What I Learned From Barry

Let’s start with Barry, the light of my life. I got him four years ago, but honestly, I can’t remember life before him (probably because it was quieter and involved fewer sunflower seeds). 

I thought that I was bringing home a colorful, chatty pet. Instead, I found myself living with a highly opinionated roommate with a short temper and the attention span of a toddler. He hops up and down on his perch when he’s happy, flings training props across the room when he’s annoyed, and says “peak-a-boo” whenever boredom strikes. Life with Barry is loud, unpredictable, and requires more patience than I ever expected. 

Training him began as a way to keep both of us entertained. But parrots don’t exactly follow instructions the way dogs or cats might. They negotiate. I had to learn to read his body language: pinned eyes when he’s focused, puffed-up feathers when he’s about to bail, the deliberate turn of his head when he’s had enough. Over time, we built a system of communication using a clicker: one click to mark a tiny win, a short break to diffuse frustration, a reset when I’d asked for too much.

When he froze at the miniature slide, I didn’t force him to keep going. I broke it down into micro-steps, moved to a quieter room, and celebrated every small step. When his basketball trick stalled, I swapped the ball for something lighter, lowered the hoop, and rewarded curiosity instead of perfection. 

Because of Barry, I’ve learned to notice subtle signals, interpret intentions, and adjust my approach when something isn’t working. I’ve seen how curiosity drives learning, how frustration can guide problem-solving, and how communication can occur without words. 

Barry hasn’t mastered “clean up” yet, and he’s as loud and dramatic as ever. But I wouldn’t trade him for anything. He’s taught me to embrace the unexpected and to celebrate small successes: lessons that reach far beyond his playground.