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Mr. Personality
By WAVENEY ANN MOORE
© St. Petersburg Times, SOUTH PASADENA -- When the noise gets to be too much, Terra and Scott Sroka resort to earplugs. Once, a concerned neighbor almost called the police. Such is life with Henry the macaw. For the Srokas, it is never dull. "He's an obnoxious bird, but he wheedles his way into your heart," said Mrs. Sroka, 40. Henry "is sort of a combination of a 3-year-old child and an elderly person," Scott Sroka said. "He can be very cute sometimes." There are those who would say that Henry, believed to be about 50 years old, has earned his wings as a curmudgeon. For 28 years, he was on exhibit at Explorers Hall, the National Geographic Society museum in Washington, D.C. Before, his home had been the National Zoo. During his long stay at Explorers Hall, Henry became a favorite of the staff, especially Mrs. Sroka, who coordinated the design and production of exhibits. By default, she became Henry's caretaker during his last years at the museum. "The person who used to take care of him retired, and they asked for volunteers to take care of him," she said. "Nobody else volunteered." Then about 10 years ago, when Henry's veterinarian suggested that he should retire from the spotlight, Mrs. Sroka volunteered again. This time, she said she would take the macaw to her suburban Washington, D.C., home. When she and her husband decided to move to Florida about six years ago, it was only natural that Henry would accompany them and their elderly black chow, Roku. The September issue of National Geographic, which carries an update for Henry's fans, tells of his "happy if raucous retirement in Florida." His South Pasadena home, with its swimming pool, colorful patio furniture and shady trees, is a retired macaw's dream. "Since he can't fly, he has a perch that we put him on or he sits on the trees," said Sroka, 43, a St. Petersburg native and a University of South Florida graduate. "We don't leave him alone. He loves to sit outside and squawk at the birds." Henry enjoys human company too. One recent evening, left alone in the living room, his footsteps soon were heard tap-tapping on the terrazzo floor toward the sound of his owners' voices. That same evening, Henry squawked loudly and indignantly when he thought he was being exiled to his 4-foot-high stainless steel cage. "He did not want to be locked up with company here," said Mrs. Sroka, supervisor of the professional education department at All Children's Hospital. They joke about his antics and complain about his upkeep, but the Srokas are indulgent caretakers. They monitor Henry's diet and recently stopped feeding him cherry tomatoes on the advice of his veterinarian at the Avian & Animal Hospital in Largo. The tomatoes made Henry throw up. At the same time, the couple cannot bring themselves to deny the macaw his beloved sunflower seeds, which they've been told have an effect on birds that is similar to caffeine. Henry had grown used to eating the seeds while at Explorers Hall, Mrs. Sroka said. The macaw's care goes beyond routine feeding and cleaning of his cage. According to Mrs. Sroka, the bird is potty trained. That means he usually goes to his cage at the appropriate time. A chronic sinus condition requires that they clear his sinuses daily. Sroka said wonderingly, "If you told me five or 10 years ago that I would be wiping a parrot's nose every day ..." Or putting off vacations for a bird, he might well have added, since the Srokas rarely leave Henry for any length of time. "He is so bonded with us. Even if we have a good person to take care of him, he'll get sick if we go away a few days and somebody else is taking care of him, no matter how well they take care of him," said Sroka, who is a freelance photographer and was a picture selector for National Geographic's image collection department. "We've resigned ourselves," he said, "that people come to Florida for vacations and we're already here." "But it's starting to get old," interrupted his wife, laughing. Around sunset is his most active time, Mrs. Sroka said. It is the time for Henry to get underfoot, screech and talk. What does the colorful tropical bird say? " "Hey, baby. Hello,' " Mrs. Sroka said. "He sort of says, "What's up?' " He also asks, "Want some?" when he gets a treat he really likes. For a while during the 1980s, when Explorers Hall played a recording of animal noises in an exhibit, Henry mastered the sounds of lions, elephants and otters, Mrs. Sroka said. Those and other antics helped make Henry a legend at Explorers Hall. An internal newsletter recounts, for instance, that he used to sing off-key with the National Geographic Society chorus during Christmas concerts. "When we lived in Washington, D.C., these people who lived down the street from us almost called the police," Mrs. Sroka said. "He can sound like a woman being murdered. It's really awful." To help their National Geographic Society friends keep up with the retired macaw, Sroka has created a Web site, www.scottsroka.com, that features Henry's latest photographs. "I must say, Henry has just sort of grown on us, although he tries our patience," Sroka said. "And that is why I have the earplugs."
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