Bath day arrives, and Julius knows it before anyone says a word.

There’s a shift in the air. Towels appear. The water runs. And Julius, an umbrella cockatoo with a deep appreciation for control and comfort, is not amused. His crest lifts just enough to signal concern, and his eyes narrow with suspicion.

This is not his idea.

To be fair, Julius doesn’t hate water. In theory, bathing is fine when it’s on his terms. A mist here. A splash there. Maybe a dignified rinse if he’s feeling generous. But bath day? Scheduled? Intentional? Absolutely not. As the process begins, Julius makes his feelings known. He leans away. He gives “the look.” He may vocalize his displeasure with a sound that clearly translates to, I did not consent to this.

Yet, despite the drama, he endures it. Feathers get damp. Crest slowly lowers. The outrage softens into reluctant acceptance. And once the bath is over, something magical happens. He fluffs up big. Really big. Like a feathered cloud reclaiming his dignity. Water droplets shake loose, and suddenly Julius looks refreshed, lighter, and somehow proud of surviving the ordeal.

Bath day may be an insult to his sensibilities, but Julius bounces back quickly. Still not amused. Still judging. But undeniably cleaner. And in true umbrella cockatoo fashion, he’ll remember this betrayal… until the next time he decides a bath was actually a great idea after all.