Molting birds are not the most adept of flyers, as Ferdinand was unhappy to find out. He went to make the short jaunt from open cage to my shoulder as I sat at the computer desk, and ended up on the floor, looking confused. After poking at anything on the floor he could get his beak on (a shoe, a towel, some loose papers, a bowl of ferret food) he started shouting for me to come solve this starling-on-the-floor situation.

At least he is having fun playing with his own shed feathers.

I will be happy when he is done molting, less grumpy, and stops trying to mimic the air conditioner (I assume that is where he picked up that particular high, mechanical-sounding whine). He seems to be done dropping feathers and is just working on filling everything back in nice and soundly.


Ferdinand, pre-molt