Trust

So easily upset.

My outstretched hand tentatively offers warmth, softness, kindness and gentleness.

Will he trust? Will I escape unhurt?

Will my hand be bitten by a harsh beak accompanied by a mean, angry face and piercing eyes that warn me not to come closer? Daring me to?

Perhaps.

The beak's owner seems to ask me to trust while offering a claw to rest on my arm. He's likely unaware that I could snap his neck in frustration. He tentatively comes for a scratch and a pet, no matter how his prior behavior toward me was. He trusts that I won't lash out, although that is an option for me in my selfish hurt, even if is is justifiable.

More often than not when I approach his wings are spread, body forward on his perch, beak wide open in challenge..."don't come near me, I will bite."

I don't trespass. I wait.

After a time, body language denotes seemingly sincere ease and affection. He's used to me now. Claws are gentle on my hand, beak gently grooming my fingers and calmly nipping my palm. Melodic chirps surround us when night closes in during our interlude with the hum of crickets and magpies' sleepy chortles as background music.

This makes me ponder.

If I try again and the next day...if I approach from a different stance...if I offer a treat...if I am more submissive...will he accept me? Will he need me?

Will he respond differently? Will he feel more secure? Will he be more loving?

Parrot language is hard to understand. Male language is just as difficult.

And I ponder yet again...are relationships more effective with a calm voice and a gentle hand, and a swing and a ring and a rope anchored with a pinecone stuffed with peanut butter?