Hello.

That's his name. He's  not a tamed bird; I didn't train him to hop
up on my finger or anything, but he's grown to trust me enough
to let me come close. He, in fact, has me quite well trained, to come
running whenever he makes a certain mournful drawn-out peep.
It's really quite emotive. I have learned that this sound means
Hello is hungry/sleepy/bored.

He flies around on my relatively-safe balcony and occasionally
scares the daylights out of me by trying to land on the bridge
of my glasses. He enjoys a nice leaf of mint every now and then,
and is developing a taste for apple, but turns his beak up
at everything else I offer him, including Alphonso mangoes.
He does have good taste in literature, though, and listens
intently when I read to him. We are on Chapter Two of
Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. He likes me
to read aloud to him, and twitters softly at all the best parts.
I think he fancies himself a Ravenclaw, but I'm pretty sure
he's a Slytherin. By sunset he heads back to his cage and makes
his mournful little peeps (they start out soft and get louder
until I remember to say good night and fuss over him a bit
before I cover him up for the night).

I mentioned him in my last post, so thought I should do
a proper introduction. Here he is. Hello.

Hello.

Don't get excited. Those are just empty chicken eggshells from the kitchen.