By Editor Sandy Lender
In late 2012, I lived in Southwest Florida and visited a pet store just a bit north of my home. That store had an adorable, partially plucked, male eclectus in the front area who would happily say “hello” when I walked in. He was not available for adoption because the store owner [we’ll call her Jane] had adopted him from a local veterinarian and wished to keep and love him. He’d been at the store for about a year as her friend.
When a life change took Jane to a new occupation in another part of the country, the eclectus stayed behind and needed a new “forever friend.” I’m a sucker; that friend was me.
Before Winston came home with me, we spent time together at the store to make sure it was a good match. The store’s new proprietor put me in touch with Winston’s former owner [a veterinarian we’ll call VT], who told me his tale.
As best we know, when Winston was probably two years old, he went on an adventure outside of his original owner’s home. The original owner put flyers up around her neighborhood with Winston’s description and her phone number. When VT found Winston on his adventure-in-the-hood, VT took him to work for a quick check-up and called his first mom.
His first mom refused him. She refused him saying her eclectus would react to her differently than Winston did.
This horrifies me to this day.
So Winston lived with VT’s family for about 13 or so years. He enjoyed an outdoor aviary for part of that time. He had an African grey for a cage mate at one time and a female eclectus as a cage mate at another time. I don’t remember the sequence in which the following events happened, but Winston witnessed one of his cage mates being killed by a hawk and one of them being killed by a raccoon. It breaks my heart to know he had to live through such frightening things.
By 2012, circumstances in VT’s life made it necessary for Winston to find a new home. That’s when he went to Jane’s store where he could be seen as an adoptable bird. About a year later, he chose me to be his human servant.
Now it’s 2018. As best I know, I believe Winston is 19 years old. He has plucked his feathers since before he lived at the store in Southwest Florida, which means he has plucked for at least six years. It’s a fully formed habit. In this series, we’ll look at the efforts I’ve made to help him break the habit, we’ll look at his health records/blood work, and we’ll look at a new concept to try to help these chronic feather-pluckers.
Full disclosure: I was never told the name of Winston’s first/original owner who refused him that fateful day at the vet’s office. All names have been obscured in Winston’s story so no one will feel vilified. No one is “to blame” for pieces of Winston’s past. Each person has contributed to bringing him good things and to bringing him to a wonderfully spoiled life with me.