Okay, I think Mrs. Spike has layed all the eggs she is going to.  There were five eggs as of yesterday morning.   This is a real trip, watching nature up close.  And it is even more special because Spike trusts me, and even Mrs. Spike has become less leery of me and doesn't flap her wings and speed away when my hand goes in the cage to render aid (in the form of food.  LOL)  

 

Twice a day I clean their bird bath out and add fresh water.  This morning Spike got in first, and refused to leave.  Poor Mrs. Spike kept circling the bath, then she would hop up on the rim and take a drink.  I even got in the picture and tried to get him to hurry it up.  But he was determined to hog the bird bath until the warm water turned cold!

 



 

Finally he exited - all wet and soggy.   Then the Mrs. headed in for a quick cleaning before heading back to the nest.

 

 

I guess we have 18 to 22 days to wait for them to hatch.  There is mention in the care books of 'candling' the eggs to see if they are indeed fertilized.  I think I won't mess with it.   They either are or they are not.   The Spikes think they are, so I'll think so, too.  

Now there are three eggs.  This should be interesting.  I just hope the pair know what to do, because  I sure don't.  Apparently, they lay an egg about every 48 hours until 2 to 8 eggs are layed.  At least Mrs. Spike is in the nest most of the day, sitting on her babies.

Update --

SPIKE FAMILY UPDATE:   There are now two eggs!!!!

 

This is Spike.  Spike was given to me I think about six years ago.  He's a great bird - he can sing and talk.  He loves to perch on my shoulder or sit on top of his cage.  (But only when the dogs are outside.)  The problem was that I had never had a Cockatiel and I was told if I bought him a companion, he would stop bonding with me.  So I left him as a solitary bird for almost five years.  In January 2012, I was at For the Birds, a local bird shop, and was looking at the Cockatiels.  After talking with the storekeeper, and fearing that Spike was lonely, I decided to get a friend for him.  My husband  named her Mrs. Spike.  For lack of any other name, we stayed with that name.  Needless to say, Spike was very happy to have a companion.  I took out the mirror from his cage, since now he could look at someone other than himself.  As for the not bonding with me, not so.  He still loves to "step up" onto my finger, and still climbs up to my shoulder.  And he still sings and talks.

 

 

This is Spike protecting the nest, which now contains one egg.  Yay!!!   Spike was doing some wierd movements, and when I asked the bird lady what he was doing, she said he was trying to mate.  But he wouldn't mate unless there was a proper home to lay the eggs in.  (Gosh, I wish men were more like this.)     So I bought a nesting box, lined it with paper towels and alfalfa hay, and waited.

 

 

A few days ago I had to move the cages (there are parakeets in a cage next to the Spike family) to the spare room to make room for the Christmas tree.   It's really a lovely spot for the birds to be in.  They are in front of a large picture window with a great view of nature.  



 

 

 

 

Last night, I noticed that Spike and the Mrs. were spending quite a bit of time in the box.  It took them over a month to even go into the nesting box, but now they seemed to like it.  I decided to peek into the box via the top, which is a hinged lid.  Imagine my delight when I spied a lone egg nesting in the alfalfa.  

 Spike  again.

Spike checking to make sure everything is okay in the nest.  Mrs. Spike must be sitting on the egg.

One thing I read was to put a shallow bowl of water in the bottom of the cage for the mama to take a bath in and wet her bottom half.  I think it said it helps retain the heat.  Whatever.  I did it this morning and within -- seriously -- one minute, she was sitting in it.  Yay again.  I just love when I am able to properly care for one of God's creatures.  

This is Mrs. Spike.  What wonderful creatures birds are.  Like the cardinals, my all time favorite wild bird, they mate for life, and both parents tend to the babies.    In this picture, Spike has gone into the box and is sitting on the egg.  Apparently,  from what I read, the female lays a number of eggs, just not all at once.  So I will be watching to see if more are to come. 

"All things bright and beautiful, all creatures, great and small; all thing wise and wonderful, the Lord God made them all."

Freddie decided she had better update her status  --  I am using this blog site to post the adventures of my birds, but The Old Girl will always be Freddie.

"Good morning, all.   I bet you thought I had kicked the bucket, eh?   Well, I'm still around, still healthy, still stiff when I get up from sleep (which is like ten times a day, lol,) but once I get going, I'm okay.

 

Here we are on our way to San Luis Obispo .  I just love those leather seats.  My people take me with them when they go out of town.  Nikki has to stay.  Haha - too bad for her.  Here's a picture of Nikki, my "sister."  We're good friends.  She came to live with us when she was just nine weeks old.  She's darn near four years old now.  She, unlike me, thinks she is a human.  Calls our mistress Mom, and refers to my master as Pop.  Hmmph...!  The younger generation has no concept of hierarchy.  Little dogs running around with clothes on; dogs in shopping carts, AS IF they were someone's child; bottled water - now don't EVEN get me started on that!   Doggy day care, doggy spas, special doggie treats made from stuff humans could eat (okay, I like that - my mistress buys us only the best dog food and treats.)  But the rest of it - pooey.

 

Nikki doesn't like her picture taken.  Most of the pictures that my mistress takes of her are blurry because she's running away from the camera.  You'd think such a big dog would not be such a coward.  This one's okay, though.

 

 

 

 

Here I am with my baby.  I carry her around with me everywhere.  I know she is not really my baby.  My mistress thinks I believe she is real.  The thing is that I never had any puppies.  It makes me feel needed to pretend this is my puppy.  Gives me something to take care of. 

 



Now this is a humiliating picture of me, but I put it here to show you that I just can't get any respect around here.   My mistress thought putting these on me and photographing me would be just hilarious.  She's a card, I tell ya.

 

 

Okay, then.  I'm going to turn this blog over to my mistress.  Her name is Sue, by the way.  Just so you know, I may make fun of her sometimes, but I love her, and I know without a doubt that she loves me, too.  She still will hold me in her arms and cry, because she knows I don't have a lot longer on this earth.   She worries that I'll be in pain, and she won't be able to put me down.  She won't, either.  She'll fill me with pills to ward off the pain, then let me pass away when God says it's time.  You may not think the man above cares about one little dog in Bakersfield, California, but if she cares about me, then so does He.  I'd better sign off before my mistresses tears mess up the keyboard.  (You are aware that I cannot type?")

 



My Side of the Story

Hi.  It's me, Freddie.  I read what my mistress wrote about me on my birthday.  I wonder if her title, The Old Girl, is referring to her or me?  Well, I just wanted to let you hear my side.

I was born in 1998, and I was adopted by a family when I was six weeks old.  They tried to train me, and I think they liked me enough, but they wound up just throwing me out in the back yard because I kept going to the bathroom on their rug.  I mean, I was all of 8 weeks old!

Anyway, one day somebody left the gate open, and I figured if I was going to live outside alone, I'd just as  soon not have a wooden fence surrounding me.  So I took off running.  I ran and ran and ran, and after a while I got scared, because I didn't know where I was and there were cars driving real fast around me.  Pretty soon I saw a kindly looking man with some kind of rope hook coming towards me.  I ran towards him, but instead of picking me up and loving me, he put the hook around me and tossed me in a metal cage.  Next thing I know, I am at what I now know was the county animal shelter.

I'm sorry that I can't make a long story short.  What happened next is that I was thrown in with a couple of other gals, and after introductions, (this would be butt sniffing) I found out that this was a place where humans came and looked you over, then they adopted you.  I wasn't sure what adopted meant, but the other girls seemed to be happy about it.  So I eagerly awaited a human to come and adopt me.

I'm not real good at time, but I think I was at the shelter for over a month.  People came and looked in our kennel, but nobody seemed interested in me.  One day, a nice, large family came bounding in.  There were a lot of kids, and the mother was loud and happy and seemed like she would make a good 'mom' to a dog.  I put on my best behavior, I sat ramrod straight while the lady passed me, even made a little whimpering sound.  But she went to the kennel of that beagle.  She said "Oh, look.  A Milo dog.  The keys, Milo, not the cheese.  Whatever that meant.  Stupid beagle. 

One of the boys, there were two, stopped at my cage.  Then all the kids came by me.  The boy, I later came to know and love as Billy, said that here was the perfect Freedie dog.  I also found out they are NOT very imaginative when it comes to animal names.  I became Freddie the  sixth.  The lady said wouldn't we like a different kind of dog?  But all the kids said no, Freddie the fifth needed to be replaced by the same kind of mixed terrier.

Oh, I was soooo excited.  Somebody came and took me out of the kennel, the family petted me, and the Billy even kissed me.  The lady came over and patted me on the head and said I was a cute little guy.  The kennel man said I was a girl.  She said that we would just have to spell her name with an -ie instead of a -y.  These people were confusing, but I knew that this was what being adopted meant.  I hoped this would be forever.

So they brought me home, and I found out I was sharing the house with a kitten about my age named Jasmine.  I'm sure The Old Girl will post about her sometime.  I got to live with the boy Billy, although everybody loved me.  But Billy loved me best of all.

I slept on the floor in Billy's room.  Really, most of the time I slept at the foot of his bed - ON his bed.  I had a great life.  My mom always fed me, there was always a child or another animal to play with, I never had to be too cold or too hot or hungry.  Life was good.

 As time went on, each of the kids left for college or the army or wherever kids go when they leave home.  Except Kathy.  Mom always said she was 'special' and I know that is true.  Billy moved away over 6 years ago, and I have lived in Kathy's room ever since.  Kathy takes good care of me, too.  She loves me, but no one can ever love me like Billy does.  He comes and visits and I am always so happy to see him.  He brings along Winter, a dog he rescued.  I like playing with Winter.  But I get tired a lot faster now, so I'm glad Winter is just a big slug and likes to lie around all day. Billy  wanted me to live with him, but Mom said that no, I needed to stay where I had always lived.  I'm glad.  I wouldn't want to move, even though I miss Billy. 

My mom comes and lays down with me a lot now.  She cries and says that she loves me and never wants me to leave her.  She cries a lot around me.  I wish she wouldn't.  I think God lets certain animals into Heaven with their masters, and I know I'll be one of them.  My mom keeps my hair clean, and she's always trimming pieces of grass and burrs that I get stuck in my feet and face.  She buys me really good food, the same as she gives Nikki, the Great Dane.  (I'm pretty sure she'll post on her, too.)   I sleep during the day on Kathy's bed, and at night on her little couch.  I tell you, I still have quite a life.

That's me with my doll, laying on Kathy's bed.  Now my mom has to put a waterproof mattress cover on top of the bedspread because I sort of drool when I sleep.  But it is real comfy.  I'm still pretty spry.  I can still jump up on the bed.  And I can still run, but not as much as I used to. 

Well, that's my story.  I wish all dogs could have happy endings like mine.  Remember humans, please don't adopt an animal unless you intend to make it part of your family and keep it in sickness and health, for better for worse, for richer or poorer, til death do you part. 

Freddie VI

Freddie VI is fourteen today.  Freddie is our sixth terrier mix dog, all of whom have been named Freddie.  (Freddy for a male.)  As Freddie and I walked around the property this morning, (we have two acres) I joyfully noted that, while she can no longer jump 5 feet straight up into the air, she does have a bit of a light, effortless stride to her walk.  And she is happy and healthy, as attested by her last visit to the vet in May. 

Freddie was a pound dog, chosen by my youngest son the year we moved to Bakersfield,  because she most closely resembled Freddy V, who tragically was hit by a car in front of my son.  This was when we lived in Dallas.  We buried Freddy under a tree, and my son, 9 at the time, cried when we moved to California  and had to leave Freddy there.  So I had to let him pick another dog soon after arriving in California.  I was looking at a Beagle, but my son would have nothing to do with it.  He wanted this dog, and so we adopted her.

Freddie VI has lived in this house since the day we adopted her, when she was about 4 months old.  After my son moved away, she became 'my' dog.  That was over 5 years ago.  We've been best friends since.  I used to take her in the car to go pick up my youngest daughter from school; she would go over to the central coast with us for quick weekend getaways; she even went up to Washington state when we drove up to see my oldest daughter, after she got back from serving in Iraq (that's Sargeant, thank you.)

Freddie 2000

Freddie 2011

But, as has been happening lately, I grow sad very quickly knowing that she can't be with me forever, and that her season is almost coming to an end.  I take comfort knowing that there will be animals in Heaven, and that God will choose which ones get to go.  I sure hope He chooses Freddie. 

Happy Birthday, my dear, sweet Freddie.   May there be more to come.