Squawks of Gilbert

Well, it’s been a busy couple of days, but I finally have time to catch up. First, I need to say that I’m not even going to dignify the comments made by you-know-who. I just won’t lower myself. I mean, who does he think he is anyway? Calling me a dancing monkey. And Miss Cricket a cripple? That’s just rude. Did you notice how poor his spelling and grammar are? I didn’t want to have to say this, but it should be obvious by now: The guy has no class. Trailer trash, really. I mean even the name: Cracker??? I used to think he was being clever — you know, a play on the whole Polly wanna theme? But I quickly learned it was really much less innocent than that. The fact is, he’s racist! Constantly making comments about my color, picking on Miss Cricket because she’s different. And those comments about my collar. Whoa! He *knows* I have a diagnosed nervous disorder. Is it my fault I’m delicate? Only a brute would use that against somebody. But then, look who we’re talking about….

So enough of that. I have let the evil one (that’s what I call him when he’s not around) distract me from my main task for too long. The whole point of this blog was to tell you about *me* and *my* life. That’s far more interesting anyway.

My name is Gilbert Grendel Gonzo, son of Gonzo and Mrs Gonzo. I was born in Toronto, Canada — a first-generation Canadian. Both my parents were immigrants forced to leave their rural homes in the late 80s. I know very little about them as I was placed in foster care in my first few months because they had too many children to care for. I don’t hold it against them. I’m in a very good home with a family that loves me. Well, most of them. Things were really wonderful before the evil one (notice I don’t even capitalize that!) came along. But I cope. I’m very tolerant.

My hobbies include hopping, whistling, chewing, wrestling, dancing and of course fine dining. I also love quiet conversation and snuggling, but only with a special someone. I’m very well traveled, having lived in two nations and on two separate coasts. I’ve seen much of California and I’m considering a move to the Pacific Northwest. The rainsforests and snow-capped mountains are reminiscent of my ancestral home, which I hope one day to visit. But that’s for the future. For now, I’m enjoying being a homebody and just generally helping out around the house.

Well, that’s me in a nutshell. Ha ha. Get it? (I love walnuts. That’s the joke in case you didn’t get it.) It’s supper time, and I’ve got work to do….

What’s that they say about opening your beak and removing all doubt? talking’s overrated especially when they’ll still feed you for looking cute, and whats with that repetitious name saying ?? I suspect its really just a case of atheletes beak.

As to the weight issue, well Gilbert’s just living up to his literal name “black headed little fatty” I don’t know about being proud of that excess, especially when he needs to keep it in the trunk just to keep that collar of discipline from toppling him off of everything. I just look bigger because I’m no plucked chicken, no sense in hiding any of my gorgeous feathers, gotta fluff for show especially with the raggediness of the rest of the flock (don’t get me started on the cripple hiding in the cage).

Besides, what does it really matter when I’m second in command? Gilbert just wishes he could take on a furby, let alone control the flock of brooms .. how can someone that needs the equivilent of a birdy night light really be considered to be leadership material?

I just found a giant walnut at the bottom of Cricket’s cage. She’s so clumsy, always dropping good food. Can’t let *that* go to waste.

Wusses, huh? That Cracker is so full of himself. They say he looks bigger than me, but that fact is I weigh more. But it’s cuz I’m all muscle and Cracker is just bloated ego. And gas. Did you know he farts all the time? No manners. I know he just does it to get attention. He’s really insecure. Preens and primps all day — he just loves it when people tell him he’s beautiful — and he’ll hump anything that’s sitting still. But the guy’s got an overbite and a speech impediment. In fact, the only words he can say clearly are “Hey Amber,” and guess who taught him that. Right! Me!!

It’s kind of sad, though. He was abandoned, so I guess there’s a lot of baggage there. But, sheesh, did he have to rape the Furby?!?! I still get nightmares about that.

Okay. Now I’m upset. There must be something good to eat around here….

When they’re all wusses.. Gilbert thinks he’s all that with a website and a blog, but I’ll just make him share because I’m number two in the house and he’s well below me, and as long as he’s a wimpy, feather picking coward that ain’t gonna change. I don’t even have to attack him any more .. if I walk toward him he just flops right off his perch and goes running to Amber. Can’t fly, can’t preen and is always running away from a fight.. Who’s your daddy now gibby?

As for Cricket, well she’s gonna have to learn that a big beak behind bars does not bravery make.

So it was an exciting day to start my blog. After the usual morning routine — wake up, snack, bite things, snack — I was able to prove myself to the lady of the house. Cracker — that fat bastard — jumped on her cage and tried to attack. Now normally Cricket doesn’t care much about me. We’ve sort of got this detente thing going — the only time she seems to worry about me is when I try to steal her food. But today — whoa! She saw my true value. So as I was saying, Cracker jumped on her cage while I was sitting on top of it. And instead of trying to knock me off like he usually does, Cracker went straight to Cricket and tried to bite her. But ha! He couldn’t get both of us at once. So while he was stalking Cricket, I was stalking him. Got a few good bites on him, too. Bastard. But then Amber grabbed him and locked him in his cage. Cricket didn’t thank me outright, but I’m pretty sure she knew I saved her.

What a day. Time for more food now.