In a flurry

A flurry of an avian nature has settled in our home. But, the words “flurry” and “settled” seem contradictory. My finch, Pip, is anything but drab gray in movement. Oh, she sports a pale gray plumage, but she is certainly not dull by nature. I have always attributed the color gray with winter skies…and I do not care for winter. This serves as the only reason I need for my personal view of the inherent negative I see in that shade that’s not quite black and not yet white. Except for Pip. She extols the virtue of gray by setting it off with her bright orange beak.

Back to the flurry in the room. Tiny birds are capable of making quite a bit of noise. Pip flits back and forth from perch to cage floor and into her nest, something she repeats dozens of times a day. She sends the message, “See, I can fly!” Well, sort of. It isn’t really flying by the strictest definition. Not when she’s “flying” within the confines of her cage. My son has been known to say that birds are creatures of flight only to be caged and managed inside the bars. Sigh. Still, I enjoy this little marvel with wings. She squawks each morning and afternoon and then runs on mute mode for the remainder of the day. So, to sum it up, gray can be pleasing to the eye when it is backed with lots of energy. A welcome flurry.

Pip has a new neighbor in the form of the parakeet I just added to our family. Daisy (I can’t be certain it’s a girl, but I don’t care, a male parakeet can’t be offended…it can’t…parakeets aren’t thin-skinned) is a beautiful bird.  Among the 15 or so parakeets I spied in Petco, she was the only one with a combination of very pale blue & very pale yellow plumage.  Lovely.  Daisy is a bit skittish still but she is entertaing as she grabs her mirror with her beak to spin it.  She examines her beauty in her mirror on a daily basis.  And, best of all, her chirp is loud and clear, which translates: healthy.  Welcome Daisy.

Pip is gone.  She left us a few months ago.  When I did not hear any sounds coming from her cage, I suspected bad news.  I was right.  I checked her small bamboo nest and I found her still body.  Her eyes were closed and she was still warm.  What a sweet bird.  These days we speak of Pip in glowing terms. We miss her squawk and her flutter.  During the nearly three years she was with us, she laid a total of seven eggs.  Finches don’t care to be handled, we admired her on her own terms.   We miss you Pip.

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