Eden Cafe

A few years ago, I was babbling incessantly about how I wanted birds. Lots and lots of them. Every type of bird we could possibly own. They’ve got so much personality. They’re sweet and lovable (mostly). They’re really not that expensive to keep alive if they’re healthy. And most landlords won’t ask for a pet deposit. I absolutely adore birds.

M decided to indulge my obsession and buy me a parakeet for Valentine’s Day. So we went to Pet Smart and picked out a bird, a cage and a couple toys. Then we went home, and I promptly accidentally let her out of the box they sent her home in. Naturally, she flew behind a big, heavy bookshelf. I think we chased that bird for half an hour before we finally got her into her cage.

I named her Sunshine by mistake. Every morning, when I pulled back the cover on her cage, I would say, “Good morning, Sunshine.” Because no matter how dark we managed to make it in our house, she was up with the sun. And then one day, I realized she was responding to the name. So we kept it.

From the day we got her, she was a brave little thing, so long as her cage door remained closed. Antisocial as could be. Didn’t like to be touched, but would chew on my ring occasionally. But if you approached the cage and talked to her, she’d get real quiet and stare up at you with big, challenging eyes, daring you to come into her territory. Until you did. And then she fled to the back of the cage.

A year or so later, we got Baby to keep Sunshine company and because M wanted a bird, too. M didn’t want to name his bird Baby but wouldn’t pick a name. He still maintains that his bird is nameless. The bird’s name is Baby.

Baby has always been a clown. He swings upside down on his swing and does somersaults in the corners of the cage. He yells at Zedd and bites his toes. His two favorite pass times are trying to get a heart-shaped bead off a chain and pulling Sunshine’s tail. He’s always been the most childlike of the three so the name really fits him.

Now we have Zedd, whose insanity is only surpassed by my own. He’s a cockatiel we rescued from a friend’s house. Her house was in constant turmoil and her birds got caught up in the mix. So we took the only one who survived home with us the next time we picked her up to hang out. And we named him after a wizard in a series of fantasy novels that M and I both love.

You guys have probably seen the previews or the show modeled after the series. The books are, in my opinion, much better.

My birds mean as much to me as my children. I fawn over them as if I gave birth to them, too. I talk to them and play with them and get disgusted and butthurt by their independence.

I think I need a dog. Dogs don’t mind so much when you snuggle them up like a teddy bear. Birds (some, not all) tend to get annoyed and nip at your ears.

Sunshine died some time before I woke up Saturday morning. I found her and I was devastated.

Well… I didn’t find her. Baby did. He was nudging her body and tweeting worriedly when I got up to go to the bathroom. And I fell apart.

I flew into the bedroom and sat on the corner of the bed. I put my head in my hands and I started to sob. My sweet girl was gone.

I knew it was coming. She’d been acting strangely for days, and on Friday, she began star gazing. She lost the ability to hold her head straight.

M kept trying to convince me she would be fine. That she probably just had a cold. That the violent temperature change had everyone a little off kilter. I was pretty upset. My heart was breaking. And he can’t handle that. My heart breaking breaks his heart, too.

When I told him Sunshine had died, he scooted over to my side of the bed to make room for me and pulled me under the blanket with him. And he stroked my hair and kissed my cheeks and held me tight as I sobbed.

I didn’t hear a harsh word from him all day. He tried to fuck the blues away, but he wasn’t offended when it didn’t work. He didn’t order me around or get upset that I was mostly just staring off into space and crying. He came to where ever I happened to be, often, and scooped me up in his arms to hold me while silent tears slipped down my face.

The best thing for me – for anyone, really – in that state of mind is to keep me talking. Get me working. Get me interested in something so I don’t retreat into a pity party that’s near impossible to pull myself out of. So I didn’t get out of the important stuff, like making meals for M while he worked (Yes, even on Saturday. Don’t get me started.), and being respectful, and feeding and loving on the rest of our avian family.

But “Go get me…” morphed into “Would you mind grabbing…” and “Get this done.” became “Are you feeling up to…” A photo shoot and tree shopping got put on hold. He’s made plans and room in the budget for another bird. When compared to my mother’s “You’re still in your pajamas? Get your uniform on and get to school.” when I told her my cat – who was my first pet and the only thing I cared about at the time – died, M deserves a medal, or something.

We don’t really have set protocols for every emergency we might encounter. Every situation is a little different than the last, even on the most basic level. Sometimes they need to be handled differently. So I follow his lead. It just seems easier that way.

M’s not some heartless bastard who expects me to behave like a robot. He knows that he’ll never have an emotionless slave, and he doesn’t want one. He does expect that, no matter what’s going on in our lives or my mind, I drop everything and follow his orders. But he’s intelligent, responsible, and human enough to know when it’s probably in our best interest for him to back off a little bit. And he chooses to behave accordingly when the need arises.

Not because I’ve asked him to; I haven’t. But because he loves and cares for me and doesn’t like to see me hurt unless it’s at the end of his whip.