Rest in peace my sweet Papaya

Back in 2003 I visited a pet shop in search of a canary. The canaries there looked in terrible shape -- really beyond salvation. And then toward the back of the store I stumbled upon a pair of Fischer's love birds. Totally out of place, they were a young breeding pair that had been accidentally shipped to the wrong address. They appeared in excellent health and so I brought them home to rescue them before they succumbed to their poor environment.

Opening the box I brought them home in revealed a poignant moment, with the pair huddled in a corner in terror, the male covering his mate with his wing as he attempted to hide and protect her. I named them Peaches and Papaya, and set them up in a large, private cage flanked by an aviary of finches on one side and a large cage with a small mixed flock with 2 cockatiels, a peachfaced love bird and a sun conure on the other. There they came to feel some security in a quiet home surrounded by other birds. In the evening, they joined the mixed flock in free-fly time, returning to their cage by themselves at bedtime.

In 2005 they surprised me with an egg, but we were totally unprepared and their baby didn't make it past the first day. About 6 months later, I had set everybody up for their free fly time; as I was readying the room, I remember seeing Peaches hopping up and down on the perch in front of her door, ready to go. I headed to the kitchen to fix my dinner. Just a moment or two later, Domingo the sun conure started shrieking. As I ran back into the bird room I realized I had forgotten to actually let the birds out. I found all the birds in the mixed flock cage staring toward the bottom of the cage next door, Domingo still shrieking. And  I saw Papaya staring at the floor of his cage. And there I found Peaches, already dead.

Egg yolk peritonitis is a silent killer. My vet had told me some years ago, after I lost Lady Di, my canary caruso's mate, that there is no way to predict it and no way to prevent it. It is also swift and the hen doesn't seem to suffer at all. I actually watched one of my zebra finches die from it. One moment she was flying around perfectly happy. The next dying on the floor of her cage. That day I crossed the room in 3 rushed steps, only to feel her final heartbeat as I picked her up. So I am assured that at least our beautiful Peaches didn't suffer.

The same cannot be said of those left behind, and it was totally heart wrenching to watch Papaya's forlorn, lonely figure as I removed Peaches' body. I tried moving him into the mixed flock. The established pairs retreated to corners, leaving Papaya staring sadly at his empty cage. I moved him back, but not before he escaped and flew wildly and blindly around the house, crashing into windows and walls.

Haunted by the image of his bereft figure, alone in the middle of his cage, I spent the night online looking for a female Fischer's love bird for sale. The only ones I could find were in California -- there was no way I would fly a baby bird across country. Many babies die that way; personally I think it is a criminal practice. The next day I hit the phones and found a recently weaned, likely female, handfed peachfaced lovebird available a 2 1/2 hour drive to my north. Not an ideal match: peachfaces are slightly larger and much more rambunctious than the quieter, more timid and delicate Fischer's. But looking at sad, likely suicidal Papaya, it was worth a shot.

I drove 5 hours to pick up the youngster, and moved her in with Papaya. She went right up to him and poked him hello. He flew away to a corner. She didn't follow, but stood her ground and studied him with head cocked. She seemed to understand something serious was wrong and changed her approach. She quieted down and just let him be. They started out sharing a perch, but with a good distance between them. Over the course of 3 days, she slowly moved closer to him on the perch. By day 3, they were right next to each other and she gently poked him. This time he stood his ground and by day 4 they were grooming each other and beginning to bond. I named her Sage, both for her dilute, mossy green color, and her innate wisdom. Since 2005, they have been a bonded pair. Not nearly as close as he was with Peaches -- that could never be -- but Papaya  was content. Circumstances had changed after we moved to Maine, Sushi and Saki the cockatiels crossed the rainbow bridge, and I moved Papaya and Sage in with Domingo and Joey, my elderly peachface lovebird.  (Joey passed a couple years ago at the ripe old age of 15.)

This past winter, I lost my supply of breeding quality avian vitamins. While searching for a new supplier, I was forced to use a less-high quality vitamin. I believe this led to Papaya's death. His lack of a key nutrient became overt a few weeks ago when his tail feathers disappeared. At first I blamed overly-playful Sage, who also pulls Domingo's tail, and moved Papaya into a hospital cage with the intent of getting him fortified plumage vitamins as soon as I could find a new supplier. But in the private cage, a couple weeks later more feathers disappeared and I realized he was pulling out his own feathers. Then I found him very weak this past Friday evening and he was gone before morning.

Sage and Domingo now share the mixed flock cage. Papaya now lies next to Bennie. I dream of him at long last returned to his soul mate, Peaches, at long last, over the Rainbow Bridge, his citrus-colored feathers restored to their full beauty, both of them flying free and fearless.