Sid's Story
This website, our products and the entire Sockatoo adventure are dedicated to Sidney James, the Wonder Bird – the most amazing parrot ever, who left us far too young and took a huge chunk of our hearts with him.
We like to think he still pops in from time to time, stirring up a little mischief and making sure we’re keeping birds everywhere busy happy and engaged.
Every Sockatoo we make and every bird who discovers the joy of foraging with Sockatoos carry a spark of Siddie’s spirit forward.
Sid’s story is the heart of Sockatoo He was the spark behind our very first toy, our inspiration for creating meaningful enrichment and the reason we care so deeply about parrots who live with pain, trauma or medical challenges.
Sid’s Story is long, personal and deeply meaningful. If you’re here for products, rescue or resources, you can explore the site at any time.
If you’d like to know why Sockatoo exists, you’re in the right place.
Who Adopted Whom?
Sid wasn’t a “perfect specimen”. Back in the 90s the prevailing wisdom among many parrot breeders was to clip a baby bird’s wings before fledging so they could never learn to fly and would be “better pets”. When Sid’s fledging instinct kicked in, he got airborne but couldn’t maintain altitude and fell hard onto a concrete floor, breaking his tail. The damaged tail never grew feathers.
A couple bought Sid as a baby and loved and spoiled him for five years. Then they divorced and hated each other so much that neither would allow the other to have him, so he went into rescue. For two years, people would adopt him and bring him back the next day because he was so high maintenance.
I wasn’t looking for a Moluccan the day I went to the rescue – loud, demanding, destructive. But when I walked past him, Sid whispered “Hi”. I stopped and petted him, then went on to see the other birds (none of whom liked me and none of whom I liked either). When I walked past Sid to leave, he waved and said, “Bye-bye”.
The next day, the rescue lady called and asked me if I had any interest in him. I had ABSOLUTELY no interest in a male Moluccan Cockatoo. Then she said the words that changed my life forever.
“I wish you’d reconsider. He hasn’t stopped screaming since you left yesterday.”
I didn’t adopt him – he adopted me.
The next week was heavenly. We stayed home, played and spent time getting to know each other. Then the rescue called to say a groomer was coming, and did Sid need a manicure.
I brought his carrier into the room and said “Let’s go for a ride”. His posture froze He backed away refusing to step up. When I forced him (rookie mistake), he delivered a solid Category 2 bite (parrot bites are categorized by severity like hurricanes – Category 1 is a warning pinch, Category 2 draws blood, and Category 3 requires stitches). I bundled him in a towel like a burrito and inserted him into his carrier.
At the rescue, I had to disassemble the carrier because he refused to come out. After the grooming, with much protest on his part, I reached out to comfort him, He turned his back on me and walked to the end of the counter – as far away from me as he could get – dejected and slumped. We humans snickered – “somebody doesn’t like being groomed”.
When I reinserted him into the carrier and walked toward the door, the energy in the room shifted.
He straightened up, eyes bright, crest high.
He waved and said, “Bye-bye”.
The penny dropped – After two years in rescue, being rejected and returned over and over, he thought I was returning him to the rescue because he had bitten me.
And that was the beginning of trust.
A Wonderful Life
And the beginning of 17 magical years. Years of joy and love and adventure and fun. Occasional frustration when he chewed the corner off the piano. A few well-deserved Category 2 bites when he felt I wasn’t behaving properly
We went everywhere together. Mall walking, fabric stores, farmers’ markets, restaurants with outdoor seating. Everyone who met him was fascinated by him. He refused to ride in his stroller, insisting on sitting on the handle so that he could be seen and appropriately worshipped by his public. The running gag became that my sole function in life was Sid’s chauffeur. I often joked that I could retire in style if I charged $1.00 to every stranger who took a picture with him.
He was a born musician, loved ringing his bell.
The ladies at the grocery store bakery gave him cookies. When we walked into the store, he would lean toward the bakery and say, “Mmmmm”. One day, I let a little girl offer him a piece of cookie. He took it so gently – and the look of rapture on her face was unforgettable.
We visited a nursing home once a month. He was so calm and gentle, enchanting the residents – reveling in the attention. They hugged him, snuggled him, kissed him. He sat on their arms, told them he loved them, rang his bell for them, ate crackers from their hands. The Activities Director told me Sid’s visits were the highlight of their month.
He was part of the original Sockatoo focus groups, helping us design and refine the toy he loved . He even helped with production.
Complications
Then started the medical issues. The damaged tail became necrotic and had to be amputated. He began feather picking. Experts said, “It’s psychological. Ignore it and he’ll stop”.
One Sunday morning I woke to find the papers in his sleep cage sodden with blood and Sid on the floor of the cage leaning against the bars, too weak to stand. Overnight, he had mutilated his breast down to the keel bone. The emergency vet stabilized him then said, “The kindest thing would be to euthanize him.” Not on my watch.
Weeks turned into months then into years of weekly 250-mile round trips to the avian vet. Every collar and vest on the market. Padding collars, modifying vests, making vests. Multiple surgeries. Endless medication combinations. Uncounted sleepless nights and tears and worry.
A CT scan revealed spinal damage – likely from his fledging fall – radiating pain through to his breast. He wasn’t mutilating out of neurosis; he was trying to relieve intense pain.
Through it all, he remained Sid. Taking meds politely, standing patiently for daily bandage changes. Loving his outings, loving his adoring public, loving his Sockatoos. And somehow, the meds and the bandage changes and the vet visits brought us closer.
Loss
And then, that bleak January afternoon, suddenly he was gone. No warning. No chance to say goodbye. Just stillness. Emptiness.
The necropsy revealed a ruptured aneurysm.
Trying to console me, Dr. Driggers assured me that Sid’s death was instantaneous and painless – a final mercy for a soul who had endured so much pain. He continued, “If we had suspected it – which we didn’t – we wouldn’t have been able to diagnose it. If we had diagnosed it, we wouldn’t have been able to treat it. He was a walking time bomb since the day he hatched.” Then he added softly, “I’m sure gonna miss that little stinkpot of yours”.
Legacy
But what a legacy Sid left.
A little girl experiencing awe as a magical creature she never could have imagined sat on her arm, told her he loved her and gently ate a cookie from her fingers.
An elderly lady so confused that she no longer recognized her children waiting every day for Sid’s visit, snuggling him and crooning, “my baby’s here”.
Literally hundreds of strangers whose day was brightened by meeting him.
Veterinarian insights into and understanding of medical conditions like his.
And, of course, Sockatoos.
We began making Sockatoos to help Sid and other birds like him to take their minds off their pain. Every Sockatoo carries within it a spark of Sid’s spirit – a testament to resilience, to choosing joy even through pain and to sharing that joy with others.
Sid’s time with us ended far too soon but his impact lives on in every bird who delights in a Sockatoo, in every owner who discovers the joy of foraging and in every act of compassion inspired by his story. Sid is still here.
This entire venture is, and always will be, dedicated to him.
