Remembering Budgie

While some deaths are "small" in comparison; the feeling of loss is always the same.

It happened in the quiet of the kitchen last evening. Last evening as I was getting ready for bed, my daughter was in the kitchen after I had picked her up from a long evening's work at a local Walgreen's, getting a cup of something hot to drink to relax and unwind before her bedtime. She called upstairs for me to come down to the kitchen. "Dad, Budgie's dead," she told me, "he shuddered and took one last breath, and that was it." I looked into the familiar cage hanging from the metal stand and and sure enough; Budgie was lying still on the fresh bed of corn cob litter. Her eyes were welling up with the tears of loss as I hugged her, telling her, "at least you were with him when it happened...he didn't die alone."

Budgie was a gift to my son Nelson at a time when even having a pet (let alone a bird) was entering a brand new experimental Devereaux-family arena. He had received the bird on his 11th birthday along with the typical bird care giving accoutrement's. Nelson named him "Budgie" according to his genus Budgerigar (Melopsittacus undulatus) and it seemed to suit him. Nelson tended him as faithfully as any 11 yr-old could (with guidance to assist) until the day he left for college 6 years later. (Nelson, not the bird). At that point, the rest of the family took turns making sure that Budgie was taken care of and had a nice quality of life experience right to the very end. We all had our own "relationship" with this crazy-special animal.

Memories of Budgie include the times we would "allow" him to fly around the house to stretch his wings, avoiding the ceiling fan as he did. Attempts at giving him a bird-bath by setting out a pan of water to splash in were met with disdain. How he would ring his bell, use his abacus-mirror to "count," swing on his hanging perch, sit on your pointed finger and curiously allow you to "kiss" his head with your closed lips, but never allow your hand to get anywhere near him from above. I still maintain that he could say "pretty birdie" in bird-talk, but that remains debatable. Just having him happily squawking and singing will be missed on BOTH ends of a telephone conversation.

Budgie spent his last moments on this earth the past few days; apparently having suffered a stroke or some other brain injury that had incapacitated his ability to properly stand or grip a perching rod. I made some impromptu "ADA/Hospice" modifications and my wife had suggested that his food and water be appropriately transferred into two cage-bottom sitting jar lids. Out of extreme respect for his tenacity over the years, I did a final cleaning and placed a seed starting heat mat under his bottom tray to assist keeping him warm and comfortable in his last days. He waddled, slept, tumbled, and shook for about four days before finally giving up his good fight to remain in our midst. Fortunately we all had an opportunity to make our peace with him; talking, and whispering silent prayers as he laid with his eyes closed, too weak to even pick up his head. This stalwart creature that had once before fought and beat back a respiratory infection was finally over matched and was fading fast.

So in the still quiet of a below-zero December Wisconsin night, I tenderly removed him from his cage-home of over 9 years, wrapped him in a soft paper towel, and placed him into a clear Ziploc bag to be stored in the downstairs freezer for a future memorial "service." Somehow it didn't seem all that dignified for a family pet who shared many a family meal sitting in his cage pecking into his own seed cup nearby the kitchen table to be dropped unceremoniously into the garbage can. Yeah, that didn't seem "right" in the least...call me sentimental.

Damn...I loved that (tough) old bird...thanks for the memories Budgie.