(no subject)
A Bird Called Loneliness
I found a parakeet in the driveway yesterday. It was small and blue, and it hopped away from my grasp the first time I reached for it. The second time it bit my thumb as my hand closed around it, but the bite was half-hearted and it did not try to escape.
I wondered how long it had been out in the cold. It was, obviously, an indoor bird. The past few nights we'd had near freezing temperatures. When I reached for it I knew that if I did not catch it -- if it flew away -- if I let go when it bit me and it got away -- that it would die.
I brought it indoors and set it on the kitchen table, wondering what to do with it. It flew *smack* into the sliding glass door. I picked the bird up and stroked its feathers for a while then set it walk around on the floor by the window. It hopped onto my slipper and climbed claw over claw, beakful by beakful up the fabric of my pants, onto my waiting hand once it reached the knee. ( I felt very sorry for it. The climb was slow; it had an injured claw.) From there, it scurried up my arm and onto my shoulder, like some miniature parrot from a pirate movie.
I snatched it from my shoulder and set it on the table again. It did not like this! No sooner than I had set it down, the bird took off, flying straight towards my face, and perched itself between my shoulder blades. Again, I grabbed it off my back and put it on the table. What am I going to do with you?
It paced around the table, looking at me intently.
Stay. Stay, I thought, controlling it with my thought waves.
As soon as I was satisfied that it would not come at me again, I turned toward the kitchen sink with the intent of getting it some water in a tiny dish. As I walked with my back turned, I heard the loud beating flurry of wings and thought - Crap! - as it landed, again, between my shoulder blades.
Again, again, I plucked it from my back. I gave it some water and fed it some bread. Eventually, it chose to perch on a high shelf to take a nap. I watched as it was sleeping. It had the look of a pet parakeet that I'd negligently killed when I was 12. I couldn't keep it. I just wasn't that responsible. Plus, I had no cage, nowhere to keep it. I couldn't even find a box to place it in temporarily.
When it woke up, the bird watched me quietly from his high perch. What do I do with you? Gently, I pulled it down and held it firmly in my hand. Its tiny claws grasped around my fingers. What am I going to do? What am I going to do? I found a box, put the bird in, taped it shut and took it to PetCo. They would be much better able to take care of it, I thought. When I got home, I regretted my decision, but by then they had closed for the day.
I had fun that afternoon with my parakeet friend and for a while I forgot the loneliness that had lately been consuming me.
I had prayed to God for companionship. God gave me a bird. And I gave it away.
And I wonder now if that's the way I treat all my relationships? It's like, "Ha, ha, ha! I really like you too!!! But deep down I feel as though I don't have much to offer... So why don't you go meet/ hang out with/ talk to somebody else?"
I called PetCo when they opened at 9am, but the person I spoke to didn't know anything about the bird. By the time I called again, at 2pm, someone had already taken it.
I am absolutely heartbroken. I am devastated!
I found a parakeet in the driveway yesterday. It was small and blue, and it hopped away from my grasp the first time I reached for it. The second time it bit my thumb as my hand closed around it, but the bite was half-hearted and it did not try to escape.
I wondered how long it had been out in the cold. It was, obviously, an indoor bird. The past few nights we'd had near freezing temperatures. When I reached for it I knew that if I did not catch it -- if it flew away -- if I let go when it bit me and it got away -- that it would die.
I brought it indoors and set it on the kitchen table, wondering what to do with it. It flew *smack* into the sliding glass door. I picked the bird up and stroked its feathers for a while then set it walk around on the floor by the window. It hopped onto my slipper and climbed claw over claw, beakful by beakful up the fabric of my pants, onto my waiting hand once it reached the knee. ( I felt very sorry for it. The climb was slow; it had an injured claw.) From there, it scurried up my arm and onto my shoulder, like some miniature parrot from a pirate movie.
I snatched it from my shoulder and set it on the table again. It did not like this! No sooner than I had set it down, the bird took off, flying straight towards my face, and perched itself between my shoulder blades. Again, I grabbed it off my back and put it on the table. What am I going to do with you?
It paced around the table, looking at me intently.
Stay. Stay, I thought, controlling it with my thought waves.
As soon as I was satisfied that it would not come at me again, I turned toward the kitchen sink with the intent of getting it some water in a tiny dish. As I walked with my back turned, I heard the loud beating flurry of wings and thought - Crap! - as it landed, again, between my shoulder blades.
Again, again, I plucked it from my back. I gave it some water and fed it some bread. Eventually, it chose to perch on a high shelf to take a nap. I watched as it was sleeping. It had the look of a pet parakeet that I'd negligently killed when I was 12. I couldn't keep it. I just wasn't that responsible. Plus, I had no cage, nowhere to keep it. I couldn't even find a box to place it in temporarily.
When it woke up, the bird watched me quietly from his high perch. What do I do with you? Gently, I pulled it down and held it firmly in my hand. Its tiny claws grasped around my fingers. What am I going to do? What am I going to do? I found a box, put the bird in, taped it shut and took it to PetCo. They would be much better able to take care of it, I thought. When I got home, I regretted my decision, but by then they had closed for the day.
I had fun that afternoon with my parakeet friend and for a while I forgot the loneliness that had lately been consuming me.
I had prayed to God for companionship. God gave me a bird. And I gave it away.
And I wonder now if that's the way I treat all my relationships? It's like, "Ha, ha, ha! I really like you too!!! But deep down I feel as though I don't have much to offer... So why don't you go meet/ hang out with/ talk to somebody else?"
I called PetCo when they opened at 9am, but the person I spoke to didn't know anything about the bird. By the time I called again, at 2pm, someone had already taken it.
I am absolutely heartbroken. I am devastated!