- Dec 18, 2013
- 22,301
- 4,216
- Parrots
- Maya (Female Solomon Island eclectus parrot), Jolly (Male Solomon Island eclectus parrot), Bixby (Male, red-sided eclectus. RIP), Suzie (Male cockatiel. RIP)
My Bixby lost his battle with an apparent congenital defect at 10:20 PM, last night. I'm devastated. My wife is in tears. And my older son, Aidan, (he'll be seven in three days) was inconsolable.
Bixby was born sometime around the end of July, 2013. We met him around a month later and visited him at the bird store until he was weaned and we took him home near the end of November. The week of Thanksgiving.
We had much for which to be thankful.
Bixby was the first bird I'd allowed myself to get since the loss of my beloved cockatiel, Suzie, two years prior. (I'd lost Suzie to Kidney cancer after 18 years, and it had taken 2 years to get to the point where I could even think of getting another bird.)
We met Bixby in August, 2013, and it was love at first sight. Even now, knowing what I've now learned about his genetic make-up, I don't regret my choice for a second. (For those of you who have followed threads of mine in the past where I've mentioned his "pretty boy" brother, Sir Chomps, I've recently - as in yesterday - learned that he is very sick as well. With tragically, and suspiciously, similar symptoms to Bixby's... and he too has been fighting it for months, now.)
By the time we took him home in November, he was already a part of our family. We began his flight training almost immediately, and watching him discover his love for flying filled us all with such joy.
Bixby was a character. He was such a sweet and loving bird, coming to shatter the stereotype of the aloof eclectus and becoming something of a cuddlebug. He enjoyed laughing for the inevitable effect it had on us. He would laugh. We would laugh. He would laugh some more. We would crack up. It was a delightfully self-perpetuating cycle.
I also loved his swag. Yeah, I said it. Swag. Bixby had major swag. You especially saw it in the cocky little tail flourish he would do whenever he pulled off a particularly tricky flight maneuver. In those moments, he just knew he was the Man!
And something I particularly enjoyed was the exclusivity of his flock call. Bixby wouldn't just flock call at random. Nor would he flock call to just anyone. In fact, my wife and I were the only ones who made the cut. And he'd only respond with a flock call when we called his name in a particular tone. One that we'd all somehow tacitly agreed was for the purposes of our call. It was always so amusing listening to friends and family try to get him to call out to them again and again, only to be answered by a purposeful and resounding silence. Then I'd call out, "Bixby!" and chuckle with delight at his immediate reply.
Last night was the first that Bixby ever answered Maya's flock call. He did it as he lay in my arms, dying. He knew.
He first showed signs of his congenital issues last July. From then until last night, he's fought for life with every ounce of strength in his outsized heart. With each round of antibiotics he would rally, only to be laid low once again by what we'd believed to be a horribly persistent infection. He was a warrior for every second of it. He took his medication willingly, and no matter how terribly he felt, he never took his anger out on us. Even last night, as he was hit with wave after wave of painful convulsions, he was always careful not to bite.
And he fought. Oh, he fought so hard! He fought to stay alive. Last night, near the end, I whispered to him that it was okay for him to let go. Aida, tears streaming down her cheeks, whispered the same. We wanted him to know that we understood. He'd fought like a warrior. A warrior with the Heart of a Lion. It was time for him to be free of his pain. To sleep. He'd earned his rest.
And so, finally, rest he did.
Bixby was a blessing. He was in our lives for a little under a year and a half, yet I'm hard-pressed to imagine our lives without that highly selective flock call of his.
Fly straight and soar high, Sir Bix. We love you. And we'll miss you.
Bixby was born sometime around the end of July, 2013. We met him around a month later and visited him at the bird store until he was weaned and we took him home near the end of November. The week of Thanksgiving.
We had much for which to be thankful.
Bixby was the first bird I'd allowed myself to get since the loss of my beloved cockatiel, Suzie, two years prior. (I'd lost Suzie to Kidney cancer after 18 years, and it had taken 2 years to get to the point where I could even think of getting another bird.)
We met Bixby in August, 2013, and it was love at first sight. Even now, knowing what I've now learned about his genetic make-up, I don't regret my choice for a second. (For those of you who have followed threads of mine in the past where I've mentioned his "pretty boy" brother, Sir Chomps, I've recently - as in yesterday - learned that he is very sick as well. With tragically, and suspiciously, similar symptoms to Bixby's... and he too has been fighting it for months, now.)
By the time we took him home in November, he was already a part of our family. We began his flight training almost immediately, and watching him discover his love for flying filled us all with such joy.
Bixby was a character. He was such a sweet and loving bird, coming to shatter the stereotype of the aloof eclectus and becoming something of a cuddlebug. He enjoyed laughing for the inevitable effect it had on us. He would laugh. We would laugh. He would laugh some more. We would crack up. It was a delightfully self-perpetuating cycle.
I also loved his swag. Yeah, I said it. Swag. Bixby had major swag. You especially saw it in the cocky little tail flourish he would do whenever he pulled off a particularly tricky flight maneuver. In those moments, he just knew he was the Man!
And something I particularly enjoyed was the exclusivity of his flock call. Bixby wouldn't just flock call at random. Nor would he flock call to just anyone. In fact, my wife and I were the only ones who made the cut. And he'd only respond with a flock call when we called his name in a particular tone. One that we'd all somehow tacitly agreed was for the purposes of our call. It was always so amusing listening to friends and family try to get him to call out to them again and again, only to be answered by a purposeful and resounding silence. Then I'd call out, "Bixby!" and chuckle with delight at his immediate reply.
Last night was the first that Bixby ever answered Maya's flock call. He did it as he lay in my arms, dying. He knew.
He first showed signs of his congenital issues last July. From then until last night, he's fought for life with every ounce of strength in his outsized heart. With each round of antibiotics he would rally, only to be laid low once again by what we'd believed to be a horribly persistent infection. He was a warrior for every second of it. He took his medication willingly, and no matter how terribly he felt, he never took his anger out on us. Even last night, as he was hit with wave after wave of painful convulsions, he was always careful not to bite.
And he fought. Oh, he fought so hard! He fought to stay alive. Last night, near the end, I whispered to him that it was okay for him to let go. Aida, tears streaming down her cheeks, whispered the same. We wanted him to know that we understood. He'd fought like a warrior. A warrior with the Heart of a Lion. It was time for him to be free of his pain. To sleep. He'd earned his rest.
And so, finally, rest he did.
Bixby was a blessing. He was in our lives for a little under a year and a half, yet I'm hard-pressed to imagine our lives without that highly selective flock call of his.
Fly straight and soar high, Sir Bix. We love you. And we'll miss you.
