I really hate a lot of the advice on the Internet about taming birds.
So much of it is literally “isolate your birds so they bond to you instead of each other” or “clip your bird’s wings so it can’t get away from you when it feels nervous.” I’m no expert, but that’s fucked up, man.
My advice for winning over untamed birds:
Include the bird in your daily routine. Eat, read, and do activities in their presence.
Figure out a treat the bird enjoys.
Spend time with the bird while offering them this treat, directly from your hand if possible.
Go up to but not over the limit of the bird’s comfort with you. When the bird is nervous, back off.
Accept that you cannot force anyone or anything to love you.
Love the bird anyway.
ALT
I’m other news, my housemates and I are redoubling our efforts in Operation: Teach Cheese to Love.
I can verify that you are absolutely correct because that’s pretty much exactly how two of my great-grandmothers tamed a shitload of wild-wild songbirds and a condor, respectively.
Gallus, hang on: a condor??? Please elaborate.
It was like 1910, the migratory bird act didn’t exist and neither did much modern conventional wisdom re: not messing with the wildlife.
Great-grandma Agatha lived in Big Sur, where condors are endemic and weren’t remotely endangered at the time
One of the local birds had decided her garden shed roof made a good sunning perch and then started following her around while she did the garden because they’re curious birds.
California Condors are like three and a half feet tall standing up and Agatha was 4'10" so she didn’t exactly intimidate the creature, and she liked “having a dog I don’t have to bend over to pet”.
Condors, being intelligent and curious animals, clocked immediately that this woman wasn’t going to be a problem and would sometimes give him fun snacks or play games (she taught him tricks), so he hung about the place, roosting on the shed and getting very protective of her and the property in general.
He also brought his wife and children to hang around the place but was apparently kind of a jealous boy who would get nippy if she paid more attention to another bird than him.
Which was good, because there was an unfortunate amount of anti-irish sentiment in the area, and against her house, my other great-grandma Florence and their four children. So a flock of birds with wingbeats hard enough to knock a man out and the ability to projectile vommit acid was a handy thing to have about.
I think his name was Gregory, but I’m not sure.
“Tamed A Condor For Fun” is one of the less insane things Agatha did.
ALT