What I Did to My Birds

       The hardest part of completely changing my life practically overnight was parting with my birds.  I lost most of my furniture because I couldn’t sell it in time and I couldn’t afford to store it.  The shipping company lost two big boxes of clothes that constituted half my wardrobe (thank God I had the good sense to pack my best suits and business clothes in my carry-on), for which I was compensated $200, which barely covered the cost of one of my dinner-date with Fortinbras dresses.  I lost my wrought iron bedframe, which was all tricked out for bondage sexytimes (but, it was the bed on which I cavorted with Drs. Cockatoo Fraud and my Housecall-making Ex, so maybe it’s good that it’s gone).  I even lost my desk, because it was too big to fit into the storage unit.  I loved that hugeass desk.  It was huge and heavy and beat to hell.  That desk was through the wars with me.  It was the first piece of furniture I bought when I moved to the East Coast for school.  I’m typing this on a piece of shit I bought off Craiglist for $20 which is only nominally better than a TV tray.  

       All in all, between the stuff that I had to sell and the stuff that I had to abandon and the stuff that was lost by the shipping company, I lost more than half of my property.  The only thing that remains entirely intact is my library.   I kept almost every book.

       None of it hurt me like giving up my birds.

       I have had many dreams and nightmares about my birds, and my deceased Parrot.  They play heavily symbolic roles in my dreams.  (2 links..click both if interested) 

        My analyst says that my birds represent my heart. 

        I contacted my avian vet and arranged to have them boarded.  One reason I’m so broke right now is because it cost me a fucking fortune, but I knew that I could trust this place.  They feed the birds top-quality pellets and change the toys and clean the cages multiple times per day and let them out to fly in a special room every few days (flying is very good for birds’ souls and emotional health.  When Parrot fledged for the first time under my care, she immediately became more confident and curious).  

      But….I couldn’t give them up.

        The last week I was in New York, I took my birds almost everywhere with me.  I just wanted to be close to them.  I put them into their travel cages and brought them with me to the Studio.  The other dommes loved them.  We fed them apple slices.  I bought them so many toys.  I was with them whenever I wasn’t in a session.  I’d never bring Parrot to work because she was shy and timid, but my other birds are very comfortable as long as they’re together in their flock, especially if they see me around them. 

        At night, after my shift ended, I’d walk home with them.  Yeah, I walked around Manhattan carrying a birdcage, like a crazy person.   The traffic noises would make them vocalize.  They loved to check out the pigeons.  They looked up at the sky a lot, which kinda broke my heart, to tell you the truth.   They are meant to be flying in the sky.  I tried to give them the best quality of life that I could and be sensitive to their needs and respectful of them, but the fact is that almost all pet hookbilled birds (parrots) not kept in an aviary environment are essentially being locked up in prison. Even if it’s a relatively cushy minimum-security prison like they have in Norway, it’s still a prison, and the bird can’t live like a bird and do birdy things.  

       I wheeled their cage into my bedroom at night so that I could be with them.  I let them out to fly and they’d hop around my desk or hang out on the curtain rod.  I took them out and held them, one by one, to say goodbye to them.

        Every day, I’d call the Vet and say that I was bringing my birds in after work.  And every day, I put it off, because I wanted one more day with them.  One more day.  One more night so I wasn’t alone in my apartment with its ever-growing content of movers’ boxes.  

      I put it off for an entire week.  In the end, I had to ask for help.  My English Domme friend from the Studio, Betsy, came to me literally 4 hours before I had to get on the airplane.  She helped me put my luggage into the cab and held my hand while I leaked tears and hugged the bird cage with my other arm.  My hair got into the cage and the birds nibbled at it.  

         I felt badly for crying because my birds are sensitive and they know when I am upset and it makes them scared, just like little children.  I always tried not to let the birds see me when I was furious or really sad.  I hate that Parrot saw the Surgeon when he came over that last time. 

          In the end, I just couldn’t do it.  I know it was my responsibility, but I couldn’t.  I guess I am a coward.  I did not want to cry in front of the receptionist and make people uncomfortable. 

         Betsy took the birds in and turned them over for me.  

         The stupid taxi driver kept trying to talk to me and ask me about my birds.  He was one of those really talkative taxi drivers.  I didn’t want to talk to him.  I just wanted to be alone.  I was quiet and he would just keep talking and asking me questions. 

        Betsy came back to the cab and said, “It’s done, Bird.  They’re fine.”

        She held my hand all the way back to her apartment.

        Then, I went straight to the airport. 

        


6 thoughts on “What I Did to My Birds”

    1. Thanks, Tony. <3

      I’m insecure about my ability to write fiction these days. I wrote tons of it when I was younger, but had to change gears with the journalism and then with the way I was taught to write in grad school. My adviser would cross out anything that smacked of emotion or opinion.

      I’ll see what I can do.

      Thanks for reading.

    2. I find that really interesting, because I actually naturally tend to write without emotion or opinion. My supervisor had to work really hard to get me to “situate myself” in my thesis. Huh.

      -Celine

  1. Again, you have nailed the expression of an emotional state with beautiful, spare prose.
    I am so sorry about this… I’ve had times in my life when I’ve lost things too. Losing the “stuff” hurts at the time, and may cause resentment but ultimately usually left me with a nice clean slate/starting over feeling. But losing someone you love (human or otherwise) is a different thing altogether. I suspect that the reason you aren’t enjoying this fresh start is that you have a huge hole in your heart where your birds should be.
    It sounds like moving back to NY would be a very dangerous thing for you to do, but maybe you could move somewhere within driving distance? So you could get your birds back? Either that, or maybe you could hire a responsible person to drive them out to you – that would probably be cheaper than boarding them anyway, and it sounds like you NEED them with you! Whatever you decide to do, I know it will be the best that you CAN do. And I will keep you in my thoughts. Hang in there.
    Anne

  2. My heart is stricken and withered like grass;
    I am too wasted to eat my bread.
    Because of my loud groaning
    my bones cling to my skin.
    I am like an owl of the wilderness,
    like a little owl of the waste places. Ps 102

    Wishing you a future filled with bird love,
    John

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