Change of seasons means change of feathers for bird

The recent snap of cold weather left me scrambling to change the settings on the thermostat. I drug out the heated mattress pad and my favorite blanket for when I curl up on the couch.

I like fall, and its crisp temperatures.

Simon, my little green Quaker parakeet, may not be all that keen on the changing season.

With fall comes his seasonal molt, the process in which he sheds some old feathers to allow for new ones to grow in.

When Simon takes a few laps around the upstairs during his molt, a vivid blue feather will fall, spiraling to the carpet like a maple seed falling from a tree.

To watch him fly, you wouldn’t guess the elaborate process that leaves vacuum-clogging feathers artfully scattered across the upstairs of my house.

Simon, like all other parrots, goes through this process of re-beautification one or more times a year. It’s dictated by the changing seasons, although indoor birds that spend their time in artificial light like Simon may not follow the seasonal boundaries. The process is triggered by the changes in light that come with the shortened days.

The process is intricate and balanced. A flightless bird in the wild will shortly become someone’s dinner, so when a feather falls from one wing, another is quickly shed from the other wing. It allows Simon’s flight to remain balanced.

The old feathers that surround the newly growing ones protect them from damage since the shafts of new feathers are filled with blood.

New feathers growing in are coated with a white, waxy sheath. Simon pulls the sheath off most of the feathers himself, but the ones on the back of his head are difficult to reach.

He impatiently waits for me to take care of them. If Simon had a little green girlfriend, she would remove the coating. He’s stuck with me, though.

The whole new feather process makes Simon a little grouchy. He’s taken his frustrations out on our housemate Cortney when I left for a weekend.

For me, Simon simply refused to do tricks and has been putting himself into his cage without his precious walnut, choosing to be antisocial.

Last week his spiky little feathers reached critical mass. Simon’s head started looking like a teenager with a propensity toward spikes but not enough gel to make them stand upright.

I took him into the shower so he could feel the nice steam on his skin. Then I bundled him up and began the work of gently rubbing loose the sheaths.

Simon loves this process. Squeezing his eyes closed, he lets his tiny head drift back toward my fingers. It all goes well until I accidentally poke him with one of the shafts.

Simon will then fly off, and give me the evil eye before he works his way back to me and leans his head against my hand and closes his eyes.