Just Like When I Watched Ernie

Ernie was a roundish goldfish who fell ill long before the skinnier Bert died suddenly and, for us, more peacefully.

I have a budgie whose leg-band says 2001, who is mostly yellow and who used to enjoy a decent life of free-range hall-fun before we moved to this house.

This bird is in the obvious process of dying.

Ernie chose to swim obsessively around and around the bowl, while tilting toward its center.

I cried a number of tears into the water.

The kitchen table at that time was a bench-like affair.

My enormous, and, in retrospect, disproportionate,

Grief, was disparaged after a number of hours by my mother.

It was hours; I have cried out similar amounts for anyone I've lost.

Watching anyone suffer is simply the worst.

Instincts make us try to shut it down or

To use any incident to expiate all woes wholesale.

Hence, some of us cry for days about a bird.

Some of us also dream excessively about these same animals.

The parakeet has been slowing down over the past 18 months.

Molting, a known stressor, has been visibly difficult lately.

And, within the past week, a remarked seeking and need of heat has developed.

Birds that hide under paper or scraps of cloth as if they are mice are not long for the land of branches.

But, Superlemon is sitting on perches again; the room is full of excessive heat and all the humidity a plugged-in machine can provide.

There was a distinct and new spot of blood on the cage-paper. I can not find where it came from. The bird is still eating. His digestive system seems the most affected anyway, due to other symptoms. Very picky about seeds.

Want to discover what he wants to eat.

Just want to make him comfortable.