Many people are surprised to learn that I have a pet house sparrow. While these birds are common globally, they aren’t typically kept as pets. The most frequent question I’m asked is, “Does he poop everywhere?” The answer is generally yes, though it tends to be concentrated in his favorite spots, like the top of the bookshelf or behind my computer monitor. Sometimes, I find droppings in unexpected places, even on the ceiling, and I’ve grown accustomed to cleaning them from my hair or keyboard, a habit that might seem unusual to others. The second most common question is about how I acquired him.
During my final year of undergraduate studies in California in 2015, I worked part-time as a field technician monitoring songbird nest boxes. A part of my job protocol involved removing any house sparrow nests found in these boxes. This is because house sparrows are classified as an invasive species in North America. They are not native to the continent, having originated in Europe, and they negatively impact native bird populations by outcompeting them, particularly western bluebirds and tree swallows, for nesting sites. In my first week on the job, I discovered a nest with two day-old house sparrow chicks. While I had no qualms about discarding house sparrow eggs, I found myself unable to euthanize the chicks. Instead of bringing them to my supervisor for disposal, I decided to keep them and raise them as pets.
For the initial two weeks, I kept the two house sparrow chicks, whom I later named Olive and Opal, in a blue lunchbox lined with small hand towels. I carried them with me everywhere, feeding them from sunrise to sunset. Using tweezers to mimic a bird’s beak, I provided them with a mixture of baby bird formula and warm water from a thermos. Initially, I fed them every 20 minutes, gradually extending the intervals to an hour as they grew. I also offered them a drop of water on their beaks for hydration. Bringing them to classes was nerve-wracking due to their hungry chirps, which some mistook for sounds from the classroom vents. It was easier to bring them to work, where I continued nest box monitoring and bird banding. During this period, I also visited my father in the hospital every weekend, so I brought the chicks along on my drives from Davis to the Bay Area. I made frequent rest stops to feed them and took trips between the hospital and the parking garage to maintain their feeding schedule in the car. The nurses were concerned about my frequent need to leave the ICU, but my story of raising baby birds captivated them. Once the birds were old enough to be flighty, around two weeks old, I transitioned them from the lunchbox to a cage. Their feeding needs decreased, allowing me to leave them in my apartment for longer periods. I was relieved that the most demanding phase was over, and the two little birds had grown remarkably fast, their “fat scores” – a metric used to assess a bird’s condition – being exceptionally high.
I initially named them Olive and Opal, assuming they were both female. I underestimated how long their juvenile plumage would last, but the names stuck even after I noticed the emergence of male characteristics. Their first flights at around 15 days old were short trips to my shoulder, followed by tentative flights around the room. They were quite clumsy, often colliding with the walls as they learned to control their new wings. As fledglings, they still required hand-feeding for a while longer. I continued with the baby bird formula and began incorporating scrambled eggs into their diet, a highly nutritious food for birds. Alongside their begging calls, they would also vibrate their wings in anticipation of feedings. I attempted to wean them to eat independently by placing corn, peas, and finch seeds on a towel at the bottom of their cage. They showed little interest for a long time, but one morning, I observed them both perched on the food trough, nibbling on seeds. This was the only time I saw them share the trough simultaneously. Afterward, they gained confidence in eating on their own, and finch seeds became their staple food. They also developed a liking for spinach (which turned their droppings green!), bell peppers, mandarins, and other fruits and vegetables. Because Olive and Opal looked so similar, I color-banded their legs: Olive with green and Opal with purple. This proved invaluable when I temporarily cared for three more house sparrows over the summer. My friend Emily had also rescued three house sparrow chicks, and while she was away for a couple of months, I looked after her flock of five. Although our birds had subtle differences in appearance, like smoother coloring on the chin of Emily’s birds, the color bands ensured accurate identification. I allowed all of them to roam freely in my bedroom and continued taking Olive and Opal on my weekend trips to the Bay Area. Emily’s birds were curious about Olive and Opal’s cage and enjoyed their seeds, while Olive and Opal were equally interested in exploring the larger cage and food offerings of their temporary companions.
Once they developed their full adult plumage, Olive’s colors were more striking than Opal’s. Olive sported a solid black mask, chin, and bib, while Opal’s colors were a few shades lighter. Both birds were quite vocal, sometimes mimicking the outdoor birds they heard through the windows. They enjoyed sitting on the windowsill, and I was relieved they never attempted to force the screens open. They also had a habit of singing while I did dishes (Opal still does this) or when guests were present and talking. Although they would squabble, they never seriously harmed each other. More often, they would be seen together, twiddling strings in their beaks, reminiscent of the iconic scene from “Lady and the Tramp.” I believe this string-twiddling was one of their favorite bonding activities. They would nap on my shoulders or lap, burrow into my hair, and sing directly into my ear. Most days, they were free to roam my bedroom, and I would gently guide them back into their cage at night, or earlier if I planned to take them into the living room. Initially, it was easy to catch them with my hands, but they quickly learned to evade me. Olive was slightly easier to trick with a piece of corn held in my other hand. Sometimes, I could entice them with special treats like corn or egg, avoiding a chase, but other times, I would have to pursue them for a few minutes until they both flew into the cage simultaneously. Eventually, I allowed them to remain outside the cage overnight, where they would settle in the bookshelf to sleep and then wake me by pecking at my nose in the morning. At one point, I decided to introduce them to a bird coconut house, thinking they would enjoy it. They were initially terrified of it, as they were wary of new things. I hung it on the opposite side of the bedroom from their cage and gradually moved it an inch closer each day. It took me a month to finally attach the coconut house to the outside of the cage. Once they became accustomed to it, I took the leap of placing it inside. They didn’t panic as before but remained deathly silent for an entire day. Soon enough, they began to enjoy going in and out of it, hopping on the little bridge attachment, and taking turns napping inside. It remains one of Opal’s preferred resting spots in the evening.
In the wild, house sparrows typically live for about 2 to 5 years, succumbing to predators, diseases, and other causes. In captivity, however, they can live over 10 years, with the longest-lived captive house sparrow recorded at 23 years. Olive lived to be two and a half years old, passing away at the end of 2017. While the exact cause of death remains uncertain, he had shown prior signs of illness. He first became sick before he turned one year old, and a veterinarian prescribed a short course of antibiotics, which I administered by placing a drop on his beak. This treatment was effective at the time, but he fell ill again over a year later. I saved his leg band and buried him with a few pieces of corn, his favorite treat, at a spot I cherished along Putah Creek.
Opal became more affectionate towards me. Interestingly, after his next molt, his plumage became brighter, closely resembling Olive’s. I’m unsure of the exact reason for this shift in brightness, but I suspect it might be related to dominance or territoriality, perhaps stepping up to compensate for the loss of his brother. Alternatively, his plumage brightness might have been suppressed when Olive displayed bolder colors. Regardless, he remains a handsome bird. Opal is the last of his original cohort. Now six and a half years old, he accompanied me when I moved to Manitoba from California in 2018, along with Matt the lizard and my belongings. Since moving to Canada, I’ve resumed tucking him into his cage at night, a process made easier by placing a mealworm inside. It has become such a routine that he will now enter his cage after a subtle hand signal, even without a worm. Opal no longer plays with the lump of string he and Olive used to fiddle with, though I haven’t removed it from his cage. However, he will sometimes approach me and twiddle a loose string from my blanket or the towel atop his cage, and I will reciprocate by twiddling a frayed end with my fingers. He also sits on my shoulder and twiddles my hair with his beak, which I interpret as a display of affection. I haven’t taught him many tricks, except for one: when I bring my face close to him (while he’s out of the cage) and say “give me a kiss,” he’ll gently poke my nose with his beak. I used to do this with both Olive and Opal every time before leaving for work or errands. In the past year, I’ve noticed Opal slowing down slightly, whether during his baths or when I need to catch him for nail trimming a few times a year, but he still possesses a lively spirit. He appeared somewhat scruffy over the past year, even experiencing some baldness on the back of his head and neck after not molting for two years. I realized I hadn’t been feeding him corn as frequently as I did in California. Upon resuming giving him a couple of pieces daily since last August, he began to molt and grew new, fresh feathers, looking quite splendid. It’s fascinating how a simple vegetable in his diet so significantly impacted his feather growth.
Before I encountered Olive and Opal, I was unaware of the diverse vocalizations house sparrows are capable of, as this species is typically associated with a monotonous “chirp” or chattering sounds. They are, in fact, quite musical. I was also surprised by the strong bonds they formed with each other and with people. I believe they recognized their species from the beginning, having each other and sparrow friends during that first summer. I also believe they can distinguish between familiar people and guests. Opal remains a bit shy around new individuals, although he warms up quickly with treats. He will often perch or sit on me first while he observes others and seems more comfortable with people he has met before. While some might consider me a “crazy house sparrow lady,” I find house sparrows to be quite extraordinary, and my life is significantly enriched by their presence.
