ISSN 1492-8132
Issue Number 61,
Copyright © 2002
All rights reserved,
No reprints without permission

Last issue we reviewed a website featuring the story of a hand-raised canary, not realizing that shortly before publication, for reasons having nothing to do with the site or owner, a move to another web host was necessary.

The transition is complete, and this time you should find that the web address will work as it is supposed to! So, if you can find a moment, why not drop in for a visit, and read the story of how Peep and Deb came to be friends?

Avian Insect Liquidator is so safe it can be sprayed directly on newly hatched chicks, and yet so effective a single treatment normally eliminates mites in the indoor birdroom. Due to its non-hydrocarbon base A.I.L. will not damage sensitive tissue like eyes.

A.I.L. gives three way protection for all avian species. When used directly on the bird, it penetrates deep into feathers to kill mites and lice.

When sprayed around the environment it kills insects on contact, and finally, the residual action guards against reinfestation for up to six weeks. It kills ants on contact and prevents them from crossing the area sprayed. Use it on all your outdoor feeding trays for the wild birds, too!

For more info visit birds2grow.com

Our next issue is due Jan 5th, 2003 - I hope you all have a wonderful and safe Holiday Season - and we will look forward to seeing you all next year!

Robirda
Dec 22, 2002

Welcome to Robirda's Companion Birds eZine

For breeder or pet bird owners who care.

Feature Story

Midwinter tradition, in many cultures, includes the telling of inspirational stories - tales of mystery, enchantment, and the magic of faith, trust, and love. This issue falls on the midwinter solstice, the longest night of the year, and to help you pass the long hours in the spirit of those traditions, we would like to share with you a story comprised of roughly equal parts of what once was, what may have been, and what could yet be...

by R C McDonald
http://www.robirda.com
Copyright © Dec 2002

The setting sun strikes the perch where I sit, and I fluff my feathers to soak in the heat, a ritual I enjoy every evening. My life has been a long one for a canary, especially considering how many times I've been lucky to survive. But this evening my thoughts have turned to the very beginning of the road that in the end, led me here.

I wasn't always so lucky - in fact, there were many times during my life when I expected to die. It was luck - and the love and caring of a few very special humans - that saved me. I don't think of those days much any more, but when I do, I realize all over again just how lucky I am to be alive.

It wasn't like I didn't have a good start at life. I was one of five chicks who hatched out in my mother's nest. My father was so proud of us! My brother and I lived with our three sisters and our parents in a small apartment, kept by an elderly gentleman. My mother in particular never tired of telling us how lucky we were to live with him, repeating over and over again the tale of how he had rescued her and father from a nightmarish existence.

"We wanted to die, but couldn't," she would tell us, and my father would get a far-away look in his eye, while we would shiver with delight. We loved scarey stories, and felt secure that such a horror could never happen to us. We were loved, wanted, and cared for, and we had often heard our human muttering to himself that if he ever did sell any of us, it had better be a good home, or else!

We thought his love would keep us safe - little did we know that our future held something very different.

I was always the most active of the five of us, and my mother told me many times that I was more work than all my other siblings put together, but I didn't care - I was too interested in exploring everything I could. I was the first to leave the nest, and the first of us to try my wings. While the rest were still holding on to the nest with their feet, waving their wings and pretending they were flying, I simply went - and found that flying was not only easy, it was glorious!

Landing, though, was a different matter. Time after time I missed where I was aiming, and wound up tumbled head-over-heels... but stubbornly I kept at it, until finally I managed to figure out how to coordinate my wings and feet.

Our human left our cage door open whenever he was home, so I quickly got used to using my wings to soar all over the apartment. I found it particularly fun to dive down and fly quickly behind him, lightly flicking his neck with my wings. By the time he jumped, I would be safely perched on his old rack of antlers, cheeping with amusement, all my head feathers erect as I watched his reaction with interest and curiosity.

"You don't know how lucky you are!" my mother would admonish me, glaring severely. "Most humans would never tolerate such antics - you are lucky he doesn't lock all of us up, just to keep his neck safe from you!"

"Aw Mom, I barely touch him!" I protested, "and besides, didn't you hear him laugh the last time? I think he likes it as much as I do!"

"Well, it's true he is special," she said tartly. "But I don't want you getting the idea that you can play with all humans like that - most of them are very strict, and don't believe in sharing their living space with us - we are very, very lucky, to have a human who not only respects us, but doesn't mind letting us come out to play, and cleaning up after us."

Little did I realize how prophetic her words were to be.

One terrible day the morning came, but our human did not. He had the habit of being up by sunrise, and would uncover us with a cheery greeting while putting our breakfast into our cage, leaving the door open so afterwards we could come out and play about the room - but not this morning.

Uneasy, we waited in the dark cage for awhile, then our father organized us to work together, and pull the cover off by ourselves - by sitting side-by-side on the perch and all tugging together, we managed to move the cover a little bit at a time. It took awhile, but eventually we had pulled it far enough, and it slipped and fell the rest of the way on its own.

It was then we realized that the night before, while we were sleeping, our lives had changed forever. From our cage we could see a corner of the hall, and a little of the doorway into the bedroom, where our human slept at night. With our cage cover off, we could see that he was lying on the floor near his bed, not moving. Uneasy, we gazed at him and waited. Perhaps one of his friends would come to visit, realize he needed help, and take a moment to feed us, too.

But the long day passed, and nobody appeared. Our human showed no signs of moving, and as dusk became dark we uneasily, hungrily, settled to sleep. My insides felt as if they were trying to turn inside out with hunger, but at least I had managed to crack a few seeds to eat! My mother and father and I had eaten the last of the dry seed in our dish, but my siblings were worse off - they still relied on being offered soft food, and my mother had nothing for them.

She and my father had given them a little of the seed they had eaten, but they were still so very hungry, and cried quietly about it as they drifted off to sleep.

I could not sleep properly, that night. Unused to not having our cage covered, feeling exposed to the dark night, and not able to see a thing, we all dozed and jumped awake, peered about, then dozed again, all night long. That night seemed longer than eternity, but finally dawn came, and we looked around and realized nothing had changed.

Horrified, we gazed at each other - what were we to do? There was no food at all - our seed was gone, and our water nearly so. My siblings were too weak to complain of their hunger as they had the day before, and I myself felt barely strong enough to hold onto the perch. My mother and father, having shared what they had eaten with my younger siblings, looked to be in even worse shape.

One way or another, we realized, if something did not change, and soon, we would die this day. Perhaps, my mother said, it was just as well - she thought that our human must be dead, that being the only reason he would have remained so still for so long - and she and my father remembered all too well the life other humans had subjected them to, before our human had rescued them.

They had thought then, that all humans were ignorant of what a bird needed to be happy, and through this ignorance, unwittingly tortured the creatures in their care. Then our human had taken them into his home, and with him, they had slowly learned that it was possible to care for an entity of a completely different species than ourselves, and to be cared for back.

They had come to love him, and treated him as a member of the flock - an honour they had never before dreamed they would ever offer any human.

When my siblings and I had hatched, my mother and father had felt as if their lives were complete - but never had they imagined that their life with our human was to change so soon or so suddenly.

The long day wore on. We became weaker, and one by one we left the perches to huddle on the floor of the cage. By mid-afternoon, two of my sisters had stopped breathing. I was almost jealous - at least their suffering had ended!

But I knew, as I gazed at my mother staring with hopeless despair at her two dead daughters, that I could not leave my parents to suffer alone, after all they had been through. Grimly I held on to each breath, as if my life depended on it. Sooner or later, somebody had to come through that door!

I began to doze, and slipped into a dream. I was in a long tunnel, and the most beautiful canary I had ever seen was walking down it with me. She glowed with light, and I couldn't seem to take my eyes off her. Suddenly she turned and stepped in front of me, and I stopped.

"It is not yet your time, my friend," she told me, in a low, musical voice. "Have faith that there is a home waiting for you, and a human waiting to love you - never stop looking until you know you have found them."

Suddenly there was a pounding on the door, and I blinked my eyes. I was still in our apartment, and our human friend was still laying on the floor where I had seen him last. Had it all been just a dream? That lovely canary - who was she? She had seemed so real!

Suddenly the door burst open with a crash. Several people poured through and gathered around our human where he lay. I lifted my head and tried to make a sound, to let somebody hear us, but my throat was too dry.

Desperate, I prayed that just one person in that group would see us - and like a miracle, a woman we knew, a neighbour our human had called 'Sally', came in the door, looked around, then came straight towards us.

"Oh, you poor darlings!" she murmered, "I was wondering, when we didn't hear from Joe, what had happened, and hoping that nothing had happened to you all - it looks like I called for help just in time! Come on, I'll be taking care of you for now..." and she gently lifted the cage and carried us out the door.

My siblings did not survive, but my parents and I did - barely. Our human had passed away that night, as we had suspected, and nobody ever questioned Sally taking over our care and keep. We were in such bad shape at first, that she had to help us to drink and eat; we could not stand, and could barely lift our heads.

Gently, a drop at a time, she got some water into us, and then, as the liquid began to penetrate our moisture-depleted, starving bodies, she began to feed us as if we were babies. For days she nursed us, feeding us as often as possible, while we gradually regained our strength and confidence.

My mother in particular mourned my siblings, and I did my best to comfort her and to behave properly, so that she would be proud of me. I missed my siblings too, and I also missed playing in our old human's apartment - though Sally cared for us very well, she felt it was a risk to allow us out of our cage, and instead told us that we would get used to living together in our cage, in time.

"I know Joe used to let you out," she told us, "but I never understood why he would allow you to take the risk. Why, there are so many dangers, I have often told him he was very lucky not to have lost any of you through one accident or another! You can keep each other company, and I will make sure that you are kept fed and warm - what more could any little bird want?"

What more could I want? I could have told her, if I could speak in a manner she would understand - instead, I tried to tell her through my actions how badly I wanted to stretch my wings, as my energy returned - and not too many days afterwards, how badly I needed to be able to put some distance between my father and myself on occasion, as his energy returned.

But she thought only that I was playing, and smiled and twiddled her fingers at me, while I despaired of ever being able to let her know just how desperate I was.

My father and I were both male canaries, and while we knew that it is just not natural for two male canaries to share a rather small cage, we tried, for the sake of my mother, to tolerate each other. But try as we might, we couldn't seem to help grumbling and snapping at each other more often than not, and sometimes we completely lost our control and wound up rolling on the floor of the cage in a little ball of feathers, cursing and snapping and kicking each other for all we were worth.

We tried not to let Sally catch us fighting - we wanted no chance that she would decide she didn't want us! - and so she had no idea that we were not as happy as she thought us. But as the days wore on, I grew more and more desperate, and finally, when my chance came, I took it.

I had been thinking for days now, that if we could just convince her to let us out for some exercise every now and again, we could show her how little trouble we really could be - once she realized that we had already learned not to fly into windows or mirrors, perhaps she would change her mind, and we could adopt a routine more like the one we had enjoyed with Joe.

With this in mind, I watched and waited for my chance, and one morning, while she was changing our seed and water, I realized that the cage door was open and for a brief second or so, there was nothing blocking it. That was all the time I needed - with a triumphant cheep, I soared out the cage door, past her approaching hand, and zipped to the far side of the apartment, landing on a windowsill.

As I landed I felt a current of air, and realized, to my surprise, that this was an open window! I had never seen one before, although in the back of my mind, I knew that some windows were able to open - we had even heard Joe mumbling about safety and windows on occasion. I had never thought about it - I simply thought of windows as a transparent section of the wall, with convenient ledges built into them so that little birds could sit there and spy on the world outside.

Curious, I strolled forward a couple of inches to have a better look - and realized suddenly that I was actually outside the building, on a little ledge just like the one inside the window!

Well, this was very interesting - I would have to go and have a talk with my mom and dad about it! But before I could move, there was a sudden, very loud noise, like nothing I had ever heard before.

I found out later that it was a car, backfiring. But at the time I had no idea what a car really was, nor what kind of noise it was capable of making. I had seen cars through Joe's windows, but I had not been able to hear them clearly, and never had I heard anything this noisy!

Startled, before I could think, I jumped in the direction I was facing - and suddenly found myself outside the window, in the grip of a gale. Well, it was actually just a good stiff wind. But at the time, I had no idea what wind was, and this one was so strong that even experienced birds had trouble flying in it.

Young as I was, with no training at all about moving in a current of air, I was swept helplessly away at a rapid pace, seeing Sally's head poking out of the window I had just left, screaming at me to come back.

I would have loved to come back if I could - but I had no idea how to fight the wind, and watched helplessly as she disappeared into the distance.

Suddenly, I remembered my dream. "Have faith that there is a home waiting for you, and a human waiting to love you - never stop looking until you know you have found them," she had said.

Desperately, I held the memory fast, hoping against hope that she was right, and tried to learn to ride the wind.

by R C McDonald
http://www.robirda.com
Copyright © Dec 2002