Wilson, a blue headed conure, has come to live with me as a foster bird. He joins Baby and Kenya in the downstairs foster home/lounge/TV room. I was never sure what to do with that room when I moved into this house and now the foster birds have defined it for me. It’s their room. Wilson is still not sure about the whole arrangement. He was found in a tree in Anchorage and captured after heroic efforts and bitten fingers on the part of the rescuers. No one ever even called animal control looking for him. How does that happen? How do you have a beautiful pet bird like Wilson who escapes and you don’t make any effort to find him? What is wrong with people?