Even animals get stressed out by COVID-19 — especially Discovery Place’s biggest diva

Ounce for ounce, she’s Charlotte’s biggest diva — two preening pounds of personality accustomed to a daily parade of devotees cooing about her dazzling plumage and hanging on her every word.

She is BJ, reigning parrot princess at Discovery Place Science’s rainforest, and — like the rest of us — she’s struggling in the era of COVID-19 quarantine.

For the last 25 years, she’s occupied a prominent perch in the science museum’s tropical menagerie, home to exotics like the great blue turaco, Madagascar giant day gecko and yellow-banded poison dart frog.

All are spectacular specimens in their own ways, but let’s face it: Nothing snags your attention like a talking bird.

Blue and gold macaws like BJ are considered among the smartest creatures in the animal kingdom. They are observant learners, develop deep social bonds and exhibit complex emotions, including jealousy and irritation.

And that’s the problem: When the coronavirus pandemic forced Discovery Place to shut down March 14, BJ’s world went into a tailspin. She thrived on attention, on admiration, on the stimulation of visitors. When it was abruptly shut off, it was not only disorienting for BJ, it was dangerous.

BJ lands

BJ arrived at Discovery Place in 1995. She probably had been bred in captivity and was being kept in a garage. Her owner couldn’t handle her any longer and offered the bird to the museum.

“Parrots make terrible pets,” said Elliot Provance, director of collections at Discovery Place. “They are needy, live practically forever, will get out and chew up your furniture. Birds want your attention all the time.”

Calls often come to the museum from parrot owners looking to donate their birds, Provance said. They now get referred to Companion Parrots Re-homed in Pineville, which arranges adoptions.

BJ took a perch in the rainforest and quickly became an attraction. She loved kids, but turned up her beak at other birds.

Parrots don’t like to socialize with other breeds, and her avian brethren got the message.

“I think they’ve tried to play with her and realize it’s not a good idea,” Provance said.

There was a toucan in the rainforest that had no fear of BJ, which was a problem. He had a beak serrated like a knife. They had to find a new home for it.

“It was a choice between a toucan and BJ,” Provance said.

Favors the staff

Her social bonds are evident in the way she interacts with her keepers. She’ll nip at newcomers, and when former staffers come back to visit, her pupils dilate and her feathers perk up.

She can imitate perfectly the distinctive laugh of one former employee, the dramatic sigh of another and the oft-heard groan of a third. “Of all things for her to pick up,” Provance said.

From her perch 30 feet above the rainforest footpath, she will call out “Hello!” to children below. She’ll say “cracker” when she wants her almonds and “What’s up?” at random.

Occasionally she will shriek, “Help!” with convincing urgency. No one is sure where she picked that up. And once in a while, she’ll mutter what sounds like a very bad word. No one knows where she got that, either.

“She seems to know she’s pretty,” Provance said. When someone points a camera or phone at her, she puffs up her feathers.

“Macaws are known as drama queens,” Provance added. “I can’t even be in the room when she gets her nails trimmed because she’s so ear-piercing. And it doesn’t hurt her a bit.”

COVID-19 shutdown

BJ’s last crisis of loneliness came in 2009, when Discovery Place began an 18-month renovation, which included a re-do of the rainforest. Workmen didn’t pay her much heed. She began to sulk.

Finally, she got assigned to the museum’s “Shipwreck!” exhibit, where she could lend a bit of pirate atmosphere and chat happily with visitors. Her spirits soared.

When the COVID-19 pandemic suddenly shut down attractions, Discovery Place managers discussed how to care for the animals and insects. BJ was a special case because her psychological welfare was at risk.

“We needed to make strategies to entertain her for her own well-being,” Provance said. “Stress in macaws can lead them to harm themselves, pulling out feathers or other self-destructive acts.”

There was fear she would begin acting out by swooping to the floor of the rainforest and walking about, exposing herself to potential predators.

So BJ’s keepers started taking her on field trips aboard her perch to different places in the museum to take in new sights. One favorite destination seemed to be the coral reef tank, where she could watch colorful tropical fish swim for hours.

She wasn’t a fan of her keepers suddenly wearing masks, but soon she came to recognize them. Then, to meet her need for social interaction, she got a gig supervising staffers while they prepared meals for Discovery Place’s various critters in a special kitchen in the basement.

BJ sits on a perch high above the action where she can look down on everyone. “She definitely wants to be the center of attention,” Provance said.

To keep her mind challenged, they’ll give her a box or a phone book to tear up.

“We give her the same routine every day to keep her calm,” he said. “She’s a creature of habit.”

Back in business

BJ’s treatment plan seems to have worked. She’s maintained her health, kept to the canopy of the rainforest and enjoyed her outings.

Now, she’s getting into her old routine, at least on weekends. Discovery Place Science reopened in September for Saturdays and Sundays, though reservations must be made online and masks are required.

BJ will be getting a new perch soon, one made out of manzanita wood, which tends to thrive in the desert west. It is one of the hardest woods in the world, which should keep BJ from gnawing through it. It will have more space and more nooks to hide treats in for her behavioral enrichment. Discovery Place is consulting with experts at the North Carolina Zoo in Asheboro on its ultimate design.

BJ is believed to be 32 years old, which puts her in the senior class of Discovery Place creatures along with Longfellow, 31, a ball python, and Tank, 38, the red-footed tortoise. BJ has a life expectancy of 80 and could live to 100.

“I think she’ll live out her life right here,” Provance said. Hopefully, it will continue to be one of high drama.

This story is part of an Observer underwriting project with the Thrive Campaign for the Arts, supporting arts journalism in Charlotte.

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This story was originally published November 2, 2020 at 11:06 AM.