One of my exes had an umbrella cockatoo. Big white bird. I adored Vanilla (the bird). We had a huge cage for him. We basically just sectioned off a hunk of the living room for the bird to have his own space. Mostly he was only in it when we had to go out without him, (he came a lot of places with us) for his afternoon naps, and to go to bed at night. Otherwise, he hung out on top of the cage or generally wandering around.
Vanilla was a tame as could be. He wouldn't talk, but he'd imitate other animals. He was especially good at meowing like a cat. He fooled cats into believing he was cat quite regularly. (Meaning, the cat would hear a cat meow and come running to see what was in his/her house, and get met by a big white bird who loved cats like mad.) We got Vanilla his own cat. But that's a different story.
We clipped his flight feathers, no problem. I took him shopping with me and traveling when I went on the road. At places that let us, we took Vanilla into restaurants and got a dish of mashed potatoes for him. He loved mashed potatoes. And corn on the cob. And pomegranates. He'd sit on my lap in the evening while I watched television, and I'd rub his head, face, chest, and back. He'd snuggle in and make cooing noises and stay there endlessly.
Mind, when he had temper tantrums, he could screech like nothing I've ever heard. And jeez was he persistent.
But so, meow, bark, coo, sure, but talk or even whistle? Not a chance. That bird wouldn't have ever been able to tell anyone how to get him home.
Edited to add: Vanilla was so tame, we could get him to hold out his wing just by rubbing a finger against his body under his wing while he was standing on his perch, and we'd clip the middle feathers that way.
