Parakeet's life takes some unexpected turns

The vivid green and yellow bird sitting on the deck was not what I had expected. I called to my husband, a retired veterinarian, to help me capture the parakeet. He had no difficulty covering it with a cloth and scooping the little creature into his hands. Upon examination, he announced that the bird seemed unhurt, was a bit underweight and that he was a male.

We immediately called the Humane Society of Southern Arizona for advice, and from there called the Tucson Avian Rescue Association. Staff there asked if we were willing to care for the bird for a few days. They would lend us a cage and food. Within the hour, we placed our new charge into a brand new cage. He went willingly and knew the routine. Bird seed on one side. Water on the other. We then called the Arizona Daily Star and placed a free notice in the Lost and Found section.

With his cage placed on the kitchen table, where he could see the outdoor birds coming to our feeder, the foundling settled in, chortling and carrying on, energetically flapping his wings when the outdoor birds were close. We learned that he loved lettuce (especially the fancier, bagged versions) but that he was uninterested in the fruits we proffered. He tolerated our hands in the cage and would take seed from us, but he wasn't "finger trained" as so many parakeets are. He made little sounds like a bell, informing us that he was used to a bit more entertainment. We went out and bought him a bell.

Having spread the word to as many folks as we could, we waited expectantly for the owner to find us. I began sending out pleas for foster parents for Little Bird, e-mailing photographs that displayed his unusually beautiful feather pattern. After some gentle encouragement, my octogenarian parents in Sierra Vista agreed to take the bird on a trial basis. My husband and I acted like nervous parents as we over-described all the bird's needs and personality characteristics.

There were no claims until the ninth day of the Lost and Found ad. The phone rang and a tentative woman's voice said that she had just checked her Sunday paper, and, with little hope, looked at the Lost and Found section. Her parakeet had flown from an open door on Thanksgiving day. For several days she had sprinkled seed outside, and kept its cage outside by the door, calling the bird's name over and over.

I asked her to describe the bird. So far, so good. Yes, he loved lettuce; he flapped his wings vigorously when excited. He loved his toy bells. He wasn't finger trained. And, he chortled! We acknowledged that this little creature had to have flown more than 10 miles, experienced freezing temperatures and been savvy enough to survive in the wild for 30 days. Remarkable!

I called my parents to advise that quite possibly we had located the bird's owner, Linda, and that she was eager to confirm his identity. They agreed that the following day would be fine for her to come to Sierra Vista. In the meantime, I e-mailed the caller a couple of the photos I'd taken of the bird.

"Oh, dear," came back a reply. "My Perry didn't have as much yellow."

"Well, maybe," thought I, as I picked up the phone to call her, "maybe the stress of the experience caused some molting." That can happen, I was certain.

But the first chinks had begun to appear.

Linda drove to Sierra Vista still with high expectations. My parents allowed her to go alone into the room with the bird. Minutes later, she came out, saddened, and said that that was not her bird. He was indeed beautiful, but, no, it wasn't her Perry.

The joyous reunion that we all had imagined was not meant to be. However, the four "foster parents" all agreed that if she wanted to claim him, we would be happy for the bird and for her. Linda drove away with Little Bird, chortling (I was sure) in its cage all the way back to Tucson. She called me that evening to let me know that our little found parakeet had easily been coaxed into her lost bird's cage and that it was wonderful to again have the cheerful sounds of a parakeet after a month of lonely silence.

I still wonder where this little bird came from. Was he an escapee whose owners were still searching for him, or was he intentionally released? How long and far had he been flying free? Would he have survived in the wild? Or had his arrival at our kitchen door fortuitously saved his life? I suppose I'll never know. But, I think for Little Bird, his story has a happy ending.

Expectations

A personal perspective on finding a lost bird