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I'm sure it does. I'm sitting here listening to Timber munching cardboard on top of his cage, wondering if he's happy. I know I'm at least his third home, and hope things are better for him now. I don't think he misses flight, because he doesn't fly. I don't think he ever fledged. Did he come from a "parrot mill?" I will never know. Does he know how much I care for him? Probably not when I'm toweling him twice a day for seizure meds. Does he understand at some level that I'm sticking that nasty stuff in his mouth for a good reason? Doubtful. How does he feel when I'm giving him his bowl of sweet potatoes, peas, beans, eggs and rice mix? Does he wonder why I don't give him the nuts and treats he craves instead? Does he know how proud I am when he says a new word or phrase? Does he know I excitedly tell all my friends about his vocabulary additions? Probably not. Still, at the end of the day when he's perched on my arm and pushes his beak into my stomach for some intense face scratching, I know we at least have trust. Musings of a rehomer.