Dobbsworld
07-10-2005, 01:34
Yesterday, I learned that while I was at work, my beautiful little black-masked lovebird, Secret Agent, who I had hand-raised from a chick, passed away unexpectedly.
An excellent specimen of Agapornis Personata Personata, she was seen by friends and family as a ferocious, even nasty creature - and she certainly may have been to others - but she had a deep wellspring of affection for me. As far as she was concerned, I was her mate. I tried providing her with a little lovebird rooster at one point, but she was uninterested. She had eyes only for me.
She was the firstborn of the first clutch of lovebirds produced by her parents (her mother is still with us, though her egg-laying days are behind her now), in March of 1997. When she was younger, and not so bold, she would ride on my shoulder, hiding under my collar, where it was safe and warm.
I nearly lost her in the summer of 1999, when I was still living in an apartment block - she was riding on my shoulder as per usual, when the low branch of an enormous tree right in front of our building caught her eye. Even though her wings were clipped, she was still able to flap up into the tree. It took the better part of an hour of chasing her from branch to branch to return her safely. Our biggest worry was that she might try flying to another nearby tree, one that would be impossible to climb. In the end, we used a water-hose to soak her feathers so as to make flight an impossibility. In the drenching she took, she lost her footing and plummeted to the ground below, landing with a heart-sickening wet thump. I jumped down to the ground and scooped her up in my shirt, keeping her warm. About fifteen minutes later - back upstairs in the apartment - she voided her bowels on my jean-clad knee, producing half again her own weight in piping hot water (all that she'd swallowed when the hose had been trained on her).
She only rode around on my shoulders indoors after that, but I would make a point of playing with her by the kitchen sink, where she would take baths in my cupped hands under the tap. She would drink fruit juices, but only if they were pure juices (she wouldn't touch juice from concentrate, pop, etc.) and only if it came from my lips. I'd have to hold juice in my mouth to squeeze a few drops out for her to drink. Usually she'd reward me with a bit of preening around my ears, but if she grew cross with me she'd bite my earlobes something fierce.
I tried teaching her to speak, but to no avail. I eventually realized that she (not to mention her mother) understood quite a lot of what I was saying when I'd speak, but they had no interest in mimicry. I, on the other hand, came to be able to mimic them quite well.
I miss her very much and I'm troubled that I couldn't have been there for her when her time came, as well as failing to notice any distress she may have been in prior to her untimely end. My thought is that she may have been eggbound (it was always a challenge getting her to not lay eggs), though I don't intend to take her to the vet's for an autopsy. My plan is to inter her alongside her late father, who passed several years ago, in the front garden.
She will always live on in my thoughts and many fond memories (like the time, while still very young, that she helped herself to a very large and very potent bit of bud on the coffeetable - which at the time sent us into a panic, but caused her no distress at all).
I just wanted to share a little with you here, to say something about my little bird. I try telling myself that she lived more than twice her normal lifespan in my home (her mother's going on three times her normal lifespan), and that they were good years, happy years... but still, there's an undeniably empty space in my heart right now... and I hope to fill it with remembrance.
I'm crap with posting images, but here's (http://animal-world.com/encyclo/birds/lovebirds/images/BlackmaskWBLov_U69.jpg) what she looked like:
I don't think I'll ever raise another bird in this lifetime, 'cause it hurts too much to see them die. But I'll always have time for a feathered friend. I'm always a hit with the critters at my local aviary, what with my large vocabulary of chirps, calls and whistles. But there'll never be another Secret Agent.
An excellent specimen of Agapornis Personata Personata, she was seen by friends and family as a ferocious, even nasty creature - and she certainly may have been to others - but she had a deep wellspring of affection for me. As far as she was concerned, I was her mate. I tried providing her with a little lovebird rooster at one point, but she was uninterested. She had eyes only for me.
She was the firstborn of the first clutch of lovebirds produced by her parents (her mother is still with us, though her egg-laying days are behind her now), in March of 1997. When she was younger, and not so bold, she would ride on my shoulder, hiding under my collar, where it was safe and warm.
I nearly lost her in the summer of 1999, when I was still living in an apartment block - she was riding on my shoulder as per usual, when the low branch of an enormous tree right in front of our building caught her eye. Even though her wings were clipped, she was still able to flap up into the tree. It took the better part of an hour of chasing her from branch to branch to return her safely. Our biggest worry was that she might try flying to another nearby tree, one that would be impossible to climb. In the end, we used a water-hose to soak her feathers so as to make flight an impossibility. In the drenching she took, she lost her footing and plummeted to the ground below, landing with a heart-sickening wet thump. I jumped down to the ground and scooped her up in my shirt, keeping her warm. About fifteen minutes later - back upstairs in the apartment - she voided her bowels on my jean-clad knee, producing half again her own weight in piping hot water (all that she'd swallowed when the hose had been trained on her).
She only rode around on my shoulders indoors after that, but I would make a point of playing with her by the kitchen sink, where she would take baths in my cupped hands under the tap. She would drink fruit juices, but only if they were pure juices (she wouldn't touch juice from concentrate, pop, etc.) and only if it came from my lips. I'd have to hold juice in my mouth to squeeze a few drops out for her to drink. Usually she'd reward me with a bit of preening around my ears, but if she grew cross with me she'd bite my earlobes something fierce.
I tried teaching her to speak, but to no avail. I eventually realized that she (not to mention her mother) understood quite a lot of what I was saying when I'd speak, but they had no interest in mimicry. I, on the other hand, came to be able to mimic them quite well.
I miss her very much and I'm troubled that I couldn't have been there for her when her time came, as well as failing to notice any distress she may have been in prior to her untimely end. My thought is that she may have been eggbound (it was always a challenge getting her to not lay eggs), though I don't intend to take her to the vet's for an autopsy. My plan is to inter her alongside her late father, who passed several years ago, in the front garden.
She will always live on in my thoughts and many fond memories (like the time, while still very young, that she helped herself to a very large and very potent bit of bud on the coffeetable - which at the time sent us into a panic, but caused her no distress at all).
I just wanted to share a little with you here, to say something about my little bird. I try telling myself that she lived more than twice her normal lifespan in my home (her mother's going on three times her normal lifespan), and that they were good years, happy years... but still, there's an undeniably empty space in my heart right now... and I hope to fill it with remembrance.
I'm crap with posting images, but here's (http://animal-world.com/encyclo/birds/lovebirds/images/BlackmaskWBLov_U69.jpg) what she looked like:
I don't think I'll ever raise another bird in this lifetime, 'cause it hurts too much to see them die. But I'll always have time for a feathered friend. I'm always a hit with the critters at my local aviary, what with my large vocabulary of chirps, calls and whistles. But there'll never be another Secret Agent.