Eff! That's a different story, right? It doesn't matter that I think pet birds are disgusting. That I hate the idea of the mites and other gross stuff they carry around in their feathers. That the noise they make is like nails on a chalkboard. It's not just that someone has an extra bird I can ask to have (or avoid asking to have). This is a bird set aside for me, someone who's going out of their way to make me feel special with this gift.
Eff!
So I went and got the bird. I said thank you, this is so awesome, I'm really excited to have a pet. For me the most exciting part was that I had a long conversation with someone outside my family. And if I have to take a featherless baby dinosaur-looking parrot in the process...so be it.
I named it Luigi upon the suggestion of an aunt. I honestly did not care about what name to give it. It might even be a female. The important thing is that it eats only if I make corn-flour pellets and shove them down its throat. It only drinks if I hold its beak open and pour water in its mouth. Has no problem shitting all by itself. But dangit...wouldn't you know if in the past week, feeding and watering and repeating phrases over and over again like, “dirty bit” and “don't be retarded” hoping they stick...I've started to like him. There's something endearingly pathetic about his vein-y featherless noggin. Who else is going to love him if I don't? Answer: Nobody, he's ugly as sin and annoying as hell. But maybe one day I'll wake up and he'll have transformed into one of God's beautiful creations instead and the time I'm putting into Luigi now will have paid off.
Also, I'll die before my community knows me as the Volunteer who killed her pet parrot with negligence. Pride and guilt are such useful motivators, right?
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