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whatever happens

April 2017

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whatever happens

I haven't been online for two days because my parrot, Sneaky Pete, got sick. And died.

I'm going to tell you a little about him, because he was so special to me.

With all the animals I have, and have had, Pete is the only one to whom I actually instantly bonded. When Randi brought him here, it was supposed to be just for the night. The people who'd had him before had neglected him to the point of abuse, locking him away in closed rooms and in a garage. She had found another home for him, with a coworker in Dallas, but she was concerned, because Pete was timid and the person who wanted him had teenaged kids.

I carried the cage in from the car while she brought the other stuff, and when I uncovered him and looked at him, we bonded. Just like that. I started to sob. Randi was, like, "What's with you?" and I said, "This is the saddest bird I've ever seen."

We went out to feed the horses, and I was still crying. I cried for 40 minutes straight. Finally Randi said, "Well, why don't you just keep him, then?"

That was more radical than you know, because I was never a bird person. Randi was. She'd had birds most of her life, and loved them. I hadn't, and didn't even like them much. But Pete had me by the heart. I couldn't possibly let him go anywhere else.

I hated his cage. It was so small. So the next morning, first thing, we drive almost two hours, round trip, to get him a good cage. When we got it home - this is not much more than 12 hours after we got him - Randi said that we would need to catch him, pinning his wings, to transfer him. She was worried, because he was already freaked out and frightened. I said, "No, he'll get on my arm." But she insisted, and tried it. He wouldn't let her near him. So I stuck my arm in the cage, and he stepped right onto it and let me carry him, calmly, to the new cage.

No exaggeration. He was mine, and I was his. I could scratch his neck that first day - he wouldn't let Randi do it for four years, even though he saw her every day and she always shared her meals with him.

I'm sure all of you know what I'm feeling now, as if a part of me, somewhere on the left side, was torn away. I know he's in the Big Sky now, probably with Chipster and Vitae, all of them flying, and he's in good health, with all his toes and with all of them having properly curved toenails. I worried about who was going to take care of him when I died, since parrots usually live a long time. He wasn't supposed to die after only a few years with me. I was supposed to have him when I retired. I've screamed/cried that a lot today.

What killed him was apparently kidney failure. He was so tough, and clung so tenaciously to life, that the vet had to give him two shots before his little heart stopped beating.

He was my boy. I just can't stand it.

I'm too upset to be sociable or talk to anyone or do anything except mindless physical labor right now. I'm sorry if I'm neglecting you all, but I know you'll understand.


I wish that I could say something to comfort you, but I don't think that's possible, so I won't. What I can tell you is that I understand what it's like to bond with a child or an animal from the minute you lay eyes on them, to worry about what might happen to them if you die before them, and to fear that if they die before you, the pain is going to be unbearable. I may not be able to do anything to comfort you, but I deeply empathize. I do. *hugs*
Sorry to hear about Sneaky Pete.

It doesn't seem right, does it? I know we're not supposed to care about animals the same way we care about people; I got upset when I talked about putting down a client's dog because it was the right thing to do - and I knew this dog for about a day.
*HUGSHUGSHUGS* I'm sorry to hear it. I'm not a bird person either, but I can totally understand that sometimes you meet an animal and it's just the right one and you bond and it doesn't matter what the animal is or what it looks like or anything. I don't know if you believe in reincarnation or not, but if you do, I'm sure he'll somehow find you again. *MOREHUGS*
I'm so sorry - what an awful, awful day.
I'm so sorry Kat. *hugs*
I'm sorry. *hug*

I'm glad you shared his story with us, though. Now we can think of him with fondness if only as an extension of you.
Too sad. :( I'm so sorry for your loss, Kat.

I can definitely feel where you're coming from. My geckos that I had - they were supposed to live a really long time, too. Somewhere I read that they could live until 40, even! So when I lost my little rescue guy (similar situation to how you got Pete), I was heartbroken, and then when my little Ickabod died, whom I'd raised from a baby, I was downright devastated!

People can always sympathize with the loss of a pet when its a dog or cat, but some find it hard when its the more unusual animals like birds or reptiles. I definitely feel your pain, here. It doesn't help, but... I do.

*hugs* :(
*HUGS* I'm so sorry, Kat. It's so hard to manage when you lose an animal who has become unquestionably a part of you. That special animal that you know is yours and no one elses.

If there is anything I could say or do to help, I would, but just know I'm thinking about you. :-(
Oh, my God...

There is nothing to say that will make the pain easier to bear. But know at least that we care about you as mourn.

OOOHHH. Dragon. Oh, it hurts right from here.

Just reading your beautiful tribute to him got me all choked up and feeling as if I somehow knew him.

Renal failure. What a BITCH. It is what took Nuli, my soulmate, from me, too, after only three years. There is no rhyme or reason. Kidneys just fail for no apparent reason. It is too cruel.

You gave him the greatest gift any soulmate/love can give someone at that last moment on the one plane: you were with him, holding him. He knew he was safe. So safe he didn't want to leave, little sweet boy. How lucky he was to have found you before he had to go on to his new place.

But you know what we both know: souls so strongly united in one life are never permanently apart. You will be together again in more worlds. It's only a matter of time.

love and many hugs and tears,

I wish that I could reach through my monitor and give you a gigantic cuddle. I really am so, so sorry, Kat. Just remember that Pete was lucky to have such a gentle, caring, and loving owner. You gave him a second chance in life.