Packbawky Performance Reviews

Last night, I heard some dirty prat whistling at my birds. It was certainly a human whistle, and just as certainly directed at the Packbawky Patrol: whoever it was, he was mimicking their cries precisely. The birds, of course, found this tremendously exciting. I couldn't tell whether they were happy or angry, but they redoubled their shrieks right away. For several minutes, they all whistled back and forth with this twat. It was the most indescribable ruckus. I thought my eardrums would burst.

All of which leads me to wonder: just how loud are these birds? If they can scream through an open window and be heard by a passing jerk, five floors down, they can probably scream through a closed door, as well. I bet you anything the neighbours can hear them. I'll never be able to complain about the yappy dog in 501 again (well, not with a clear conscience, anyhow). I'm the noisy neighbour. Can you imagine?

I've been working in my bedroom, these last few days, in order to have a wall between me and the birds. Can't say as it does much good, though. I think they get even noisier when I'm not around. I must make them nervous, or something--and then the minute I've gone, they feel free to make all the racket they want. Wee opportunists. But I can't properly begrudge them their fun. I wanted them to be happy, and now it seems they are. The one thing that puzzles me is this: how do they rip such obnoxious noises from such tiny throats? Sometimes, I can feel my ears throb and twinge, when they get right into it. They must have hollow cavities in their heads, somewhere, to serve as echo chambers.

Ah, well. It could be worse. They could be macaws. Macaws, if you ask me, are very aptly named. They'll caw all day and half the night, just for the fun of it.

MR. SNAGGLEBEAK: I've got to hand it to Mr. Snagglebeak. Compared to the other birds, he'd almost pass for melodious. Sometimes, he even gets a bit of a tune going--something lilting and musical, with identifiable notes, and a bit of a rhythm. But then Miss White gets him all riled up, and I think about rechristening him Mr. Screechybeak. (Might not be a bad idea, in fact. He doesn't have a snagglebeak any more, now that the mites have gone.)

MR. YELLOW: I appreciate the fact that Mr. Yellow is not an instigator. He doesn't get the other birds going, or start up the morning symphony. He does, however, tend to get in on the act once it's started, and his voice is very loud. Mr. Yellow's contributions can push a packbawky screeching session out of the realm of the merely cacophonous, rendering it deafening.

MISS BLUE: What a tasteless creature! She reminds me of Hyacinth Bucket: everything has to be bigger and better with her. She rarely gets the bawking started, but she's always got to have the last word. Worse still, she's got the most horrible tin ear. You rarely hear her burble or peep. All she does is shriek, repeating a single note over and over again till even the other birds want to peck her.

MISS (OR MR.) WHITE*: Miss White will stop at nothing to get the other birds going. She antagonises them, eggs them on, and echoes their every wheep and squeal. She doesn't rest till the entire cage vibrates with sound. Sometimes, she even gets outside birds in on the act. Occasionally, she sings in a vaguely musical fashion, but mostly, she burbles and shrieks.

Miss White is the worst, because she gets the whole pack started. Then, it's Miss Blue, with her persistent express-train whistle. Mr. Yellow isn't so bad at all, and Mr. Snagglebeak is almost pleasant, as long as the other birds stay out of it.

* I thought the white bird was a lady, owing to its having a pale pink cere, but it's looking more purplish these days. It's neither blue nor pink. I have no idea what flavour of bird I'm looking at.