When the twins were four I came home from the grocery store some Sunday afternoon to a bird cage. It wasn't a new cage. It was from the junk yard. The birds were new. Petey was green and Sweetie yellow. Southerners rhyme everything.
"Oh, Mommie! Look what daddy bought us. Birds! Aren't they cute? Petey is Hayley's and Sweetie is mines. Do you like birds Mommie? We can get another one for you or I know! They can have babies! Daddy made sure one is a girl and one is a boy." I look over at Chase. "Nice birds. Who's gonna clean the cage?"
Never been a big fan of birds because they have swooped me for years on my running loop during nesting season, with serious intent to maim. As a teenager I house sat for a family that let the bird fly loose in the house. It was disgusting. And what about the expression 'free as a bird'? Hello? But Chase found an empty cage and needed to fill it.
Birds, turtles, rabbits, guinea pigs, dogs, cats, my mother down the street. What the hell. Come on in and join the party.
Two years into the birds Sweetie flew the coop via the back patio. I didn't see the escape. Grateful for small favors though the birds never reproduced and so we only had one bird left.
One afternoon while doing chores I glance at Petey and it is obvious he has an issue. A closer look reveals his foot is drooping a bit. Nothing horrible and he is eating out of his bin like normal. Hmmmmm. I have always heard that if an animal is eating he is not sick. I make a mental note to keep an eye on him. All is the same. He is eating with a droopy foot. I ask Chase what is wrong with the bird. He says "Aw, nothin he is fine."
The following week I pass the bird and notice the dangling foot now has an open wound. I call Chase at work. "Hey what is up with the bird's foot? It looks worse than before. It is bleeding some. He needs to go to the vet." His response is typical. "Oh relax, he hurt his foot but he is fine."
The next day after putting antibiotic on the birds foot I see he is licking it. The bleeding stopped but it is still droopy and looks worse. I call Chase. "OK you gotta deal with this. What is wrong with the bird? You need to take him to the vet." Again no concern. "The bird hurt his foot on the cage door. It doesn't look so good but you're over reacting. He is fine."
Twenty four hours later I race to the vet with the bird because I realize in horror, he is not cleaning his wound. He is eating his own foot!
The twins are sniffling with concern as I balance the baby on my hip and set the cage on the counter. The handsome vet walks in the room. He softly picks up the bird. He swiftly cleans the area and gives the bird medicine. He makes a little splint and matching cone for his neck so he can't reach his injury.
The girls watch in suspended quiet as he does everything possible to help the bird. Then he clips the nails. Poor bird has a heart attack and goes belly up. Without going into details of the cpr, may Petey rest in peace.
OK two things here. One, I don't ever want to be in a cage with Chase taking care of me. Two, appetite or not it doesn't matter what the situation is, if you are eating your own foot you ain't "fine" !
