Crest of Gold (Pt. 1)
November 5th 2006 23:36
Danny was a cockatoo much like any other. He enjoyed all the noisy things that cockatoos loved to do. He was what you or I would cal a “Sulphur-Crested Cockatoo”, the great white cockatoos often seen in pet shops, a comb of splendid yellow feathers crowned upon their heads. Upon seeing these cockatoos I’m often very keen to elicit one of their well-worn greetings of “arro”. Their enigmatic eyes usually regard me with a strange mix of mischief and disinterest, and I suspect they’re as equally keen to bite a chunk out of my finger as I am to get them to speak human-speak.
Danny wasn’t a domestic cockatoo, though judging from his demeanour he very well could’ve been. Danny was a proud and vain cockie, often in a dreamworld of his own, flicking his head side to side over water to keep a check on his reflection. Stretching his wings theatrically and spreading his crest for ‘the ladies’. It’s true that Danny was well presented, but his showy self-absorbing manner did little to enamour him to these ladies. He was generally fine with that, so long as he had his reflection.
I think I may have seen Danny one day back when I was attending Macquarie University. I was sitting on the lawn between one of the carparks and one of the university’s taller, older buildings when a flock of cockies descended upon the well-kept grass. They had come down for a drink and the noisy things took turns hopping up onto the top of a tap, nudging the handle whilst bending under it and lapping from the now-dripping faucet. It’s true, I really saw a group of Sulphur-Crested Cockatoos do this.
Anyway, I’m pretty sure the one keeping watch in a nearby tree was Danny because he had most of his crest missing. He looked very stressed and preferred to keep his distance from the other cockies – hence his willingness to act as sentinel whilst the others drank. You see, at this time Danny had just had an ‘accident’. It seems another cockie, Ted, mistook him for a serious rival to female affections. Danny unfortunately found himself on the receiving end of Ted’s sexual aggression and his much-beloved yellow-crest feathers were ripped from his head in one quick snap, the skin under it now scarred from the attack. Danny did not fight back, it wasn’t in his disposition. He had gone to pieces since though and now shied away from his once beloved reflection. To be honest, I’m not sure if the plucking of crest feathers is normal behaviour amongst rival male cockatoos, but Ted so hated Danny’s vanity and neverending show of it that he felt an overwhelming desire to end such rampant narcissism.
Danny wasn’t a domestic cockatoo, though judging from his demeanour he very well could’ve been. Danny was a proud and vain cockie, often in a dreamworld of his own, flicking his head side to side over water to keep a check on his reflection. Stretching his wings theatrically and spreading his crest for ‘the ladies’. It’s true that Danny was well presented, but his showy self-absorbing manner did little to enamour him to these ladies. He was generally fine with that, so long as he had his reflection.
I think I may have seen Danny one day back when I was attending Macquarie University. I was sitting on the lawn between one of the carparks and one of the university’s taller, older buildings when a flock of cockies descended upon the well-kept grass. They had come down for a drink and the noisy things took turns hopping up onto the top of a tap, nudging the handle whilst bending under it and lapping from the now-dripping faucet. It’s true, I really saw a group of Sulphur-Crested Cockatoos do this.
Anyway, I’m pretty sure the one keeping watch in a nearby tree was Danny because he had most of his crest missing. He looked very stressed and preferred to keep his distance from the other cockies – hence his willingness to act as sentinel whilst the others drank. You see, at this time Danny had just had an ‘accident’. It seems another cockie, Ted, mistook him for a serious rival to female affections. Danny unfortunately found himself on the receiving end of Ted’s sexual aggression and his much-beloved yellow-crest feathers were ripped from his head in one quick snap, the skin under it now scarred from the attack. Danny did not fight back, it wasn’t in his disposition. He had gone to pieces since though and now shied away from his once beloved reflection. To be honest, I’m not sure if the plucking of crest feathers is normal behaviour amongst rival male cockatoos, but Ted so hated Danny’s vanity and neverending show of it that he felt an overwhelming desire to end such rampant narcissism.
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