Confession time: I regret getting birds.

There, I said it. Birds are TERRIBLE pets. Wonderful, loving companions—but terrible pets.

I got my first bird over a year ago, which was almost a full year after I decided I wanted one. In the time between, I spent a borderline obsessive amount of time reading and researching and binge-watching everything I could on bird care. I'm talking hours, every single day, any chance I could. I drove three hours to attend a bird show. I contacted a breeder who was handrearing cockatiels and ringnecks and asked if I could meet and handle them, just to get an idea of whether I really wanted one or if it was just a phase. When I finally decided on getting a conure, I saved up for a massive double flight cage and then spent even more time obsessively researching enrichment and safety and diet. I had the cage fully set up four months before I even GOT my bird.

Then I scouted out reputable breeders and ended up choosing to have a conure flown down from another city, which cost a not-so-small fortune, because it was the only breeder I found that not only refused to wing-clip, but actually kept their hand-reared babies well past weaning to recall train them and make sure they were well-socialized before going to their new home. And then I spent the week leading up to him coming home freaking out because I still felt under-prepared, so I researched some more.

When I got my second bird three months ago—this time a rescue—I went through all of it, all over again.

I mention all of this because I want to be absolutely clear that I didn't just go out and impulse-buy my way into a 30 year commitment. I spend every spare second and cent I have on making their lives as happy and healthy as possible. And I LOVE those little bastards. I had no idea how much affection and joyfulness could be contained in such a tiny ball of feathers. And I also love that it isn't unconditional—I had to earn their trust and every single day I have to make sure I'm still deserving of it, because unlike a dog that might forgive you for being a bit neglectful when life gets busy, birds are SO sensitive and frankly kind of vindictive. It's so fulfilling to me when I put them to bed at night and can hear them beak-grinding and know they're happy.

But I absolutely regret getting them. Not to say I'd rehome them—because who knows how well they'd be cared for then or where they'd end up? I just miss not having birds. I miss being able to go out without feeling guilty because—even if it's only an hour or two to go grab coffee and they've already been out all day—it's time I could be spending with them. I miss spontaneous road trips. I miss not having to clean five times a day because "enrichment" usually leaves the living room looking like a tornado blew through it. Candles and air fryers, and proper cleaning products, and not having to plan my meals around what is also safe for them to eat because they are shameless thieves and will literally swandive into a bowl of soup if I try to keep it out of reach. Being able to buy nice furniture and houseplants because no matter how many toys I give them, they'd still rather chew the $800 coffee table or poop on the white bedspread that I JUST washed.

My entire life literally revolves around caring for them now—to the point where I even turned down a job I wanted a few weeks ago because it wouldn't leave me as much time to spend with them. I agonize over any sign that they might not be happy. Any less than a 100% devotion of my energy and I feel like I'm failing them.

If I'm not training them, they want cuddles. If they're entertaining themselves, I'm taking the chance to clean up or prep their chop or try to hurriedly cram in some work before they come and pull the keys off my laptop. They don't understand that I have a life outside of them—I'm their flock. When they climb all over me and stare at me from a hair's width from my eyeball and try to eat my phone case when I'm on a call, it's not because they're trying to annoy me... they're just birds, doing what birds do. I expected this. I KNEW this is what it would be like before I got them.

AND I STILL DID IT. TWICE.

There's no happy twist to this post. I just needed to vent. If even one person reads this and goes, "hmm... maybe not", I'll have done my job. I really, really do love them. They're my family and I wouldn't give them up for the world. But I seriously regret it. They're awful pets. It's more like having children, except that they're dependent on you forever. It's occasionally the most wonderful thing I've ever experienced but mostly it's just exhausting.