There are lessons for everything these days, even teaching birds to fly.

Bird fanciers, specifically those who fancy a conversation with their birds, gathered yesterday at the National Aviary on the North Side for tips on how to get their parrots, cockatiels and macaws to chat, sing, even impersonate other animals.

Aviary experts Cathy Schlott and Caitlin Stone shared a few pointers: be patient, read the body language, reward good behavior and don't push too fast.

"Your bird's attention span is not 30 minutes. My attention span is not 30 minutes," said Ms. Schlott.

About 40 attendees were introduced to Rafiki, a Meyers parrot whose major skill appeared to be telling people his name. At least he resisted the urge to announce for office.

Next up was Gonzo, an Amazonian parrot who lit up the room with a cavalcade of impersonations worthy of a nightclub. He wolf-whistled at the ladies, clucked like a chicken, mewed like a cat and, with a bit of prodding, imitated a fire siren.

Next came the lesson on how to get a scarlet macaw named Scarlet to fly across the room. House birds aren't reliable fliers, they don't fetch the newspaper but will, with some education, come and go to an outstretched arm.

A great deal of the lesson focused on behavior.

"A lot of parrot owners struggle with behavior issues from their pet parrots," Ms. Schlott said.

As the floor opened to questions, the gathering took on the atmospherics of an episode of Dr. Phil. There were tales of confusion, eating disorders, even domestic violence.

Parrots mate for life, which might explain their occasional crankiness, but the rose-hearted cockatoo belonging to Holly Smallwood has become a stalker with a beak.

Rob Gilligan, Ms. Smallwood's boyfriend, attested to that.

"The bird has never accepted him and we've been together six years," she told Ms. Stone. The fact that she's had the bird for seven years, making Mr. Gilligan a bit of an interloper, might explain it.

But Mr. Gilligan said it does not excuse the bird's habit of biting him on sight. He has felt the angry beak on his hand, his ankle, his back and, in what had to be cruelest wake-up call in the history of naps, the eye.

"Just keep it away from me and we'll be all right," he said.

There were other tales worthy of Hitchcock.

One woman said her parrot shouted out for help, insisting it was trapped. A contractor across the hall burst through the door to save what he thought was a damsel in distress, not a parrot in parody.

Linda Murphy, of Carrick, told of a fight at the dinner table. She did not explain why her parrot shares mealtimes, only that, in a moment of aggressive bingeing, it stole her plate of pasta. Ms. Schlott advised her to keep herself away from the bird when she is in the company of Chef Boyardee.

One other note, which Ms. Schlott raised after class ended. They're parrots -- watch what you say if you don't want to hear it back.

When the occasional blue language crops up near the Aviary cages, she said, "We yell at them and say 'You can't say that. There's a parrot in the room.' "

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