How it all started...

One day, several years ago, I decided I wanted a pet. I grew up in the country, and I always had a dog outside and some little fuzzy creature inside. One problem: I was living in an apartment, and I didn't want a noisy pet that might get me evicted!

I decided, after much deliberation, on a dwarf rabbit. I had owned several in the past, and I knew they could be litter-trainied, were generally cuddly, and didn't bark! :) So off I went to the local seedy pet store, in search of a bunny.

I walked in to the pet store, and was greeted by a gravelly screech as I walked past a small aquarium. Inside the aquarium were three cockatiels. The screech was coming from a little grey bird, who was missing all the feathers on his head. While I watched, one of the other cockatiels stepped on the little grey bird, pecking him in passing. I walked past the aquarium, and the little bird followed me on the inside of the glass, crying the whole time.

Determined to get a bunny, I went to the back of the store and started playing with the several dwarf rabbits there. The whole time, I kept hearing that gravelly little cry. Several times, I returned to the aquarium, to find the bird looking at me and crying. I finally asked the pet store owner what was wrong with the little guy.

"Oh, he's just hungry," was the reply.

"Why don't you feed him then?" I asked.

"He gets fed when the store closes."

The store closed at 6:00 pm, and it was approximately 2:00 pm. I walked away, came back, walked away again, then went up to the front counter and asked him how much he wanted for the bird. He showed me how to handfeed the bird, telling me it only needed to be fed twice daily. I asked how old the bird was, and was told he was about eight weeks old. I bought the bird, and a play stand, and a can of handfeeding formula, and went home.

Next on the list was a cage. I bought a cockatiel starter kit, and set it up. The bird had other ideas. I had rescued him, and he wasn't going to let me out of his sight. Still calling him "Bird," I let him sleep on my shoulder until about 6:00 pm, when the gravelly little cry started again. I was quite surprised, since the bird only needed two feedings daily, but I fed him anyway, much to his joy.

The following day, I took my little fellow to an avian vet recommended by several of the pet hospitals in town. There I found out that my "eight week old" bird was more along the lines of three or four weeks old. My two feedings daily became a feeding every three to four hours. At the time, I lived about twenty minutes (by car) from my work, so I spent every lunch hour for the next two weeks driving home to feed my new pet. Also, my little guy had psittacosis, and required twice-daily IM shots for two weeks, and oral drops for about a month.

A friend and co-worker suggested the name "Chardonnay" as a joke, since my career involves visiting wineries. The name stuck, and the only two things Chardonnay ever learned to say were, "Chardonnay" and "pretty bird."

Chardonnay was bonded to me, and would be miserable when I put him in his cage. He would ride on my shoulder, unclipped, when I walked around outside. (Hey, I was stupid and didn't know any better.) But I felt terrible that he was home alone all day, especially since I am a bit of a workaholic, and tend to go into work on weekends and evenings.

It was about this time that my aunt told me about a little bird named "Stubby," who had lost a few claws to frostbite, and who needed a good home. "Stubby" came home and was re-named

Meanwhile, Merlot had decided that she actually liked Chardonnay. For about three days, she contact called without a pause, even when I held her. In desperation, and probably because I was so stressed by my own sorrow at losing Chardonnay, I walked to Woolworth, which has a pet department. From a cage of about six cockatiels, I picked the only pied and bought him. I didn't like him. I didn't care about him. I just wanted Merlot to stop crying. The other birds in the cage were grey, like Chardonnay, and I couldn't stand the thought of replacing him with a look-alike bird.

I dumped the new bird (to be named Chablis) into Merlot's cage, and for the next several days they sat on opposite ends of the cage and stared at each other. Chablis was terrified of me, and Merlot was terrified of Chablis. Terror was replaced by irritation, and they started to bicker constantly. Nothing violent, but lots of feigning and hissing.

Then, one day, I came home from work and heard an odd noise. There were Merlot and Chablis...IN THE ACT! Since that day, they have been inseparable. They eat together, preen together, and sleep next to each other.

Several years, and over twenty baby cockatiels later, I still have Chablis. We have learned from each other, and my eyes have been opened to just how much personality these little creatures have. I mourn Chardonnay, more deeply because I blame myself for his untimely demise (when I'm not telling myself that someone found him and he is living a life of luxury). I have promised Merlot and Chablis that I will be their only owner, and that I will make their lives as comfortable and happy as possible. I feel responsible for each life my birds bring into the world, and I pick prospective parents of my babies carefully. I don't want someone as ignorant as I was when Chardonnay graced my life taking possession of my "grandchildren."

Since that time, I have adopted two other birds: Chenin, the little broken-footed cockatiel, and Froggy, my beakless YCM. I have also brought Kenya, a CAG, into my life. He is one of the few members of my extended family who isn't a hard-luck story!

To make my flock complete, I have kept two of last year's babies: Beaujolais (formerly "Middle Bird") and Fume (formerly "HRH").

Now, with seven feathered friends to greet me when I come home, I think back on all the Fuji's, and on that scared little cockatiel my sister owned, and I wish I had known then what I know now. I want to right the wrongs done to these birds through ignorance. Since I know I can't do that, I try to comfort myself with the knowledge that none of *my* birds will ever be mistreated, intentionally or accidentally. They will live out their spoiled little lives as long as I am alive, at least, and they won't ever know what it is to be malnourished or bored or abused. I can't change the world, but me and my birds can fluff up in our little corner of it. :)

Return to my home page

Sign the guestbook

View the guest book

Last revised 5/22/97