My favorite little birdie, Hyacinth, passed away after much effort by the vet to save him.
I acquired him (along with three others) Labor Day weekend 2000 from a neighbor who was preparing to take them to the animal rescue league. By chance, I was weeding in the front yard. He offered them to me and I hesitatingly agreed. Divine intervention, perhaps? After a few days I noticed the four had paired off. I decided to keep two and gave the other two to a young woman who had just lost her pet bird. She was leaving the animal rescue league just as I was about to enter. Again, divine intervetion?
I named my two Hyacinth and Daisy after the characters on “Keeping Up Appearances.” Hyacinth was brilliant blue and Daisy yellow-green. However, I soon learned the birds’ personalities did not resemble the television characters. Hyacinth was like Richard, the long-suffering husband of Hyacinth, while Daisy was controlling and could be mean. There were several occasions when I found wounds on Hyacinth’s head that could only have come from Daisy. Still, they were affectionate to each other and often kissed while making little cooing/gurgling noises.
Hyacinth had a slightly deformed foot; it was unclear whether from birth or an injury. But as a result, he would occasionally fall off his perch. I think that endeared him to me even more. The vet was sympathetic and provided a colorful elastic bandage to wrap his favorite perch. Hyacinth especially loved “millet time” two mornings a week when they received their treat. He also loved parsley and playing with a ferris wheel toy. When he wasn’t singing or playing, he often stared at an oil painting of bunnies hanging nearby. Each evening, Hyacinth responded with a soft chirp when I bid goodnight and turned out the light.
Hyacinth stopped singing in August 2004. Numerous tests, including an ultrasound, revealed nothing wrong. I observed Daisy bullying him to the point of preventing him from eating. I found him eating scraps of food on the floor of the cage in desperation, but didn’t realize why. When the vet weighed him, he had dropped from 43 grams to 30. Eventually he dropped to 27.
I miss his cheerful personality and melodic singing each morning (but not too early), and when I returned home from work (even if late). He would also sing whenever the kitchen faucet was turned on. He was very sweet and good-natured, yet dignified to the end.
In the late stages of his illness, he was in a homemade incubator in another room. He looked so lonely that I moved the oil painting so he could see. He quietly and stoically stared at his bunny friends. I knew they gave him comfort.
Hyacinth died the night of November 5, curled up in a corner of his “hospital room” in the middle of a nest of soft cotton. I believe he was in severe pain since his eyes were mostly open. Earlier that evening I checked on him and he was sitting on the edge of the cotton, with his face buried between the nest and his water dish. He did not go to the nest until it was time to die. Outdoors, the weather raged furiously. It seemed all the leaves fell from the trees that night, and the wind chimes outside his window rang nonstop. When that tiny heart that seemed to beat a thousand times a minute finally stopped, I hoped one of those chimes was little Hyacinth receiving his angel wings.
According to the vet, his autopsy revealed a “huge” tumor on his kidney, so large it crowded out other organs, and to the point there was almost no kidney left. I subsequently learned on an avian vet’s web page that parakeets get cancer more than any other domestic animal, and it is most common in males.
All his short life, other birds pestered him (the two birds I gave away were also more aggressive). I guess that’s what happens for being gentle. At least he’s no longer suffering. Daisy will probably live forever. The vet said it’s almost always the sweet ones that die first.
The photo in the gallery was taken ten days before he died. The pink around his face is antibiotics. He hated taking it, and would determinedly bury his face in Aunt Marianne’s potholder to avoid it.
I will miss you always,
| Hyacinth |
| 2004 |
| Jean Krueger |