One for the Birds

Meet Bundles.  This is my bird.   He is just shy of 20 years old and has single-handedly,  outlasted every other pet I took care of as a kid.  This includes a guinea Pig, a frog, a betta, a labrador, and a tank full of random fish.  This blog is dedicated to him since I believe he is at the root of my bird fascination.

   

Since I was young, I've always loved birds. Bundles became mine when I was 7 and a half.  Our family  had taken care of my aunt's bird who could whistle the Andy Griffith theme song and after my tragic attempt to care for a hamster, I believed a Cockatiel would be the perfect pet.  My parents agreed and sadly, they had no idea what they had gotten themselves into.  Bundles is only in love with me.  He is mean to all others and will only "tolerate" my parents, husband and best friend.  He is happiest with me and his longevity has given everyone a run for their money. 

 

But, Bundles was my best friend when life was at its toughest.  Like all good pets, he could sense my fears, disappointments, and joys.  I used to love watching him stretch his long gray wings and dip his face into his water bowl for a drink.  However fun it was watching Bundles wipe extra water from his face, I loved watching him sleep.   When birds are truly sleeping, they are found on one foot, with their head turned back and tucked beneath a wing.  Once, I sat on my bed, drawing and he fell asleep on my knee.  Standing on one foot and fluffed up like a gray dollop of meringue, I watched Bundles breathe slowly and I fell even more in love with birds.

I love their wings and eager, dark eyes.  Everything about their sleek feathered bodies and dinosaur feet fascinates me. As a teenager, I had a picture of a Barn Owl on my wall and I would pester my Dad to tell me about his pet owl Oliver he cared for as a boy.  I loved the Tracy Aviary and soon fell in love with the Bird Refuge. 

Bird songs have been so comforting to me while also making me homesick for New Zealand.  In Hamilton, I remember waking up to the billions of birds singing outside my window and feeling the heaviness of winter lift from my shoulders.  Heck, one of my favorite singers is Andrew Bird and he must have a like fascination.  He whistles in his music, accompanying himself with a tender violin, and often his melodies remind me of bird songs.  (Ethiobirds is his best work)

But, down deep somewhere, I'm really jealous of any animal that is capable of flying.  Light as hollow glass, birds can slide through air and land in the tops of narrow branches we "earth-bound" would shudder to step foot on.  It must be such a feeling to soar so high and so far.  Maybe that is why I always loved singing.  It was the closest I could ever come to flying.  

 

I have fallen in love recently.  John and I have begun to collect a little gathering of fish at our house and have become frequent Petco shoppers.  About a month ago, while getting fish food, I met a little bird named Sherburt.  He is a White Bellied Caique with a ridiculous price tag (thanks to Petco).  I've visited with him often lately.  He rolls on his back, sticks his feathered talons in the air and acts like a true ham.  

With the "No Pet" rules established at our apartment, I really miss Bundles these days. But he is safely nestled in with my parents instead of being in the corner of my room, squawking at me to let him curl up on my pillow.  I still remember in New Zealand, when I missed Bundles, I would go down to the local park where there was a huge cage, 8 feet high, and full of Cockatiels.  It still seems impossible to write about, but I feel like that crazy, moody, little bird was a little gift from God to me.