Sunday, April 03, 2011

my heart is broken

Yesterday the Sober Husband and I were doing some much-needed yard work in our tiny, tiny urban garden, and we were careless. My sweet, stupid parrot, Pigwidgeon, flew away.

Mind you, her flight feathers are clipped -- and she's never before reached any impressive altitude -- so we didn't think it was possible that she could crazily fly away down the block, over roofs.

Immediately we went around the block, calling her. I got a couple of neighbors who live in the middle of the block to let me go in their yards to call her and look for her. A very game neighbor got out a big ladder and risked his limbs (ours is a block on a steep hillside) to climb up to look into some adjacent yards. Unfortunately the people who live at the most promising spot on the block weren't home, and there was no way to invade their yards without going through their homes.

We made posters and covered the area with them. I asked everyone I saw walking their dog to keep an eye out. One woman had seen a gray bird in some bushes on the next block, but after investigating, I think it's most likely she saw one of the mockingbirds who live in front of my house. Lola and I stayed up until 2:30, periodically going outside to call her. I put her cage out in the backyard, thinking that if she found her way back to the yard, she'd find it reassuring.

Please, no shame or guilt trips. Everyone feels really terrible and ashamed, and plenty of tears have been shed. All my life I wanted a parrot, and I finally did get one as a generous gift from my husband (I'm not counting the green bird here as "having a parrot" as that one is my mortal enemy), and now she's lost. I worry that she may have already passed away, and it seems wrong to me that she could without my knowing it. The parrot-human bond is so strange and intense, a bit like identical twins. (Watching the Sober Husband with the green parrot is always fascinating, as they appear to be able to read each other's minds). Pigwidgeon and I have a language together and a way of being together, me skritching around her neck, Piggle combing my hair with her beak and making her meowing noises. I can't bear being without her.

10 comments:

Claire M. Johnson said...

I'm so sorry.

Caroline said...

Oh dear. I was a bonehead when we moved to our current house and let our cat, Molly, get away. Fortunately, she came back even though she was terrified and in a completely alien environment. I was particularly concerned because we live across from a wetlands replete with foxes and fisher cats. So I hope you have the same luck I had. It really is terribly nerve wracking.

marketeer said...

I'm so sorry. I hope that you find her or she finds her way home.

Jane said...

*hugs* I'm so sorry. :-(

Anonymous said...

That is so sad. But African Greys are amazingly intelligent and maybe she will recognize a landmark and find her way home again.

Anonymous said...

I'm so sorry as well! Hopefully she'll find her way home. /dawn

Anonymous said...

I'm so sorry. So very very sorry.

Anonymous said...

So sorry! My mom lost her Cockateil last year in about the same way and we never found her. Make sure to try craigslist. Good Luck.

Jen in OR said...

No guilt, I can only imagine how heartbroken you all are. I, too, think she can find her way home and I hope she does!!

Heather said...

Oh, I am so very sorry. Don't be too hard on yourself; we are all careless occasionally. I vividly remember the terror, heartache, and guilt that I felt when my beloved greyhound Ben bolted out the front door because I hadn't put him behind the gate like I normally do. We were very lucky to find him, as he was already miles from our house. Best wishes for a safe and speedy reunion with your dear Pigwidgeon.