The Fate of Our Parakeets

8 May 2017

When my sister and I were young, our mom allowed us to own a small variety of pets . . . as long as they didn't require a lot of maintenance. In spite of the fact that she was never much of a "pet" person, she somehow accepted that we loved them.

My first "personal" pet was a turtle that I named "Tommy Turtle," and while the fate of this little fella in unclear, I suspect, in spite of the fact that my dad told me he ran away, that he died . . . that Dad buried him in the back yard without my knowledge. All I remember is that one day I had him and the next he was gone. He was a tiny turtle who lived in a small turtle pool in my room . . . it even sported a palm tree.

I have no idea how we talked Mom into buying a parakeet. My friend Bonnie owned one, and it's quite possible that your Auntie M did the actual asking . . . she always knew how to sway my mom . . . me, I just never asked.

Honestly, I don't remember how many parakeets we had, but I do recall at least two. The first one we owned would sit on your shoulder and let you walk around. Sabrina had him on her shoulder in the kitchen when some friends stopped by . . . as soon as the door opened that bird smelled freedom . . . flew away. We looked for that bird for weeks!

Because my sister was sad, I guess my mom agreed to another.

The cage hung between our rooms . . . in the track of the accordion door that separated them . . . open when we were speaking to each other (there's a funny story about those doors too). His cage was about 18" tall and made of wood.

We had a cat, Tigger, too . . . 

. . . who eyed the bird with hunger in his eyes! 

Every day Tigger would wander into our room to watch the bird, but the bird was well out of reach. That cat jumped on everything in the room to try and reach the cage . . . a meal so close . . . yet so far away.

Then my sister moved her stereo to the corner, but neither one of us thought about the proximity.

Only Dad was home on that fateful day . . . he heard the squawking from the basement . . . ran upstairs to investigate. Tigger was hanging with all his might from the bottom of the cage . . . swinging wildly . . . the bird flapping his little wings in desperation . . . not fully aware of the circumstances since he couldn't actually see the cat. As soon as Dad walked into the room, Tigger let go and scrambled down the hall. But it was too late . . . 

. . . the bird fell to the bottom of the cage . . . 

. . . flapped a few more times and lay still.

There isn't much you can do for a bird that's suffered a heart attack . . . at least that's what we think killed it.

We didn't get any more parakeets. I was never really crazy about birds anyway.

We owned both a blue one and a green one . . . they all look pretty much the same

"A bird sitting in a tree is never afraid of the branch breaking . . . its trust is not on the branch but on its own wings." ~ Unknown