Ceiling fans are one of the leading causes of death among pet birds. It’s so common, there’s even a term for it: shredded tweet. I only have two ceiling fans in my house: one in the bedroom, one in the sewing room. They are almost always turned off, and the birds rarely go in either of those rooms.
Oboe decided to fly upstairs and harass GC because he loves harassing GC. One of his favourite ways to harass GC is to sit on his shoulder, shove his beak in his ear, and let out his loudest, shrillest, most ear-piercing squawk. He loves how it makes GC swear and swat at him.
Oboe also likes to harass the other birds and Duncan. His favourite game is “catch me if you can,” because he’s the fastest and nobody can catch him. So he bugs the other birds and Duncan and GC, just so they’ll chase him and try (unsuccessfully) to catch him or bite him or swat him.
Anyway. Oboe decided to fly upstairs and harass GC.
But the fan was spinning when Oboe flew into the sewing room to harass GC. GC brushed Oboe away from his ear, and then suddenly remembered the ceiling fan behind him. He spun around but he couldn’t see Oboe. He yelled downstairs, something about the ceiling fan and Oboe.
I ran upstairs and found a panicky GC tearing the room apart, looking for a dead bird.
“Oboe!” I cried.
“Squawk!” said Oboe.
There he was, sitting on a shelf, looking amused.
“Oh my God!” said GC. “I thought he hit the fan!”
“You thought the little shit hit the fan?” I asked.
And then we all laughed and laughed and turned off the fan.