Last night, I went downstairs to feed the birds, and found that Louise had somehow died.
Louise was a good bird. She never quite had the spunk of Harry, but she was steadying force in our bird cage. She was a good bird. She didn’t want to die, and we didn’t want her to go.
Truth be told, Chelsey and I grew to really hate those birds. They were loud and messy, and loud some more. But now that we have lost one of them, I feel horrible. I feel horrible because something I was supposed to take care of has died. And I feel horrible because I know how lonely Harry is going to be now.
If love means never having to say you are sorry, then pet ownership should mean never having to bury your bird in the middle of the night behind your garage.