On January 19, 2012, my little bird (Donald) passed away in my arms. I held him when we brought him home as a baby, so I guess it was only fitting that I held him while he took his last breaths. He was an old bird. I got him as a present for my 8th birthday; I’m 28 years old now, about to turn 29 in June. Donald was almost 21 years old.
He may have been small- cockatiels aren’t very big, after all- but he was a huge part of our family. He had a unique personality and became quite the character. His antics have given me fodder for so many stories.
When we brought him home, we had spaghetti for dinner. Somehow, he walked onto my plate and helped himself to a noodle. He loved spaghetti ever since, and knew it by the smell. If he smelled it cooking, he would chirp and sing until we brought him a noodle with just a dash of marinara sauce. He was never a fan of alfredo sauce, which happens to be my favorite.
As a child, I loved the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I had most of the actions figures and some of the vehicles, including the Turtle Mobile. I used to have my bird sit inside the Turtle Mobile while I “drove” it around. He was an honorary ninja turtle on several occasions.
Occasionally, my mom would curl her hair. She kept a small tub of U-shaped pins (with safe rubber points) on the bathroom counter. My bird was fascinated by these pins; he would spend hours perched on the rim of the small tub, just picking up the pins and dropping them.
My little bird had a large ego: he loved his reflection and would sing to it whenever he was given the opportunity. I realize that he probably saw “another” bird in the small mirrors we kept inside his cage, and that perhaps this comforted him or made him feel less lonely when we weren’t around. It’s just funny to tease him for being such a vain bird, since the mere sight of himself caused him to break into song.
Donald was quite the troublemaker, too. We had a sliding glass door in our old house. The glass door led to the back porch, where my old cat (Chance) used to sunbathe. Donald knew that the cat couldn’t harm him through the glass door, so he would parade back and forth just to taunt the cat. One time, the cat couldn’t resist the temptation any longer- she leapt at the glass door and promptly cracked her skull open. Okay, not really, but she made such a loud *THWACK* sound that I heard her from the other room. The bird just continued to strut back and forth as my poor cat saw stars. I think he was quite pleased with himself.
I could probably devote a novel to my little bird’s life; by all standards, he lived a long and happy life, complete with many adventures that could fill pages and pages of a book.
We buried him inside his “nest”- a fuzzy green sleeve of sorts that he loved cuddling up to. We placed his toys and mirror in the sleeve with him. It was so hard to bury him, knowing I wouldn’t see, feel, or hear him again. I have memories, pictures, and a recording, but that’s different than “experiencing” him in the present. I will always treasure the memories that he gave me, though. They’ll keep him close to my heart as long as I’m living.
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