ISSN 1492-8132
Issue 95, © 2004
No reprints without permission

The folks at Bird & Cage Co have made it their goal to provide birdkeepers with a great selection of good quality cages and birdcage accessories for great prices. They also offer a wide range of durable and useful bird and cage accessories. Their first priorities are customer service and satisfaction, and that, as well as the great quality, is why Robirda recommends so many of their products.

See Robirda's cage reviews at robirda.com/birdcage.html. Her reviews of a variety of the bird and cage accessories from Bird & Cage is posted at robirda.com/access.html

The one fly in the ointment has been that some people have not been able to access the Bird & Cage homesite easily - if at all. But that is about to change too - keep your eyes peeled for the new, easy-to-use, fast-loading, browser-friendly Bird & Cage. webhome, arriving in just a few days!

Our CD of Robirda's canaries singing consists of 12 16-bit true-stereo tracks, each averaging almost 5 minutes long, for a total of 58 minutes and 48 seconds of canary songs. You can hear a 10 second mp3 sample here. Listen carefully, and you will be able to hear the different positions of each bird!

We are now offering New Songs From The Birdroom for only $12.00, plus $2.99 shipping and handling. Order yours today!

Get an insider's look into careers and businesses involving pet birds. The Companion Bird Lover's Guide to Careers will give you insights into a selection of avian-related careers and businesses, including avian rescue founder and director, avian veterinarian, veterinarian technician, freelance writer, marketing manager, bird boarding entrepreneur, as well as selling wares to the companion bird market.

This informative booklet provides profiles of people who have careers and businesses involving pet birds; dozens of helpful resources to help put you firmly on your chosen career track; and vital information to help you make an informed decision on necessary qualifications and other considerations.

For more infomation (including how to order on or offline), and to read free articles, please visit us at P J Publications.

Remember, we rely on you to help keep this publication and its associated websites alive. If you find help you need in this ezine or on our websites, please consider joining our sponsors. For all those who continue to help out in so many ways, thank you for your warmth and caring.

Our next issue is due May 23rd. We hope you and your birds stay safe, well and happy, and we look forward to seeing you all then! 

Robirda
May 9, 2004

Welcome to Robirda's Companion Birds eZine

For breeder or pet bird owners who care.

Hello! Welcome to Flock Talk's 95th issue. Subscribe and unsubscribe information for the email version of this ezine is at the bottom of this webpage.

Table of Contents

Feature Story

Our story this issue is an excerpt from Robirda's latest book, From the Heart of a Bird. This tale continues- and sadly, ends- the story begun in Flock Talk's 50th issue, The Pooperoopsie Affair. At the end of that story, the Strawboss, Spelunky's sister, had died. This tale starts off at that point in time...

by R C McDonald
www.robirda.com
Copyright © 2004

Spelunky shared another 2 ½ years of my life, before leaving me to join her sister. In that time she became greatly accomplished in the ways of training a human to fulfill flock necessities. Bengalese finches are highly sociable (thus their common name of 'society' finch), and she showed no hesitation in demanding the attention she needed and expected from the only remaining member of her flock - me.

She continued to sleep in a small canary nest similar to the one she and her sister had used, but I was expected to 'tuck her in' every night by putting her into it, and stroking her lightly for a few seconds. Without this ritual, she would refuse to go to sleep, standing in the ever- open doorway of her cage, and hollering at the top of her little lungs until I came to her 'rescue'.

Upon awakening, she would bound out of the nest and bounce to the cage door, announcing the new day as loudly as she could. Only after each of the canaries and myself had answered her in some way (even the littlest noise of recognition would do) would she commence to eat her breakfast.

It wasn't long before she had made it plain to me that, while she was willing to continue to spend a fair bit of time 'snoopervising' the canaries, she expected to be with me the rest of the time.

She would occasionally condescend to sit on my shoulder for awhile, so I could have two hands to work with, but her favorite place to be was curled up in the palm of my left hand, with my thumb stroking her back, ears, and chin. Needless to say, after awhile I began to get quite adept at doing all sorts of things one-handed!

I found out the hard way that whenever we had to be away overnight, Spelunky had to come with us. The first time this necessity arose, we left after the bird-room lights were out, and all were asleep, returning as early the next morning as we could. We arrived to find a very worried and very weak little finch, who apparently had not eaten or drunk a drop since awakening, instead spending all of her time hollering for her missing 'flock'. Needless to say, the next time she came along for the trip.

She eventually got to be quite the experienced little traveler, even learning to eat and drink while the car was in motion. We did not expect her to adapt to a new cage - like many finches, Spelunky was notoriously poor at adapting to changes in her environment, and was much happier with a cage whose arrangement and accessories never changed. Luckily, this was true even when the entire rest of the world changed around it.

Her cage was not overly large, so it was easy to fix it into place in the back seat by use of a seatbelt, with the top, sides, and the top third of the front covered, so she could see only directly ahead to us in the front seats, along with a small bit of sky out the car's front window beyond.

A hamster-drinker (the kind with the clear glass tube tip) provided continual access to water, and her seed cup, in it's usual placement, gave her a good place to sit and eat, or 'talk' with us in little beeps and clicks, a frequent occurrence while traveling. She would regularly send us into fits of laughter, in fact, as the tone and timbre of her comments changed depending on the circumstances.

She soon began to recognize the signs that meant we were soon be going traveling again, and appeared to look forward to it with eager interest once she realized that when we arrived at our destination, we would be surrounded by people wanting to admire, stroke, and generally adore her.

She soaked up every little bit of attention she could get, from the safety of my hand, and occasionally would even condescend to move to somebody else's hand and allow them to stroke her for awhile, returning on her own to the safety of my palm when she'd had enough.

Once back in my hand, she would make everybody laugh by poking her head out between my fingers, and loudly demanding yet more petting! As you can guess, it wasn't long before she had firmly captured the hearts of everyone who met her in the process.

As she aged, she began to fly less; I suspect perhaps it may have begun to hurt her to use her wings to fly more than a very short distance. Instead of flying out of the birdroom to come and find me, as had been her previous habit, she would call me to come to her, greeting me with joy and impatience mingled when I arrived. She was always happy to see me, and knew too, when I was upset, and exactly what kind of comfort to offer, and how.

Then one Monday morning in November 2003, everything changed. I had been up before dawn, as usual, working on the computer, and did not notice that Spelunkin's voice did not join in the usual 'morning holler' in the birdroom when the lights came on. It was a little while before I realized that she was being unusually silent, and rushed into the birdroom to find out what was going on.

She was sitting in the door of her cage waiting for me, chilled and listless, too weak to call. How she had managed to get out of her nest, I don't know. Instantly worried, I took her in my hand to warm her, and she snuggled in and began to soak up the warmth. In a short time her body temperature had returned to normal, but she showed no inclination towards normal activity.

There was no apparent illness of any sort, other than her unusual weakness; she had not lost any weight, nor had her eating and drinking habits changed in any way before that morning. I could think of no reason for her to be more chilled than usual, and I suppose perhaps it was simply a result of her aged metabolism coming slowly to a halt.

On being coaxed, she deigned to eat and drink a little, but it was clear that she was doing it only to try to please me. The only thing that had not changed was her enjoyment of being held and stroked- should my thumb cease to caress her, as in my abstraction happened several times, she instantly poked me, and asked me, in the way she knew I would understand, to please continue.

She did not leave the palm of my hand for the rest of that day; not much got done, but everything that did, was done with her in my hand. I alternated stroking and warming her, with trying to convince her to eat or drink, but she gently refused. It was clear that the end would not be long, but, tears rolling down my face, I held her and tried to have hope.

Then, at 1:15 in the afternoon, she suddenly let me know, in the way she had, that she wanted me to stop stroking her for the moment. This was an unusual request, and, startled, I stopped and just held her. She was very weak, and turned her head rather than lifting it, to gaze directly at me - a gaze filled with such love and warmth that it managed to surprise me.

Still looking at me with this incredible gaze, she suddenly and quite simply, just stopped breathing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I buried her in my patch of sweet grass. It seemed appropriate, for it is an ordinary-looking plant with extraordinary properties. She was simply an ordinary-looking little finch, but she brought an extraordinary amount of love into my life, and I like to think it will make a suitable place for her memory to rest.

I missed her terribly, as the days went by, and kept suprising myself with her absence, although really I knew better. It didn't help that at odd moments I would think I heard the buzz of little wings, or a call for attention from the birdroom. I had trouble getting enough sleep, and often found myself suddenly bursting into tears without any warning.

Then one day, exhausted and depressed, I fell asleep on the couch in the middle of the day, and began to dream. It was a comfortable, familiar dream, and I did not realize I was asleep; it seemed as real as the waking world.

Spelunky and I were sitting on the couch, not-watching TV, while she solicited particular scritches and I obliged, pretending to grumble a little about how she ran my life. I was enjoying the feel of her warmth in my hand, and the little tickle of her feathers on my fingers, as she turned her head to allow me to get just the right places, just so. Her feet prickled on my fingers as she shifted position, and I thought to myself how much I had missed holding her.

Then I realized that it was already time - I must go, and would have to go alone. Reluctant to leave, I stood, stroking Spunky's chin, while she danced in protest and made it clear that she wanted to come with me.

"I'd like you to come along too, my little love," I murmered, scritching lightly under her chin, "but you know you can't always come with me all the time, right?"

She continued to protest and settled her weight more firmly in my palm, while I added, my heart aching, "and besides, you know the 'boss must be waiting for you - you don't want to keep her waiting, do you?"

I wanted more than anything to be able to allow her to stay with me, but somehow knew it could not be. Grieving, wanting to be able to offer her a little something more, I suddenly realized that there WAS something I could do, and that was to go part of the way with her.

So as she continued to protest, I scritched her chin and told her that we would go the first part of the way together. Still preoccupied with our exchange, we slowly began to wander down a long dark hallway together.

"I'm going to miss you so badly, my little lovie," I murmured to her as we went, "but you and your sister will wait for me to join you, perhaps?" My palm prickled as her feet shifted to grip my fingers more firmly, and I saw a glimmer of light begin to appear at the far end of the hall.

Realizing that our time together was rapidly drawing to a close, I lifted my hand for one last scritch...

... and woke suddenly, half-sitting, half-lying on the couch. One hand was half-lifted, as if to scritch the chin of a tiny, invisible, bird, while the other lay in my lap, half-cupped, still warm, and with the memory of small feet prickling the fingers still alive in its nerves. I gazed at the clock, startled to see that the time was exactly 1:15 p.m., and then startled myself again when I realized that the instant I awoke had been exactly four weeks, to the day, hour, and minute, of Spelunky's passing.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I still miss my little pal terribly, but now I feel reassured that there is a place for her on the other side of life, and that there will one day be a place for me there too, with her and my other much-missed loved ones, when my turn comes to pass down that dark hallway to the end. She, and all the rest I've loved and lost, are not really gone, but just absent from my side for a while.

And maybe, when all is said and done, that's what it's all about.

See pictures of Spelunky and the Strawboss!
Meet The Pooperoopsies
TagTeamed!

by R C McDonald
www.robirda.com
Copyright © 2004