Gunner and Me: Sometimes We Help Each Other Heal
I wasn't looking for a parrot.
I had been thinking about getting a companion animal for some time. As an Air Force veteran dealing with some of the lasting effects of my own experiences, I thought having an animal around might be helpful. I considered a companion dog, an emotional support animal, and even the possibility of a service dog trained to assist veterans with PTSD.
But finding the right fit was more complicated than I expected. Some organizations never responded. And I wasn't convinced that a dog, particularly a puppy, was the right commitment.
Then Elise and I heard about Gunner, a fifteen-year-old parrot who reportedly knew how to say “I'm Batman.”
That alone got our attention. But we were also told he had experienced trauma. We still don't know exactly what happened. Robert, a fellow veteran at Safe Perch, wanted us to understand that earning Gunner's trust could take a long time. His wife, Laura, supported us as we explored whether he would fit our family.
For Elise and me, his history wasn't a reason to walk away.
We All Come With a History
Elise and I have both been through experiences that changed us. We've learned to lean on each other. I sometimes think we both have a soft spot for things that have been through a little too much—not because we can fix everything, but because history needn't determine the future.
We weren't looking for a perfect animal. We wanted companionship and the chance to offer another living being a safe, stable home. We understood that Gunner might never be the shoulder-perching parrot people imagine.
Twelve weeks later, he still isn't particularly interested in perching on me. And that's okay.
Learning to Trust Without Knowing the Whole Story
When we brought Gunner home, I didn't pull him from his carrier. I placed the carrier inside his larger cage, opened the door, and let him decide when to move.
That's been my approach ever since. He doesn't like being handled. It took weeks before he was comfortable leaving his cage, although I spent workdays nearby with the door open. I invite him to perch on me at least once a day, without grabbing him or forcing him.
I want him to know he has choices.
I don't know whether his reluctance reflects frightening experiences, his temperament, or his preferences. I don't need all the answers to treat him patiently.
That resonates with me as a veteran. People who've experienced trauma don't always want to explain it, or even fully understand it themselves. Sometimes the helpful thing is to be consistent, respectful, and present.
A Parrot With a Growing Vocabulary
We were told Gunner knew “I'm Batman” and something involving a woman named Teresa. Within a couple of weeks he learned my name; within his first week, he learned “sweetheart.”
He's gradually interacting more with the family. He playfully pretends to bite my oldest son's finger and sometimes gently gnaws on mine.
Then there's the Cheetos. His previous owner reportedly said he liked Flamin' Hot Cheetos. When I offered one, he immediately threw it down. So much for that. What someone tells you about another living being isn't necessarily what you discover for yourself.
My Office Has a Security System Now
Gunner spends his days with me in my home office, an enclosed glass-walled patio room overlooking the backyard.
When he spots a cat outside, he makes a noise like a car alarm. The first time, he scared the hell out of me. Now it makes me laugh.
Even better, the family dog knows what it means. He comes running, and they watch the cat together through the windows. I'm not sure the cat knows it's under surveillance by a fifteen-year-old parrot and a dog, but our neighborhood watch seems to be functioning well.
The dog is very much my wife's dog. I'm useful for food and opening doors, but he's waiting for his mom. Gunner, meanwhile, seems to have decided I'm his office companion. He calls when I leave.
Sometimes Being Needed Is Helpful
Gunner yells when I leave the office. Inconveniently—or perhaps usefully—it makes me less inclined to wander away from my desk. I stay on task a little longer.
At the same time, Gunner needs water, food, a clean cage, treats, attention, and opportunities to interact. His needs require me to notice something beyond my work.
As an attorney helping veterans navigate complicated federal systems, I can become absorbed in a case or a problem without an immediate solution. Gunner doesn't care about that. If his water needs changing, it needs changing. If he spots a cat, apparently everyone needs to know.
Those ordinary responsibilities can be grounding. I don't want to exaggerate what he's done for me. He isn't a trained service animal, and adopting a parrot isn't a treatment for PTSD. But companionship doesn't need to be a medical intervention to matter.
Sometimes being needed adds structure, purpose, and a reason to laugh. Gunner has already done that for me.
The People Who Help Make These Relationships Possible
I want to recognize Robert and Laura at Safe Perch for bringing Gunner into our lives. Robert is a fellow veteran; Laura is his wife. Robert helped match us with Gunner, and Laura supported us throughout the process, just as she supports Robert.
When I explored more conventional companion or service-animal options, I struggled to get responses. Safe Perch responded. Robert was candid: he didn't promise an easy relationship or an immediately affectionate bird. He wanted us to understand the commitment.
Veterans receive recognition for their service, but spouses who stand beside us through difficult years don't always get the same attention. Elise has been that person for me. Seeing Robert and Laura working together reminds me how much those partnerships matter.
Sometimes caring for someone who has experienced trauma isn't about fixing what happened. It's about showing up, being patient, and building something better together. Robert and Laura helped make that possible for us.
We're Still Figuring Each Other Out
It's been twelve weeks. Gunner still won't willingly perch on me. He has his routines, preferences, and boundaries, and I'm learning them.
But he knows my name. He plays with my son. He calls when I leave. And he's convinced the family dog to join his backyard surveillance operation.
We weren't looking for someone to fix us, and we weren't expecting to fix Gunner. We wanted to offer him a home, patience, and a relationship without a deadline. I didn't anticipate how much I'd enjoy the process.
Maybe someday he'll sit on my shoulder. Maybe not. We've even discussed welcoming other birds someday, which I wouldn't have predicted a few months ago.
For now, we have time. Trust doesn't have to arrive all at once to matter. Sometimes it starts with an open cage door, a little patience, and a parrot who knows your name.
And sometimes, just when you need a smile, somebody spots a cat.
Author's note: Gunner joined our family through Safe Perch, with the help of Robert and Laura. Elise and I are grateful for their support and work.
This article reflects personal experience, not medical or mental health advice. Companion animals aren't substitutes for appropriate professional care or trained service animals.
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