As a child, we had a blue budgerigar. Many people did in the unenlightened 1950s. My parents decorated the room with wallpaper that depicted goldfinches flying about. When Tony the budgie was let out of his cage he became psychotic, bashing himself against the walls.

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When we moved to Costa Rica, we had no plan to have a caged bird. We were of like minds to William Blake. 

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The helpful and popular couple who sold us the house had a number of caged parrots. The husband had been active in a rescue centre. Despicably, poachers illegally take baby parrots from nests in Costa Rica. They even cut down trees to get them.

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All their birds except one, Simone, had been placed in other homes. On the day we moved in, they told us that no one wanted Simone, that she spoke English and Spanish, liked music and was quite winsome. This tugged at my wife's heartstrings, so we agreed to take her.

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Simone is what the locals call a Princessita. She is stubborn, determined to have her food when she wants it, placed where she wants it and when she wants it. Any deviation from this results in it being hurled to the floor.

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I once tried this myself but received a resounding smack. I rapidly sank to number three in the household pecking order.

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'Well, we'll be able to train her.'

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Famous last words. 

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As my wife had taken her on, she provided food and entertainment. A year later Simone had trained us. 

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Now, she has her own TV and favorite cartoons. Her dietary demands became ever more persnickety. She likes classical music, especially opera, not just any opera either. It has to be the best, Maria Callas, Pavarotti and the like. She demands cuddling and soft music when her nighttime covers go on. 

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She can indeed be quite charming. At some point she must have been kept by a family. She can take the part of various family members and a chicken. She turns her head to play different roles as she enacts a lengthy play. 

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When the mornings are warm, she goes out on the terrace. We have a large, steeply sloping tropical garden. One day I was working at the bottom of the garden. My wife's voice shouted my name. Ah good, coffee time. I trudged up the hill to find my wife was nowhere in sight. Grrr!

 

If visitors are stupid enough to poke a friendly finger into her cage she will deploy that powerful beak and draw blood. My wife was badly bitten a few times. I keep my hands clear.

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Simone has taken to chewing pieces out of the dark brown woodwork in the house, leaving ugly, white indentations.

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'Why don't we send her to a refuge with other parrots?'

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'She doesn't know she's a parrot. She thinks we're her flock. 

She'd die without the lifestyle she's become accustomed to.'

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'Fair enough. She didn't ask to be snatched from the nest.'

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We endure.