Today (Monday, July 22, 2019) I lost my friend. He wasn't an old friend of high school days; he wasn't a newfound friend and, he wasn't a family member; he was a 50 gram Green Cheek Conure who was as part of my life as any of my other friends. He didn't speak my language, hold any currency, make any demands on me, and loved me unconditionally. He brought me joy and brightened my day when it was overcast and not so bright. He held my heart captive, and I loved him dearly.
D. came to us after an exhausting life of merely fulfilling a role for breeding purposes. He was no one's pet and was at a loss for affection; he was a working bird. I can't imagine a life so less rewarding. When his usefulness was spent, and he was no longer needed, we adopted him. In our home, he was not required to engage in any parlour tricks, dance to music or sing like a songbird, D's only purpose was to be a bird: no restrictions.
Over time, D developed a powerful bond with our son, and on moving out to his own home asked to take D. with him. We agreed and thought it would good for both of them to be together, so D. left our house but not our lives. I saw D. regularly, and he always became animated when I visited him.
Sunday, our son called to tells us that D. was not doing so well, and our son was getting ready to go out of town; could we please come to get D. and look after him until he returned. Yes: without hesitation. We were shocked to see poor D's turn for the worst. We bundled him up and tried to keep him warm, fed and kept him hydrated. We were on a D .watch passing him back and forth, addressing all his needs. As the evening progressed, his health fell to bootstrap proportions. We live in a small city with only one avian vet and no emergency services for birds; our only recourse was to wait for Monday and see our regular vet or at least get some advice. As luck would have it, our vet was performing surgeries all-day. Given prudent advice on how to carry on and with this new information continued our D. watch. Moments later, our vet called back and told us to bring D. in immediately, and so we did. We have a good working relationship with our vet since we rescue parrots, and over the years have taken courses, and salvaged birds he has asked us to adopt.
Our vet was shocked to see how poorly D. was doing, and once he knew the back story was surprised to see that D. was still alive. Life is immensely precious, and it seemed that D, was determined not to leave his family yet. Even though we logically knew what was happening, in our desperation, we had come to see our vet hoping he had some order of panacea, an injection, anything that could reverse D's condition; sadly there's nothing in his arsenal of medicines that could stave off the inevitable. D's prognosis was not good. I could feel the blood drain from my face, and see it in my wife's face as well. The vet checked the tags on D's leg and gasped when he told us that D. was 23 years old. D. had outlived the statistics. Our interview ended with his asking us if we wanted them to keep D. overnight? We decided to take D. back to our house so that when he left us, it would be with the people that loved him and not the back of a bustling lab. Sadly, D. had come home to die.
The rest of the day seemed surreal to us. He rallied a few times, gave his best chirps. I no longer could see the bright, youthful mischievous look in his eyes that had defined who he was; I wept.
Hours later, he turned around exhaled and died in my hands; I wept.
I will always remember D. The first time he came to us, and he was so unsure. The first time he shared a peanut butter sandwich with me because he lived here now, and it was his right. The many glasses of orange juice we shared while he sat on the rim of the glass and we stared into one another's eyes; it was my love affair with a species so different than me, but eerily just the same. But, as life would have it, time stops for no one, not even for the suffering good, and poor D finally submitted to his biological contract.
I hope we will meet again sometime.
I miss you, D.
D. came to us after an exhausting life of merely fulfilling a role for breeding purposes. He was no one's pet and was at a loss for affection; he was a working bird. I can't imagine a life so less rewarding. When his usefulness was spent, and he was no longer needed, we adopted him. In our home, he was not required to engage in any parlour tricks, dance to music or sing like a songbird, D's only purpose was to be a bird: no restrictions.
Over time, D developed a powerful bond with our son, and on moving out to his own home asked to take D. with him. We agreed and thought it would good for both of them to be together, so D. left our house but not our lives. I saw D. regularly, and he always became animated when I visited him.
Our vet was shocked to see how poorly D. was doing, and once he knew the back story was surprised to see that D. was still alive. Life is immensely precious, and it seemed that D, was determined not to leave his family yet. Even though we logically knew what was happening, in our desperation, we had come to see our vet hoping he had some order of panacea, an injection, anything that could reverse D's condition; sadly there's nothing in his arsenal of medicines that could stave off the inevitable. D's prognosis was not good. I could feel the blood drain from my face, and see it in my wife's face as well. The vet checked the tags on D's leg and gasped when he told us that D. was 23 years old. D. had outlived the statistics. Our interview ended with his asking us if we wanted them to keep D. overnight? We decided to take D. back to our house so that when he left us, it would be with the people that loved him and not the back of a bustling lab. Sadly, D. had come home to die.
The rest of the day seemed surreal to us. He rallied a few times, gave his best chirps. I no longer could see the bright, youthful mischievous look in his eyes that had defined who he was; I wept.
Hours later, he turned around exhaled and died in my hands; I wept.
I will always remember D. The first time he came to us, and he was so unsure. The first time he shared a peanut butter sandwich with me because he lived here now, and it was his right. The many glasses of orange juice we shared while he sat on the rim of the glass and we stared into one another's eyes; it was my love affair with a species so different than me, but eerily just the same. But, as life would have it, time stops for no one, not even for the suffering good, and poor D finally submitted to his biological contract.
I hope we will meet again sometime.
I miss you, D.
Disclosure:
Some of the links are affiliate links, meaning, at no additional cost to you, we will earn a commission if you click through and make a purchase. We are a participant in the Amazon Services LLC Associates Program. However, this does not impact our reviews and comparisons. We try our best to keep things fair and balanced. By purchasing through our links you are helping us maintain this site.
What a beautiful tribute to your feathered friend. It just shows how connected we are that we can communicate with other species through a language of love. I often say that my dog is one of my favourite people. If someone points out the obvious I will agree but add; " Animals are better than most people because they love with their whole heart." It sounds like that is what you both had with D. Which is a beautiful and wondrous thing. I'm so sorry for your loss.
ReplyDeleteSabrina