This is a sad post to write. We came home from Florida today after celebrating 90 years of GiGi's life to discover our lovebird Noodles on the floor of her cage. Our friends had changed her food and water while we were away, but there were no feces in her water and they told us she had become progressively more listless while we were away for the weekend. As best we can tell, she simply died of old age. There were no feathers on the floor of her cage, no blood, no obvious signs of distress. In the last several years, she had stopped laying eggs and we assumed that meant she had become an elderly bird. While lovebirds can (and often do) live longer, 12 years is still about double their life expectancy in the wild. We put a brave face on for Eli, simply explaining that Noodles was an old bird had gone to sleep and would not wake up, so we no longer needed her cage. He accepted this explanation at face value and I walked him around the block while Shelby buried Noodles in the backyard. Later, as Shelby finished making dinner, I carried Noodles's cage and toys to the trash. Since we don't know exactly why Noodles died and her cage and toys were dirty, we decided to simply discard the whole setup. We discussed buying her a new cage in any event about two weeks ago, so the idea of throwing it away wasn't totally jarring. The reality of putting the cage in the trash, however, was. Both Shelby and I broke down at the sight of Noodles's cage in trash hopper only a few hours after we arrived home. It seemed...undignified...and callous, as though her entire existence was being wiped away without a second thought. That isn't true, of course, but it isn't an exaggeration to say that with our lives moving as quickly as they are, landmarks today are rapidly forgotten as we confront each new day's challenges. By next week we will have other worries, and the reality of that hit us hard as we prepared to throw away her cage. We did save one favorite toy as a keepsake.
When Shelby and I think about our time with Noodles, I don't think either of us can forget our first days with her. The night we went to Animal Adventures, an exotic pet store in Monona, with the expectation that we would buy a parakeet and found ourselves leaving with a baby, hand-fed lovebird. The store wasn't as knowledgeable as they initially let on; they told us that Noodles was a male lovebird and subsequently broke her wing during a routine clipping. Nonetheless, our relationship with one another, then only about three years old, seemed strong enough that we could take joint responsibility of another living entity. With all that entails. I remember driving home, late that night, as Shelby and I discussed names for the bird as we drove down the beltline. We both readily agreed on Noodles, after the restaurant where we spent our first quality time together in January 1998.
The first few months were challenging. Noodles was very loud and destructive. In our apartment on Chandler Street, we were concerned that Noodles would disturb our neighbors on the first floor. Her initially adorable habit of stuffing paper into her wings became less adorable as she destroyed books, magazines, cabinetry, and all assorted other stuff around the house. We didn't have much money, and she destroyed some textbooks that we otherwise could have sold back. Nonetheless, Shelby and I spent a lot of time trying to train her to sit on our fingers and shoulders. She was snippy from the outset and resisted our attempts to have a friendly companion who would ride around with us. Our one triumph was her willingness to shower with us occasionally. Noodles would sit on the shower caddy, getting wet and shaking her feathers. Except for my accidental near-crushing of her with a bag on our way out of town on a trip, Noodles was a healthy, active, if somewhat cranky, bird.
Getting the apartment ready to be shown by the landlord was a challenge. There was always a lot to clean up, and Mark Sukowaty was not enamored with us having a bird at all. This became less of an issue in August when we moved into our first house. I remember putting up boards around the kitchen so she would have an area to roam and collect paper. In later years, we confined her more intently. First, we cordoned off smaller areas of the kitchen for her. But later, when we got Triscuit, we realized she needed to be confined to her cage most of the time or else Tris, with his prey drive, would likely make short work of our flightless lovebird. She spent the last several years cooped up most of the time, which saddened both of us, but didn't appear to faze Noodles. When we took her out of the cage (often when Triscuit was on the other floor), she would scamper around looking for paper and nipping at us indignantly. I'm happy that in the last six months, Eli recognized Noodles as a pet and an item of interest. Earlier this spring we recreated the Elephant and Piggy book, "There's a Bird on my Head" to Eli's delight. The picture of Noodles perched on Eli's head was the screensaver on my computer for several months.
Because Noodles wasn't particularly affectionate, I think that a lot of our sadness is directed at the ambiance she brought to our lives. Wherever we lived, she added background noise. Her chattering was insistent and boisterous. I suspect that when I rewatch videos from Eli's first three years of life, background chirping will be heard in almost all that were shot on the first floor of our house. The ritual of putting her to sleep as we 'close up for the night' and removed her cover in the morning put bookends on our days. It often woke us up when we fed her, as she would nip at our fingers if we weren't dextrous enough to get her food and water cup situated quickly. I also claim, to this day, that when she chirped at us after we put on her cover, she chirped two syllables that sounded uncannily like 'Good Night', which is what we told her each night after we covered her up.
Tonight after Eli went to sleep Shelby and I exhumed Noodles from her temporary burial spot, put her in a box to deter other animals, and gave her a short memorial service in the dark. We recalled our fondest memories of our time together and thought about all that we have been through with her in our lives. We are thankful for all she gave us, not least of which was the confidence that we could take care of another living creature and handle responsibility and challenges together. We apologized for not being home when she passed, hoped that her passing was peaceful and mercifully short, and wished her a final good night. Good night Noodles, good night.
Posts
