My flock can be picky about toys. Too big – too scary. Too colourful – distasteful. Too plastic – too boring. Too cottony – Mishka will hang herself on it and scare me to death (never again).
But the best toy I ever gave them is (apparently) the end of a toilet roll.
We buy inexpensive stuff to clean up the, er, presents left for us every fifteen minutes on the dot, and the birds love to destroy the last few sheets on the roll. We’re careful about the glue on the actual cardboard – and these rolls don’t come from the toilet itself, which, if you think about it, would mean it was contaminated with all kinds of unsavoury aerosolised things. The point of the toilet roll game is simply to really get your toes and beak into the soft tissue.
Besides which, it’s boring by the time you get to the tube.
They’re like cats: the cheaper the toy, the more they love it. Pay a lot of money for a play gym and they’ll tear up in the box it came in.