How to care for a Phoenix

Everyone’s had that present right?  The one that you appreciate, but isn’t really practical.  Yeah, well this year I inherited a Phoenix, just in time for Christmas, so it was labelled as a gift.  Let’s just say my Aunt was more than pleased to pass it off to me.

Before he passed away, the Phoenix belonged to my grandfather, and his father before him.  Whoever was first to receive the bird gave it a wholly creative name, Oedipus Rex, which translates to firebird.  We call him Rex for short.

I never thought I’d be the one to care for Rex, let alone call him my own.  If I had known, I definitely would have come prepared, instead, I’m a clueless fool.

As soon as Rex arrived, my first question was: what do you feed a Phoenix?  It was dreadful news to find out that my grandfather hadn’t kept a manual.  Nothing can ever be that simple.  I took to the internet. I used at least fifty different search terms, and still not one decent answer.  It turns out Phoenix’s aren’t a common bird.  Who would have guessed?

At first, I tried heating some coals up on the barbeque and tossing them into Rex’s bowl.  All I accomplished there was distorting the plastic, and burning my fingertips.  I tried bird feed, but none took his fancy.  It was only that evening that I discovered what he truly craved: cranberries.

My parents were coming to stay for the holiday season, so I was in the kitchen, cooking up a storm.  Earlier that day on the phone, my mother demanded that I make her some sugared cranberries, a family recipe.  I hate the things, their bitter tastes sets my taste buds on edge.  What my mother sees in them I’ll never know.  

Anyway, as soon as I turned away to wash the cranberries, Rex, who had been successfully picking his cage lock broke free and flew over to the kitchen bench.  I turned around, and startled, I threw the cranberries. They pelted at Rex, who looked just as startled, if not more.  Luckily, he was able to nimbly miss the berries, but they were scattered across the bench and a few rolled onto the floor.  Taking a step forward, Rex began to pick at the nearest berry, then slowly devour it.  I watched, perplexed, as he made his way through the lot, then pestered me for more.  

Another question I had when I received my Phoenix was: how does it get its exercise?  I wasn’t a fan of just letting him stay in his cage all day long, with nothing to do.  He was an ancient bird, and I was sure he’d enjoy his freedom.  

I called my Aunt, and she suggested I walk him around with a lead, which needless to say wasn’t particularly helpful.  After all, Rex wasn't a dog.  My parents had an even worse answer; a treadmill.  I think everyone missed the part about Rex being a bird.

After quite a bit of thought, I decided to take him along to the park with me, it was mostly empty at the time of our arrival.  The only other person present was a middle-aged man and his bright rainbow parrot kite.  As soon as Rex spotted the kite, his spirits soared, and he began to jump up and down in his cage.  Eventually, some cranberries in my pocket to call him back in if he flew away, I let him out.  Instantly, he shot into the sky, following the trail of the parrot kite.  Flames shot from his tail feathers as he glided through the sky, lapping back and forth with his new pal, the kite.

Next, I asked myself: how do you bathe a Phoenix?  I’d had Rex for close to two weeks, and with all that flying and cranberries, he was beginning to smell.  My parents had had enough.  They threatened to leave early if I didn’t get his odour under control.  The problem was, Rex didn’t take it upon himself to bathe.  I’d put everything out for him, and he’d stand at the water's edge and stare at me like I was a fool.  I was so desperate for a carer's manual, that I probably would have sold my second kidney.

I was relaxing in the spa one evening when Rex once again broke free of his cage -the clever bird- and graced me with his presence.  As soon as I spotted him, I leapt from the spa and darted towards him in a hurry.  He was sprayed with water, wetting his feathers.  Where the liquid made contact with him, steam rose in thick misty clouds, and soon we were relaxing in the spa together.  It was a sauna-like experience.  There was so much smoke, that when my parents got back from their last-minute Christmas shopping, they were afraid that there had been a fire.

My final question was: what do you get a Phoenix for Christmas?  This one had me stumped.  Walking through the aisles at the pet shop, I saw a great many things, but none truly called to me.  Rex wasn’t the type of bird to enjoy the stuff they sold, he enjoyed berries and soaring through the sky.  At last, I came to the decision to forgo the pet shop entirely, what I was searching for couldn't be found there.

I know you can’t really gauge a Phoenix’s excitement when he opens his Christmas present, but I like to imagine that Rex was overjoyed.  He received his very own kite, the first of many.  We went to the park that morning to give it a whirl, my parents tagging along.  Altogether, we spent our day as a family, and Rex and my mother bonded over their love for cranberries.

After that, things began to progress a lot smoother with Rex and me, and soon he truly was a part of my family.  Much has changed since his arrival.  I now have a mother-load supply of cranberries, and a shiny new kite collection that continues to rapidly grow, but most importantly, I’ve gained a friend.  And that is worth so much more.