Pierre
This is not Pierre. Too fast to photograph.
Kristen and Rudy went home to San Diego for the weekend. While staying at my mom's house, they did the usual Mom's house things: eat junk food, nap on the couch, play with the animals. It's down to just a bird and a cat or two nowadays, our zoo from years past has slowly dwindled and hamsters, rabbits, dogs, and mice no longer roam the halls.
Pierre is the snarky little bird that sits in the corner of the living room, shrilly interacting with the occupants and making her voice heard if her blanket hasn't been placed over her cage at night or her sunflower seeds are running low. (Yes, Pierre is a girl- didn't know that til she started pushing out eggs)
Kristen approached the cage, whether to rattle it or say hello I'm not sure. (We all have a love-hate relationship with the little beaked beast; my feelings tend more towards the latter when she lands on my head and threatens to bite my ear).
"Hey Mom, what's wrong with Pierre?"
"She's been like that for a couple of days, but she's getting better!"
"But she's hopping around on one leg. She's all gimpy."
Being as smart as a bird can be, Pierre hopped around, demonstrating the uselessness of her atrophied limb. Whereas others of us (me) see this as a clear sign that Pierre has reached the end of her little feathered life, bound for the great birdfeeder in the sky if she doesn't get better, others of us (Kristen) see this as a situation that needs to be fixed. Kristen gathered Pierre up and put her in a cat carrier to take her to the vet.
"Our specialist isn't in on Fridays. I'm sorry, but you'll have to come back on Monday. But I am pretty sure it's not broken. Most likely it's a tumor on the kidney disrupting flow to the limb." The non-specialist vet offered an apologetic handshake and ushered Kristen, Rudy, and gimpy Pierre who was locked in a cat carrier, out the door.
"See you Monday."
If only he had known.
Kristen's friend Katie arrived shortly after the trio arrived back at home. After a bit of catching up, Katie peered into the cat carrier.
"Um, is your bird OK?"
Kristen proceeded to tell of the recent trip to the vet, the prognosis, the scheduled return visit.
"So yah, I mean, she's not OK, but she's OK."
"Um, are you sure?"
Kristen once again explained that she didn't really know how long Pierre would make it, but hopefully the specialist could offer an insight.
"Yah, I mean, she's fine."
"Are you sure?"
Kristen walked over to the cage.
Blood was splattered on every surface of the cage, and there, on the cat carrier floor, was Pierre's leg.
Not attached to Pierre.
The little guy chewed off his own limb.
Once again Kristen placed the cat carrier in the car, a little more hurriedly this time, and off to the animal hospital they went.
"Birds do that when they are in pain. If it annoys them, they peck at it. She just pecked a wee bit too much." The tech at the animal emergency room couldn't offer much comfort. She was on her way out. Kristen returned home, cleaned out the cat carrier, sat on the couch with my mom and reminisced about Pierre's 11 years of screeching in the corner. The chewed up pictures on the fridge, the occasional present from aloft, the number of narrow escapes from the cats or the oscillating fan. Pierre was as good as a pet bird could be, I guess. One legged or two.
I wonder if she has both legs as she nips on sunflower seeds and lays eggs in newspaper in the birdy beyond...
*Most of this story is speculation. I was not there, but Kristen was. I may have added to or left out bits she related to me. Ask her to tell the story, it's actually side splittingly hilarious in person.
Kristen and Rudy went home to San Diego for the weekend. While staying at my mom's house, they did the usual Mom's house things: eat junk food, nap on the couch, play with the animals. It's down to just a bird and a cat or two nowadays, our zoo from years past has slowly dwindled and hamsters, rabbits, dogs, and mice no longer roam the halls.
Pierre is the snarky little bird that sits in the corner of the living room, shrilly interacting with the occupants and making her voice heard if her blanket hasn't been placed over her cage at night or her sunflower seeds are running low. (Yes, Pierre is a girl- didn't know that til she started pushing out eggs)
Kristen approached the cage, whether to rattle it or say hello I'm not sure. (We all have a love-hate relationship with the little beaked beast; my feelings tend more towards the latter when she lands on my head and threatens to bite my ear).
"Hey Mom, what's wrong with Pierre?"
"She's been like that for a couple of days, but she's getting better!"
"But she's hopping around on one leg. She's all gimpy."
Being as smart as a bird can be, Pierre hopped around, demonstrating the uselessness of her atrophied limb. Whereas others of us (me) see this as a clear sign that Pierre has reached the end of her little feathered life, bound for the great birdfeeder in the sky if she doesn't get better, others of us (Kristen) see this as a situation that needs to be fixed. Kristen gathered Pierre up and put her in a cat carrier to take her to the vet.
"Our specialist isn't in on Fridays. I'm sorry, but you'll have to come back on Monday. But I am pretty sure it's not broken. Most likely it's a tumor on the kidney disrupting flow to the limb." The non-specialist vet offered an apologetic handshake and ushered Kristen, Rudy, and gimpy Pierre who was locked in a cat carrier, out the door.
"See you Monday."
If only he had known.
Kristen's friend Katie arrived shortly after the trio arrived back at home. After a bit of catching up, Katie peered into the cat carrier.
"Um, is your bird OK?"
Kristen proceeded to tell of the recent trip to the vet, the prognosis, the scheduled return visit.
"So yah, I mean, she's not OK, but she's OK."
"Um, are you sure?"
Kristen once again explained that she didn't really know how long Pierre would make it, but hopefully the specialist could offer an insight.
"Yah, I mean, she's fine."
"Are you sure?"
Kristen walked over to the cage.
Blood was splattered on every surface of the cage, and there, on the cat carrier floor, was Pierre's leg.
Not attached to Pierre.
The little guy chewed off his own limb.
Once again Kristen placed the cat carrier in the car, a little more hurriedly this time, and off to the animal hospital they went.
"Birds do that when they are in pain. If it annoys them, they peck at it. She just pecked a wee bit too much." The tech at the animal emergency room couldn't offer much comfort. She was on her way out. Kristen returned home, cleaned out the cat carrier, sat on the couch with my mom and reminisced about Pierre's 11 years of screeching in the corner. The chewed up pictures on the fridge, the occasional present from aloft, the number of narrow escapes from the cats or the oscillating fan. Pierre was as good as a pet bird could be, I guess. One legged or two.
I wonder if she has both legs as she nips on sunflower seeds and lays eggs in newspaper in the birdy beyond...
*Most of this story is speculation. I was not there, but Kristen was. I may have added to or left out bits she related to me. Ask her to tell the story, it's actually side splittingly hilarious in person.
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