Boiardo (bonded with Ariosto)

I am Boiardo. The name was given to me, bestowed like a title, yet it holds no meaning of my own. It was not for the man who sealed pasta in tins, though his name is quite similar. No, it was for a poet, Matteo Maria Boiardo, who spun words centuries ago. But what are names to birds, except the sounds humans use to call us? My mate, Ariosto and I were taken from a world of hunger and shadow and danger, pulled from a place that offered little, into this one that promises much -- if we can learn to take it.

There were seventeen of us. Seventeen creatures of feather and bone, wrested from a place that did not serve us well. We did not choose to leave, but we did not choose to stay, either. Now, in this new world, they call me "B," and Ariosto "A," because our given names are unwieldy for our keeper. That is the way of things.

They watch me, these humans, tilting their heads like owls, muttering things about my face, my feathers, the color of my eyes, the shape of me. Not albino, they say, but white-faced, with grey splotches that betray my lineage. A bird of five years, they guess. Not young, not old. A thing in between.

Food is different here. My beak knows pellets, greens, strange cakes of pressed nutrients. I taste them all, because instinct says I must. I do not yet understand my place here. The walls are cruel, harder than the air should be, and my eyes cannot discern them from the air. I do not know how to land, only how to fly -- fast, reckless, a force of speed and hollow bones. I have met the walls too many times. I have fallen. I carry bruises from the sky that isn`t the sky.

They let me out now, trying to teach me the rules of this place. But they do not wish me to break myself by flying into things. It is an uneasy truce, this effort between us. I sit on a playpen, still and watchful, learning.

Ariosto and I are to be taken together, if taken at all. We wait while they shape us into something easier, something more suited to this human world. Perhaps you will come for us today, or perhaps give us a little more time to learn. Or perhaps not at all. But we are here, waiting, as we always have, for a safe home and loving family. Mickaboo`s cockatiel coordinator can tell you more about us -- all you have to do is ask.

Note from Bioardo`s foster dad: Boiardo has compromised vision in both her eyes, possibly an artifact of the selective breeding that brought out her color variation. She can see things from a few feet away, but when she`s flying, she can`t see walls until she has hit them. Boiardi came to Mickaboo with some bumps and bruises because of this. They have healed but she will probably always be a special-needs bird. She will do best in a fairly quiet home where she can spend most of her time safely in her habitat and with Ariosto by her side as much as possible.

In nature, cockatiels live in large flocks. A single bird in a cage spends much of his/her life being lonely because humans have things they must do that take them away. We therefore will only adopt a single cockatiel to a household if there is already at least one cockatiel living there. Otherwise, cockatiels must be adopted in groups of two or more.

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Boiardo (bonded with Ariosto)