I think my bird is dying.
She's huddled up on the floor of her cage, her little blue feathers all puffed up around her, and her little blue head nuzzled uncomfortably into her wing.
We got her when I was 9 or 10. Her name was Clyde because we thought she was a boy. Her mother was named Bonnie. As Clyde matured, (s)he developed female coloring, and so we renamed him/her Sweetie. She's a parakeet; a feisty little blue thing with a piercing little chirp. She doesn't like being touched or held like my other bird, Happy. She's not a big fan of people. But I like her anyway. She's a bitch and I respect that.
And now she's curled up on the floor, breathing what appears to be some of her last breaths.
I'm not sad, exactly. Sweetie and I have never been, exactly... well, close, even though I've had her for 12 years. She's not a big fan of people.
I'm not sure what to do. I've never witnessed a death before. When Sweetie's mother died, we just found her dead. When my fish died, they would always just be floating at the top of the tank. When my grandfather died, somebody just said, "Grandpa Joe is dead." And the same for my Grandma Norma and my Great-Grandma. When my dog Puffy died, she was 17 and had been having seizures for a whole day, and we kind of knew she was going to die, but the veterinarian had given her medication to stop the seizures, and we thought she would be all right for awhile longer -- maybe a few weeks or months even. The next day, she started having the seizures again, and my mom had to have her put to sleep. But I wasn't present. I didn't know she was going to die. I've seen dead people, and dead animals. I've known people and animals with cancer and other awful things, and known they were going to die, but I've never watched as death crept closer.
I want to take Sweetie and hold her. I want to make her peaceful. I wonder if she knows I'm here. I wonder if she wants me to hold her, even though she doesn't really like to be held. I wonder if she'd rather I just left her the hell alone. I wonder if birds think about things like that.
I kind of wanted to walk to Burger King and get a cheeseburger or something; I haven't eaten and there's no food in the house. But I don't want to leave Sweetie. I really don't think she'd notice if I left to get a hamburger... But I think if I was dying, I'd want someone around. They say everybody comes into the world alone, and everybody dies alone. But maybe, if you've got somebody there, maybe it makes it a little easier. Maybe having somebody to hold your hand makes your passage a little easier, even when you stop being able to feel their hand in yours.
I wonder if it's the same for birds...
I wish something would happen. I wish she'd get better and climb up on her perch and shriek a little bit. I wish she'd die so it could just be over with and I don't have to wonder what she's thinking, or if she's in pain, or IF she's thinking... I wish she could just die so I could take care of her body, as I cannot do right now. I'd pick her up, and I'd walk out to my dad's house, maybe tomorrow night so I wouldn't have to deal with my dad or his girlfriend, and bury her next to her mother. I know how to take care of a dead body. I don't know how to take care of a dying one.
I wonder if she feels alone. She looks so peaceful. But she looks stiff and pained, too. Don't ask how I know how a bird looks when it's stiff and in pain; I just know. I've had her for 12 years. When nobody else could tell the difference between the bird-noises coming from the cage, I always knew which bird was which, and what their sounds meant. Like a mother knows the sound of her own child crying on a crowded playground. And I know she hurts. I want her to be at peace. I want her not to hurt.
In the kitchen, Happy is singing sweet cockatiel noises. He's still very much alive and seemingly healthy. He's singing to Sweetie: soft little chirps. Sometimes he makes talkative noises, or feed-me noises, or play-with-me noises, or gee-I-hear-water-running-and-it-sounds-cool noises. Sometimes he shrieks at crows and bluejays outside. Now he's making little serenade noises. He's talking to Sweetie. You probably think I'm stupid for giving so much credit to a bird, but they're my pets. I've had Happy since I was just a year old. I hand-trained him myself when I was 10. He sounds upset. I know his sounds. I'm crying. I'm not really sad, just confused. And Happy's little love-noises to his cage-mate are just so, so sad.
Sweetie isn't singing. She hasn't sung in a day or two.
I'm scared. I want to hold her. I don't want to hold her if it might piss her off. I don't want to interfere. I don't want to let her go alone. I don't know what to do. I want to go get a hamburger. It's a damned Friday night and I'm staying home because my parakeet is dying?
There's a LIFE ending in my kitchen. I mean, granted, yeah, she's a BIRD, but to her... even though her life has mostly consisted of seeds and water and listening to crows outside the window, it's her LIFE and it's ending, and to her, that's EVERYTHING. She's maybe not a very big part of my life, but she's making a passage right now.
I'm going to sign off now. I'm going to check on her.
~Helena*