We buried our little canary this morning. His name was
Robbie. He passed away during the night. Yesterday morning he still sang and
poked my nose with his beak, the way he always did to show his affection. He
must have had a stroke in the afternoon, because when we came home from
shopping, he sat in his tub, something he never did, and was gasping for air.
When I lifted him out to put him back into the cage onto a dry paper towel, he
didn’t struggle or make a little chirp of protest. He just crouched on the
floor, his feathers soaked with water, his breathing laboured. He was twelve
years old, a good, ripe age for a canary. And he lived a good life. My wife
cleaned his cage every morning, changed his seeds and water every day, twice
when it was hot. And he ate only the best seeds we could buy. He returned the
love we gave him tenfold with his songs and his affection. When we buried him
in one of the flowerbeds wrapped in a piece of tissue paper we buried a small
part of our life with him. We put a nice rock over his tiny grave to protect
him from wild animals that might want to dig him up.
As small as he was, he had a large personality and made
himself known. When it was time for lunch, he sat on his usual spot on his
perch and chirped loudly to let us know he wanted his apple, or lettuce, or
piece of broccoli. When he got it he fluttered his wings and started eating
before we could even fasten it to the cage. He poked our finger with his open
beak to say thanks. He had a beautiful voice and he was loud. The louder we
talked, the louder he sang just to make certain we didn’t ignore him.
He had a bit of a temper also. When we left him alone for
the day, we had to coax him to forgive us. He showed us his cold shoulder by
turning away when we talked to him, but he was quick to forgive and favored us
with a loud song.
He was a part of our routine. In the morning we played a
tape for him. Classical music with canaries singing along. And he usually sang
along also. It was plain to see he loved classical music. Didn’t care much for
the modern stuff.
We got him when he was a month old. He was so small but he
already had a big voice. Before him, we had a female canary. We called her
Bobby. When we bought her, the store owner assured us it was a male, because
she sang almost like a male. In hindsight we should have known this was not a
male, because males, apparently, don’t get as tame and affectionate the way she
did. We let her fly around and she sat on our shoulders, pulled on our ears and
hair. She ate from my egg and drank orange juice when my wife offered it to
her. Well, when she laid her first egg, we knew we had no male. We gave her to
a lady who bred canaries and that’s how we got our little Robbie. He was from
her first brood.
We’ve always had canaries. Our first two lived nine years.
The next one, Joey, lived only three years, but we believe he was an old bird
when we got him, because he didn’t like to fly around when we opened the cage,
unlike Robbie, who enjoyed spending time outside his cage. Only in his later
years he didn’t care to leave his cage. He didn’t have the strength to fly
around, but that was okay. He was perfectly happy inside his cage.
Starting in Spring, he spent most of his day in our sun-room.
He loved looking out of the windows and watch the wild birds outside. He talked
with them and sang to them.
He didn’t like it when we cut his nails, but it needed to be
done. When his nails were long, he couldn’t hold on to the perch and many times
he fell off. A few times he got his toes caught either on his swing or even on
the edge of his seed container. Hanging upside down, he screamed for help and we had to rescue
him. He did actually lose one of his nails when he ripped it off after getting his toe
caught. Luckily we were home, and we put cinnamon on the bleeding wound to
stop the bleeding. Canaries are bleeders and can die from loss of blood. He did
give us a bit of scare that day. So we made sure to cut his nails.
He was only a little bird, but he was a large part of our
lives for twelve years. He brought us much joy and a ray of sunshine, and we
will certainly miss him. We will miss playing his tape and listening to his
songs. He didn’t ask for much, just to be recognized and appreciated, but he
gave so much of his little self. He wasn't perfect; his feathers looked a bit ruffled, after all, he was getting old, but to us he was the most handsome canary around.
We will probably get another canary, but Robbie was one of a
kind with his own character and personality and he’ll be in our hearts and
memory forever.
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