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Cinny's Lament

© Mary Wilson

When I went to bed she was a happy, vocal cinnamon pied cockatiel. She lived in a cage with her two older brothers who were teaching her all about independent bird life. I told them good night, turned out the light and closed the door, not knowing I'd ever see my happy, bouncing baby Cinny again. When I returned from work and opened the door to my birdroom, I saw that she had passed beyond the rainbow bridge.

I did not have a necropsy done. I should have, of course, but in my grief I really didn't think about it. I'll never know what took little Cinny's life, though I suspect it was probably an internal problem. There are some things no amount of love can cure.

Still, I take comfort in knowing that she came onto this earth for a purpose. Her little soul came here with a purpose, and that purpose must have been finished. I wonder, though, if her parents knew of her passing. I wonder if her brothers had gotten to know her and grieved for their sister?

There are some who say I am humanizing my birds, and they may be right. But if we do not love and care for them as if they were our own children, who will?

Wherever Cinny is, I think she's perched on top of a gilded cage, singing to her heart's content.