How to tellyour Bird's Gender

Step 1: Get the bird at a young age, from a breeder who is "pretty sure" it's a male.
Step 2: Love the bird. Name him Bill. Laugh at his antics.
Step 3: Repeat Step 2 for 14 years.
Step 4: Notice that Bill is acting oddly, but think not much of it.
Step 5: WITNESS YOUR MALE BIRD LAY EGGS - THEREBY PROVING IT'S FEMININITY
Step 6: Have a really difficult time referring to Bill as "she"

Oh, yes, this all actually happened. Gruesome details ensue - but I will white them out.

All last week Bill puzzled me with being quiet (this, from a bird KNOWN by our neighbors) and trying to cuddle into my hair. Odd, yes? Bill's an odd duck - er - Quaker Parrot.

Yesterday Bill was cuddling on me, as usual, when I noticed an odd wetness on his rear. Flipping him over, I saw that it was crusted poo. Lots of it. This being a health concern, I called Andrew (still in Detroit) who told me to call his dad. The dad tells me it sounds like diarrhea, which can be really bad for birds - so to feed him Kaopectate and get some antibiotics from his store. I return from the store to find Bill's rear has swollen grotequely and is now oozing blood. Scared, I call up the dad again, who has no idea and tells me to see a vet.

The closest vet doesn't see birds, but sets me up with Best Friends in Gaithersburg who can see me in 4 hours. At this point, I know I'm not going to work today. I return Bill home, shut the cats in the bedroom, and weep quietly, worried about our little green man. I call the dad once more just to make sure there aren't other options, but he's got nothing - unless, his employee says, Bill is a girl trying to lay eggs.

Bill is 14 years old, and has been Andrew's pet since childhood. Though we've never had the sex confirmed, it seems we're about to be told.

I call an avian pet store to check - who says that it is indeed what it sounds like - Bill's laying - and the best thing to do is to get him ... er... her into a very warm room and to keep HER calm. So I run some hot water in the bathroom, turn on the heat lamps, and waited. Didn't have to wait much longer for the first egg-thing to splat next to my foot, and soon after that a second on the counter. (Bill's not a very careful momma).

The vet (we did keep the appointment) said that somehow, for some reason, Bill... er... Belle? suddenly felt the need to lay because she was stimulated sexually. We've always cuddled her on our chests, fed her from our plates and ... yes... mouths, and maybe aren't the best at keeping a regular schedule at home, and all of these together somehow (magically?) triggered a response from the bird. Laying is very difficult (it's like friggin childbirth!) and if a pet bird thinks it must lay, then she will continue to produce eggs until she damages her own organs, drains her bones of calcium, or hurts herself some other way. Bill is now on a hormone regimene, must be kept in the dark for 12 hours a day (12 hours of light as well), and can no longer be cuddled below the shoulders. Hopefully this all shall pass and the next half of Bill's life with us will be less eventful but no less loving.

I'll tell you, though, I was TERRIFIED. It was... gruesome and horrible! There are pictures, but I will not share them.