I have two parakeets: Charlie and Snowy. Charlie I bought from a private breeder, several years ago. He’s been healthy, active, and strong. Snowy, on the other hand, became a more recent addition to the family — brought home from a pet store nearly two years ago.

Snowy was never very active or noisy. She was always very quiet, mellow, liked to keep to herself. I’d let my birds out to fly and play. Charlie couldn’t wait. Snowy needed some motivation, and even then, only did a lap around the room and then quickly returned to inside the cage.

Remember a few days ago, how I mentioned she was making this weird squeaking/crying noise? I had never heard a bird make that sound before. Snowy didn’t seem quite right. I thought it was just the heat.

But she kept making that noise over the next few days, even when it wasn’t so hot in the room. Oh well. Whatever it was, I was sure it would solve itself in a day or two. Charlie, who shared the cage with her, didn’t seemed bothered by her distress at all, so I figured it couldn’t be that bad.

Well, today when I got home from work, Snowy was significantly worse.

The faint chirping noise had turned into a more irritated, almost-wheezing sound. It was like she had something in her throat that she was trying to cough it out. But that wasn’t what really disturbed me. She also had an unusual twitch. Her head bobbed to the side, constantly, as her whole body jerked to the right. She couldn’t even stay seated on her perch, finding herself on the bottom of the cage, leaned into the corner.

Something was definitely wrong.

I quickly went online and searched for animal hospitals in the area. Fortunately there was one right here in Burbank. I rushed there, taking every shortcut I knew, telling Snowy it was going to be okay … just hang in there.

We got there. The receptionist informed me they didn’t take birds. Another girl, some nurse, told me I needed to call ahead and see if any given place had a bird vet on staff at the time. Apparently not everybody handles birds, and the places that do will require a certain doctor to be there. Okay. I’m sure she was just busy or stressed with her own issues, but she came across kinda flippant and rude towards me. I let it go. The receptionist, however, recommended a few places that did handle birds. She didn’t bother to call them or anything, but gave me their numbers.

I called one place in Studio City, about 15 minutes from here. The automated voice mail system from hell answered. “Press 1 to speak with…” argghhhh! I pressed “0″ to speak to a live person. “Your call is important to us. Thank you for holding.” More music would play. “Your call is important…” It’d ring, act like it was transferring me somewhere, and then kick back to the same old holding loop. I was stressed. After several minutes, I cursed at the phone and hung up!

I tried the other place, in Pasadena. Someone answered right away. They did have a bird doctor on staff, I was told, but the earliest they could see me was Thursday. No good. I wasn’t going to wait that long. They gave me a number of some doctor in West Hills… which might as well be all the way in Egypt for all I care! I needed someone now, and I needed someone nearby!

I tried the first place in Studio City again. I actually got through to live a person quickly this time. Thank God. And even better, they had a vet, on staff, on site, who handled birds today. *whew* “I’m on my way,” I said.

It took a while for a doctor to see Snowy, since they had to attend to all their scheduled appointments first. In the meantime, they put my bird on oxygen and made sure she stayed warm on a heating pad. A couple hours later, the doctor saw me.

I could tell by his expression that it wasn’t good news. “Snowy seems to have a really bad infection,” he informed me. Antibiotics could help take care of that. “But it’s this head bobbing thing that worries me.” Snowy had all the signs of a brain tumor or brain damage, possibly caused by the virus, but we couldn’t be sure. He told me my options, but gently let me know that her chances of survival were slim.

I didn’t know what to do.

One option included “putting her down.” I wasn’t ready to give up just yet. I decided to take her home, with the antibiotics, and hope for the best.

By the time we left the vet’s office, the wheezing noise had stopped, which was encouraging … I think. But the twitching and constant spasms were unrelenting. Snowy lost her balance and fell over, over and over again. She struggled to get back on her perch, but without my help, just couldn’t seem to make it.

I brought her home, held her gently in my hands, and fed her the first dose of antibiotics. I think it went down her mouth, but I can’t really tell. The doctor had warned me that she might not be able to eat … and now I saw why. The poor bird had next to no self-control. It wasn’t just some nervous twitch — her whole body jerked constantly to the side. Her head all the way down to her little birdy feet. She was breathing, which was good, but eating food was … well, not likely.

I held her in my hands, and I let her know that I loved her.

I love both my birds, and they’ve always been a joy to me. I don’t want to see Snowy go — but at the same time, as I watch and hold her, my hope dwindles.

As I was sitting there at the vet’s office, waiting to hear back about Snowy … I had the feeling I needed to let her go. I didn’t know what was wrong when I brought her in. I thought maybe a feather or something was caught in her throat, nothing more. But for some reason, I felt our time was short, and it was time to prepare myself to say goodbye.

It really made me appreciative of my own health, and for Charlie’s health and energy. We take these things for granted until something serious comes along. As of right now, Snowy is still alive, but I had to put her back inside the cage.

I couldn’t bare to see her like this any more.

I held her and spoke to her and loved her for an hour or more … but after a while, it pained me to see her like that. And I started to wonder … did I do the right thing? Was she in pain? Was I merely delaying the inevitable? Should I have had the doctor put her to sleep peacefully, painlessly … rather than watch her lose control of her body, suffer, and inevitably starve to death because she can’t eat?

I couldn’t have done it. No way. I don’t believe in giving up so quickly. There’s still a remote chance she may recover… But, right now, I have to be honest. My optimism is low. I feel I need to let her go.

I feel sad.

I feel sad for me and Charlie, for what we may be about to lose, but I also feel sad for Snowy. She spent her early months in a crowded small cage in a pet store. I took her home and Charlie immediately made friends with her. I even caught them … you know, doing what birds and bees do. But I never really felt she “lived” life much. I could never get her to come out of the cage much, or for long. She barely flew. She never sang. I’ve never seen such a quiet bird. She usually just sat in one place in the cage, while Charlie, on the other hand, would run and jump all over, like the hyperactive little bird he is.

It actually made me think about my own life for a minute. Take stock. Was I living? Did I spend most of my days sitting at home, not really out active or doing anything? Did I sing? Did I run or fly or play much? Did I spend time with others … or mostly keep to myself?

Snowy wasn’t totally anti-social. Like I said, she and Charlie did have a little thing between them. So that’s good. But that’s just nature. We all have a sex drive, even parakeets.

What about life?

Do we have a life drive?

Charlie does. He’s alive. Too much so, sometimes. :) He chirps and sings, bounces around and runs back and forth, flies around the room, lands on my head, flies somewhere else, then sits on my shoulder, sings in my ear, goes back to the cage to visit Snowy, and all in all seems a very happy, healthy bird.

I used to be more like Snowy. I’m becoming more like Charlie. (I think there’s a healthy balance somewhere in between. I’m not saying we should all be hyperactive. lol.) Anyway, life is short, and death comes in many ways.

A virus. A brain tumor. A car crash. Old age. Whatever.

Even otherwise healthy children sometimes die.

It’s the sad thing about mortality, about being part of this physical world. But death does come with a blessing. It reminds us, very seriously, to not take life so seriously. It tells us to live life, do what we want, be what we want to be … because some day, sooner or later, it too will come for you.

I just checked on Snowy again. It’s getting late. The poor bird is seated on the perch, up against the cage wall, still uncontrollably spasming. I don’t think she’s going to sleep tonight.

Maybe I’ll find her better in the morning. But if this is how her short life is to end, I don’t want it to last long like this. I prayed that if she is to go, make it quick and painless and peaceful. Let her fall asleep naturally … and wake up in eternal peace. That is, assuming birds have an afterlife. I don’t know. Either way, I don’t want her last days to be hungry and out of control. I wish there was more I could do. I love her. I enjoyed every minute together. I told her that.

But still I feel a letting go… a need to let go, as hard as it is.

And this is just for a bird. One I’ve only had for a couple years. One I never even got “that” close to, because she never wanted to come out and play much. I can’t imagine going through this with a parent, child, or friend. How do you let go of someone you love and have known your whole life? How do you move on and find love again, after losing a spouse?

There is a time for everything — including mourning. It’s healthy to mourn. It’s normal to cry and miss the loved one we’ve lost. But at some point, after a while I think, we must move on … never forgetting, but letting go so we can both be at peace.

Because life is meant to be lived. And although there’s a time for sadness and mourning, there’s also a time for love, joy, happiness, freedom, excitement, adventure, and a whole list of other positive and wonderful things.

Life is full of both the sorrow and the bliss, the pains and the joys. To only experience one side is to miss half of life. Personally I prefer to dwell on one side (the positive, happy side) … but there are times, like these, when we must step over and experience the other half of life too.

And it is in this moment that I express my love and gratitude for Snowy … and try to handle and prepare for what seems like an inevitable loss of a beautiful friend and pet.

Namaste, Snowy.

Namaste.

Love,
the one who feeds you bird seed every day :)
David

blog.spiritualsmarts.com

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