Post by Deleted on Dec 29, 2013 22:45:00 GMT
I can't remember how old I was when Emerald came into my life. Around 12 years old, perhaps. I must have been talking about wanting a pet at some point, until one day I came home from school and found my old hamster's cage set up with a couple of wooden dowel perches which ran the length of it. It was a pretty decent cage all in all, as when it had been outfitted for the hamster it had had three floors, but was longer rather than taller. My grandparents said that perhaps we could find a budgie to put in it and my granddad, being the way he is, said "Perhaps the pet shop is still open." and when out into the kitchen. "Look, they have one left," he said, and produced the big plastic tub, with sliding lid slightly ajar, that is the type you store cereal in.
Lo-and-behold, at the bottom sat this rather quaint little chap, black baby bars already lost and you stereotypical green, a nice deep colour, although I can't remember if his tail was that blue colour that most true greens have. Sadly we have no photos.
He was a darling, or as darling as a bird can be when the adults in the house last had budgies back years ago when they only came out for a flight once a day and his primary owner was a totally inexperienced child.
The first or second day after I met him I stuck my hand in through the side door of the cage a stroked him down the front the way granddad had told me (the same way we usually first get our birds to step up). My finger was low down his belly and up he hopped onto my finger. He wandered up my arm to the bars of the cage and squeeeeezed his way out of the tiny door (downfall of hamster cages is that their doors are fairly small, fine for when you don't want your birds out but a bit scary for the birds). He was loose! And the kitchen door was open! he was in the same room Munchy sleeps in, so there is no door between that room and the kitchen. My granddad was outside discussing our conservatory with someone so I had to rush to the door and yell "Don't come in! The budgie's out!" as I slammed the door shut. My nan had meanwhile shut the other door to prevent Emerald escaping out into the rest of the house. Said little green bird had landed on the draining board, looking a little surprised. My nan has never been a big fan of animals, so she tried to grab him in the kitchen towel. Knowing her, it was probably a hesitant attempt, and as such it failed. So Emerald flew away and landed on the windowsill, I don't remember if he banged into the window or not. I went after him then, only for him to scuttle around the back of one of the ornaments... but I was waiting, as cunning as a fox (yeah right). I caught him up then in my hand (there goes any trust down the drain, right there), very proud of my ringer's grip despite not knowing anything about bird ringing. Back in the cage he went, the naughty boy. I'm slightly surprised he didn't get renamed Houdini for that one, but that honour would eventually be given to one of our fish.
Sadly I don't retain too many memories of him because I never did very much with him. The poor little man spent most of his days sat in that cage, whereas we all sit in the living room. I never thought to take his cage in with us the way I do with Munchy. I would take him out each day, except I didn't know how to teach a bird to sit on my finger, so I would try to pick him up (if only I'd kept that up, I would be a pro with Munchy) but my hands were so small that he could reach down and bite the side of my thumb nail, with the point of his beak sticking right down by the nail. That hurt and I was a coward even back then, so I used to get granddad to take him out for me. Poor bird never had any choice in the matter. Maybe that's good in moderation, setting myself as the boss of the flock, what I say goes, but I lacked any understand of, or respect for, his feelings, although I bore him no ill will and honestly just wanted to have fun with him. I just didn't know how.
So he would be forced out and I'd sit him on my arm... and then I'd drop my arm so he would fly off, and then raise it again and whistle twice. He'd come back and land on it then, but maybe that was because he knew no other place to land. Eventually he learned where his cage was and would just keep trying to go back inside. So me and my cousin (who incidentally thought up the rather mean idea of stealing my hamster's ladder when he was on the top floor of his cage... and ran around the garden with a bowl full of tadpoles... [I've noticed children aren't very nice to animals... My boyfriend says he and his cousins would put the guinea pig under a blanket and try to catch it as it ran around. Meant as harmless fun but now he can see that the poor creature was probably terrified.] I digress...) we would cover up his cage, but then he'd climb over the blanket.
In his process of being generally afraid, before he learnt where his cage was, he would stay on me. So I once stuck him under my hair and when my granddad came in I asked him where Emerald was and started looking around, so my granddad was able to spot this tail sticking out from my hair.
He lived with us for 2 years, having his diet of seed, no fruit or veg, and very little exercise. During this time we went on holiday and my mother kept him for us. She didn't let him out of his cage and because he didn't fly much anyway his muscles wasted away over those two weeks and when I got him back he could only flutter to the ground. Again, not understanding this at the time, I thought he must have injured his wings somehow... and yet never thought to take him to the vet either... Obviously, I feel really bad and that I was a neglectful owner, but I didn't know any different, and my grandparents had never taken a budgie to the vet before when they'd had one previously, so I can hardly blame them for that either. It all stems from a lack of knowledge.
The next year, we went away again and my mother kept Emerald once more. I should point out, my mother has a cat. Mabel is a harmless enough old thing. She's very old now but she used to be a good mouser, but never brought back birds. She was quite fat. These days, though, I've seen how Munchy once reacted to a cat walking along the drive outside the window. It never saw him, but his feathers went flat, his eyes were wide and his breathing became rapid, so I coaxed him onto my hand and moved him towards me (I was sat at a table by the window at the time), and just sat there talking quietly to him until he calmed. Back to Emerald though, I've heard since that flying strengthens the muscles around a bird's heart. Considering Munchy's reaction to see a cat through glass, I can imagine that Mabel did not need to do anything. Just one look at her probably set Emerald's heart racing, and with his lack of exercise his heart probably could not take the strain.
And thus was the end of poor Emerald after his very dull life. Perhaps it seems calous but, whilst I'm sure I must have been upset, I don't think I cried much. I was distraught when my hamster died, after I'd had him 4 years, spent every day with him and couldn't understand him at all. The last few days he had gone blind. He bit me in fear and, shocked, I dropped him onto the floor of the porch. He drew blood when my granddad tried to return him to the cage. So I saw my first pet die... but Emerald's death seemed like some abstract concept. I was told he was dead. I never saw him. Somehow that made it seem less real. My grandparents thought that my mum had accidentally let him escape, although I didn't hear them voice that thought until years later, or that Mabel had done something, but I think it was merely seeing her, because of how I'd neglected him. Silly thing is, when my mum took him she said "If he comes back blue, that's the right colour, right?" as a joke. When she called to tell us, my nan answered the phone. "Mum... the budgie's dead..." my mother told her... and it was so unexpected that my nan burst out laughing.
Thank heavens we're not like that anymore. Munchy really is part of the family and even my nan would be sad if he left. She says that's because I would be so upset but I think she would miss him too, even his feather shedding. "Stop flapping! You're getting those leaves everywhere!" The sound of summer is my nan cursing Munchy playfully and telling him off. "Look here, young man!" she says as she waggles a finger at him. "Will you, PLEASE, stop shedding those leaves?" Ah, my poor house-proud nan. She must have been having a mad moment two Christmases ago, but I'm very glad she did. Looking back at Emerald's life now, it saddens me to know everything that I did wrong, and all the things that I didn't do at all... but if it weren't for having Munchy then I wouldn't have learnt those lessons and might never have at all.
R.I.P. Emerald. Though you probably didn't like me much, I really loved you even if I was a terrible owner, and I wish I had known enough to make your life better or that I could try again. xxx
Lo-and-behold, at the bottom sat this rather quaint little chap, black baby bars already lost and you stereotypical green, a nice deep colour, although I can't remember if his tail was that blue colour that most true greens have. Sadly we have no photos.
He was a darling, or as darling as a bird can be when the adults in the house last had budgies back years ago when they only came out for a flight once a day and his primary owner was a totally inexperienced child.
The first or second day after I met him I stuck my hand in through the side door of the cage a stroked him down the front the way granddad had told me (the same way we usually first get our birds to step up). My finger was low down his belly and up he hopped onto my finger. He wandered up my arm to the bars of the cage and squeeeeezed his way out of the tiny door (downfall of hamster cages is that their doors are fairly small, fine for when you don't want your birds out but a bit scary for the birds). He was loose! And the kitchen door was open! he was in the same room Munchy sleeps in, so there is no door between that room and the kitchen. My granddad was outside discussing our conservatory with someone so I had to rush to the door and yell "Don't come in! The budgie's out!" as I slammed the door shut. My nan had meanwhile shut the other door to prevent Emerald escaping out into the rest of the house. Said little green bird had landed on the draining board, looking a little surprised. My nan has never been a big fan of animals, so she tried to grab him in the kitchen towel. Knowing her, it was probably a hesitant attempt, and as such it failed. So Emerald flew away and landed on the windowsill, I don't remember if he banged into the window or not. I went after him then, only for him to scuttle around the back of one of the ornaments... but I was waiting, as cunning as a fox (yeah right). I caught him up then in my hand (there goes any trust down the drain, right there), very proud of my ringer's grip despite not knowing anything about bird ringing. Back in the cage he went, the naughty boy. I'm slightly surprised he didn't get renamed Houdini for that one, but that honour would eventually be given to one of our fish.
Sadly I don't retain too many memories of him because I never did very much with him. The poor little man spent most of his days sat in that cage, whereas we all sit in the living room. I never thought to take his cage in with us the way I do with Munchy. I would take him out each day, except I didn't know how to teach a bird to sit on my finger, so I would try to pick him up (if only I'd kept that up, I would be a pro with Munchy) but my hands were so small that he could reach down and bite the side of my thumb nail, with the point of his beak sticking right down by the nail. That hurt and I was a coward even back then, so I used to get granddad to take him out for me. Poor bird never had any choice in the matter. Maybe that's good in moderation, setting myself as the boss of the flock, what I say goes, but I lacked any understand of, or respect for, his feelings, although I bore him no ill will and honestly just wanted to have fun with him. I just didn't know how.
So he would be forced out and I'd sit him on my arm... and then I'd drop my arm so he would fly off, and then raise it again and whistle twice. He'd come back and land on it then, but maybe that was because he knew no other place to land. Eventually he learned where his cage was and would just keep trying to go back inside. So me and my cousin (who incidentally thought up the rather mean idea of stealing my hamster's ladder when he was on the top floor of his cage... and ran around the garden with a bowl full of tadpoles... [I've noticed children aren't very nice to animals... My boyfriend says he and his cousins would put the guinea pig under a blanket and try to catch it as it ran around. Meant as harmless fun but now he can see that the poor creature was probably terrified.] I digress...) we would cover up his cage, but then he'd climb over the blanket.
In his process of being generally afraid, before he learnt where his cage was, he would stay on me. So I once stuck him under my hair and when my granddad came in I asked him where Emerald was and started looking around, so my granddad was able to spot this tail sticking out from my hair.
He lived with us for 2 years, having his diet of seed, no fruit or veg, and very little exercise. During this time we went on holiday and my mother kept him for us. She didn't let him out of his cage and because he didn't fly much anyway his muscles wasted away over those two weeks and when I got him back he could only flutter to the ground. Again, not understanding this at the time, I thought he must have injured his wings somehow... and yet never thought to take him to the vet either... Obviously, I feel really bad and that I was a neglectful owner, but I didn't know any different, and my grandparents had never taken a budgie to the vet before when they'd had one previously, so I can hardly blame them for that either. It all stems from a lack of knowledge.
The next year, we went away again and my mother kept Emerald once more. I should point out, my mother has a cat. Mabel is a harmless enough old thing. She's very old now but she used to be a good mouser, but never brought back birds. She was quite fat. These days, though, I've seen how Munchy once reacted to a cat walking along the drive outside the window. It never saw him, but his feathers went flat, his eyes were wide and his breathing became rapid, so I coaxed him onto my hand and moved him towards me (I was sat at a table by the window at the time), and just sat there talking quietly to him until he calmed. Back to Emerald though, I've heard since that flying strengthens the muscles around a bird's heart. Considering Munchy's reaction to see a cat through glass, I can imagine that Mabel did not need to do anything. Just one look at her probably set Emerald's heart racing, and with his lack of exercise his heart probably could not take the strain.
And thus was the end of poor Emerald after his very dull life. Perhaps it seems calous but, whilst I'm sure I must have been upset, I don't think I cried much. I was distraught when my hamster died, after I'd had him 4 years, spent every day with him and couldn't understand him at all. The last few days he had gone blind. He bit me in fear and, shocked, I dropped him onto the floor of the porch. He drew blood when my granddad tried to return him to the cage. So I saw my first pet die... but Emerald's death seemed like some abstract concept. I was told he was dead. I never saw him. Somehow that made it seem less real. My grandparents thought that my mum had accidentally let him escape, although I didn't hear them voice that thought until years later, or that Mabel had done something, but I think it was merely seeing her, because of how I'd neglected him. Silly thing is, when my mum took him she said "If he comes back blue, that's the right colour, right?" as a joke. When she called to tell us, my nan answered the phone. "Mum... the budgie's dead..." my mother told her... and it was so unexpected that my nan burst out laughing.
Thank heavens we're not like that anymore. Munchy really is part of the family and even my nan would be sad if he left. She says that's because I would be so upset but I think she would miss him too, even his feather shedding. "Stop flapping! You're getting those leaves everywhere!" The sound of summer is my nan cursing Munchy playfully and telling him off. "Look here, young man!" she says as she waggles a finger at him. "Will you, PLEASE, stop shedding those leaves?" Ah, my poor house-proud nan. She must have been having a mad moment two Christmases ago, but I'm very glad she did. Looking back at Emerald's life now, it saddens me to know everything that I did wrong, and all the things that I didn't do at all... but if it weren't for having Munchy then I wouldn't have learnt those lessons and might never have at all.
R.I.P. Emerald. Though you probably didn't like me much, I really loved you even if I was a terrible owner, and I wish I had known enough to make your life better or that I could try again. xxx
. Of course, I have to compete with my boyfriend over pets because he really wants a ferret... 
