Something went wrong. Please try your request again later.
Follow to get new release updates and improved recommendations
About Anita Borgo
Are you an author?
Help us improve our Author Pages by updating your bibliography and submitting a new or current image and biography.
Author Updates
-
-
Blog post“Do you really need all those shoes by the door?” Mike asked as he sidestepped the pile. Considering the number of sandals, slip-ons and sneakers heaped by BOTH doors and having the customary two feet, I assumed the question rhetorical. Shucking the inside Hoka sneakers, outside Brooks sneakers, flowery Birkenstocks, New Balance sneakers downgraded to… Continue reading Ditching A Habit and Upgrading Routine to Ritual
-
Blog post“Squeaks, you look so focused on nibbling and fluffing and scratching,” said Momanita, my hootman.
“And it’s amazing that I AM focused! Who writes this early in the morning? Who can THINK before dawn.”
Fluffing is part of my preening I slid my beak over my flight feather and tucked it in place. It’s really a NON flight feather since I can’t fly. I broke my wing and it didn’t heal right.
To other hootmans this sounded like squeals and whistles, but not to Momanita. -
Blog postTurtles breathe out of their butts.
After solving Wordle, gauging how unexciting my life was compared to EVERYONE on Facebook, and how many digits the latest Covid variant name included (I think we’re at a bazillion.) the nurse popped in and said that the doctor would be here soon.
I know,I know. Adieu is the favored Wordle starter. I choose my first word by what’s on my mind. Breath didn’t fit. I discovered this fun fact during a random Google search while waiting for my post -
-
Blog post“Isn’t it a wonderful afternoon, Squeaky Pie?” Momanita, my hootman, said in an annoyingly cheerful voice.
“No, it’s NOT a wonderful afternoon! It’s rainy and gray and I don’t see any millet in my food cup!”
I chirped and checked my food cup again. Sometimes millet appeared when I napped. I loved waking up to millet.
To other hootmans this sounded like squeals and whistles, but not to Momanita. She MOSTLY understood cockatiel speak. I MOSTLY understood hootman t -
Blog postThat’s what I named the pair of Turdus migratorius building a nest on the outdoor speaker under my eaves. Mrs. Rockin’ plucked, yanked, and tugged at the dried winter garden debris that I should’ve plucked, yanked, and tugged out of the flowerbed a month ago. With mud for mortar, she recycled the potential compost into a safe haven for her future family.
I hummed the 1957 hit “Rockin’ Robin” as I observed this minor miracle unfold.
Mr. Rockin’ donated a few wispy strands -
Blog post“Good morning, Squeaky Pie!” Momanita, my hootman, greeted me.
“You mean, good dawn or happy sunrise or pleasant daybreak,” I chirped and scooted away from Momanita who peeked under my rollynest cover. “And I don’t think dawn or sunrise or daybreak is good or happy or pleasant! They’re too early!”
“Did you hear the birdsong, Squeaks? It woke me this morning. Did it wake you?”
“I’ll inspire you this afternoon!” “No! Birdsong did NOT wake me! Hootman talk woke me. I want -
-
Blog postUntil recently I squirted hand sanitizer with abandon, washed groceries with diluted bleach, and created a bubble of friends who adhered to the same strict “Covid Avoidance Behaviors” as I did. Now I wash my hands thoroughly (with sanitizer as backup), produce is washed (but the frozen pizza boxes are immediately popped in the freezer),… Continue reading Up in the Air About Filling Birdfeeders in Illinois
-
Blog postThe other day I watched several YouTube videos (I can waste time with the best of them.) about feeding wild birds by hand. Wild fluff balls zipped in and paused on open hands of ordinary people – not a Disney princess in the bunch.
In the first video a young woman cross-country skied a mile into a forest located in Three Lakes, Wisconsin. She rested on a bench and held out a palmful of sunflower seeds. Before long a red-breasted nuthatch swooped in, perched on her outstretched hand, p -
-
Blog post“It’s 2022, Squeaks!” Momanita, my hootman announced at 5 am.
I knew it was 5 am because I had an inner sense of time. (Also, there’s a clock on the cabinet next to my rolly nest.)
“I’m NOT a rooster. I’m a cockatiel. It’s time for sleeping. Then MUCH later it’s time for my cover to come off. Then it’s time for neck rubs and Cheerios and millet. I LOVE millet! Then maybe if it’s really important, it’s time for an announcement,” I said.
To other h -
Blog postThe juncos and chickadees had a few choice words for me when they visited the empty bird feeders. However, it was the forlorn flight of the downy woodpecker and the release from my surgeon to bear full weight on my healing foot that motivated me to tighten the Velcro on my surgical boot and venture into the kitchen to prepare suet.
The fatty suet weirdly appealed to my senses. As lard and crunchy peanut butter microwaved into a slurry, I measured the sugar, rolled oats, cornmeal -
Blog post“How are you feeling, Squeaks?” Momanita asks me.
A stone got me. A heavy stone that won’t move, I squeal.
A stone didn’t REALLY get me. It just FEELS like a stone got me. There’s not much difference.
I mostly understand hootman talk. Momanita mostly knows cockatiel speak. She’s the only hootman who does.
“You look sad,” Momanita swings open my rolly nest door.
My feet scoot me to the mirror. My crest falls. My body curls to make me small, I feel small. -
-
Blog postNo, this isn’t a tall tale based upon the imaginative CLOUDY WITH A CHANCE OF MEATBALLS by Judi Barret.
It’s a short post about a weather report appearing on TV a few days ago.
The MinuteCast graph on the AccuWeather app indicated fair weather, making travel to visit my son and his family an easy drive. I Alexa-ed the TV searching for a weather report supporting the prediction. I’m not sure which of the 9,738 channels that I flipped through, but I stopped when a hefty fellow i -
Blog postMy hootman, Momanita, perched on her sofanest for lots of millet days. (Momanita gives me millet once a week. A week is fewer toes than I have.)
Momanita’s turtle shell foot She didn’t rest like I rest on my perch. I rest with both my feet holding onto the perch. Sometimes I lift one up and snuggle it into my feathers to keep warm. Momanita rested with one foot up on pillows. A green shell covered her foot like the shell that covers a turtle. (I know about turtles. I see them in -
-
Blog postAs an avid birder and a member of the Backyard Birdwatcher Facebook Group, a heated discussion regarding cowbirds arose. (By heated I mean an increase in the amount of exclamation marks employed when conveying opinions in comments. That’s about as heated as we mild-mannered backyard birders get.) Brown headed cowbirds rank high on the nuisance… Continue reading If Brown Headed Cowbirds Could Drive
-
Blog post4.25% of Illinoisians are fully vaccinated. As a member of the Phase 1b priority category I count myself lucky to be in their ranks.
Sheer luck struck when I happened to be checking my email while the message from the McHenry County Health Department alerted me to an unexpected shipment of the Pfizer vaccine from the federal government.
Luck held as I managed to secure an appointment at a nearby Jewel Osco pharmacy.
Good fortune prevailed when my second dose appo -
Blog postBumper-to-bumper baby boomers inched forward in their autos to score a Moderna or Pfizer fix at popup vaccination centers nationwide.
Drowsy retirees snoozed in lawn chairs waiting in predawn hours to roll up their sleeves and receive their ticket out of confinement and a measure of safety.
A pandemic door opened a crack and hope squeezed into our lives.
Hope to beat the odds.
Mike and I have been cautious.
Social distanced driveway get-togethers -
-
Blog postThe scares got me!
The scares got Momanita!
The scares got everybody!
Scares are baddo. Scares are more baddo when they are surprise scares.
The evening day was gooddo before it turned baddo.
Momanita and me watched the talky box together. She moved my rolly nest close. The pictures on the talky box were gooddo. We watched hootmans spin a wheel and spell words. (I’m gooddo at spelling words. I’m more gooddo at spelling words than counting numbers.) Moma -
Blog postI fails.
Fails sometimes gooddo.
Fails sometimes baddo.
I fails to fly today.
I tries my hardest. My wings don’t tries their hardest.
This is whats I do. Momanita opens the rolly nest door. (She calls it a cage.) My beak and foots climbs me out to the rolly nest top. (Sometimes Mikeyman puts millet on the rolly nest top. I loves millet.)
I waits till Momanita busy. On top of the rolly nest I watches Momanita.
Momanita coos to me. M -
Blog postThe mads gets me today and I’s don’ts likes it!
My morning day starts out good.
Momanita cleans my rolly nest. (She calls it a cage.) I sits on her shoulder. Shinies hang from her ears. (She calls them earrings.) I pecks at them. The shinies twirls like leaves in a windy breeze.
My afternoon day is gooddo better!
Me and Mikeyman plays good or bad hand. His good hand snuggles me up and the coos get me. The bad hand taps my tail and I gives him a sque -
Blog postI’m Squeaks. This is my bloggo. (I’m also called Mr. Squeakers, Squeaky Pie, and Squeaky Beak.)
Momanita rescued me more than eight seasons ago. That’s more seasons than I have toes. (I’m better at writing than I am counting.) If you don’t know what a cockatiel is, I’ll fill you in. I’m a parrot – bigger than a parakeet and smaller than an African grey.
Momanita thought I was a cedar waxwing perched at the bottom of a shrub. Momanita is curious. She knew
Titles By Anita Borgo
