LITTLE BIRD - RIP ........to February 24th, 2016

Dear Little,

I know you can’t hear me from where you are, or maybe you can.  I know I was once your friend.  And I’m sorry for abandoning you these last few months in order to fulfill my selfish pursuits.  I could not possibly have given you the attention you deserved with so much time spent away from home.  But I don’t know whether you understood that, or felt like I was rejecting you by sending you away.  I know its too late to tell you how much you meant to me, and maybe you felt my love in some way when we were together so often these last few years - when you were healthy and alive.  But to me, you were the most gentle and lovable creature in my life.  You gave me much more than I gave you, and I wish I could somehow have conveyed this to you before it was too late.

I must admit that for years I didn’t want to have anything to do with you. I thought all love birds were the same. I never knew you were so smart and could ever be my friend.  I thought of a bird as an ornament, not really a pet, not really clever enough to know right from wrong, to respond to my directives, to remember your surroundings, to remember people, to remember places. I was wrong on all counts. As strongly as I felt about avoiding bonding with you at first, I feel a profound sense of loss now that you are no longer here. No longer here to sing to your friends outside, to fly from lampshade to lampshade, to soil my floor and carpet, to sit by my side on the black couch, on my shoulder, to play dangerously on the floor, and to scare me half to death when you deviate from your flight schedule and I have to search the house to find you.

Little, I also apologize for misunderstanding you at times.  When you used my ear lobe for target practice, I didn’t understand that you were sending a message that you were being starved, and to have me check your seed, and to replace the discarded empty shells with a new fresh serving. I’m sorry for getting angry with you for pecking at me; I know you were just hungry and we all get grumpy at times like these.

I have missed you long before this day. We would get lost in time.  You would start dancing and fluttering around when I came near your cage in anticipation of letting you out.  Sometimes I would have to apologize for not doing so.  You lived on my shoulder and you would fly off only to spare me the stain.  You would go anywhere to do your little pooping rather than poop on me.  Thank you for taking care of me and trying to be tidy and kind. 

I loved having you perch on my shoulder and feeling your little delicate feet gently pitter-patter across my back to the other shoulder when the view was better.  I loved feeling you tiny long feathery body nuzzle up closely to my neck.  I would get my work done having you there to help me compose and respond to emails.  You taught me to be patient and understanding and not expect too much from humans.  They were never as loyal or reliable or loving as you were; I am sorry I was not there with you at the end.

I loved feeding you water in the kitchen.  You were always so excited when the water turned on and you ran down my arm demanding to quench your thirst and to wash your head and body.

You loved it when your head was rubbed and you would burrow your head down wanting more.  You could never get enough!

You lived on my shoulder and sometimes I forgot you were there.  How many times did I venture out the door forgetting to safely return you to your home?  I know you were laughing at me; I knew you would not fly away and risk losing me but I was still worried you would fly off somewhere and get lost.  But that was not in your DNA. 

And I remember the day you fell off of the couch and hit your head.  I was a mess worrying about your post concussion loss of balance.  I cried incessantly then as I am now.  Time eventually healed that injury and Ken and the veterinarian comforted me on that day.  I am a doctor of humans but was so helpless seeing you so weak and not yourself.

I’m not sure I could have gone through another similar ordeal.  But I’m just thinking about myself.  No living thing should die alone without their loved ones.  And maybe I could have done something to prevent it; I just don’t know.  

Little, there are so many people in this world that loved you and will miss you.  You were a really special bird. Your mother and your uncles and aunts will all miss you.  And so will I.  And I’m sick to death that these words come now after its too late for you to listen. 

Uncle David