Chasing the First Time: Mel's Eulogy

High highs and low lows, that is the summary of human lives, isn't it? Those are the events we remember most vividly. Feeling our best and feeling our worst. The rock group Three Days Grace has a song titled, "Chasing the First Time," and it's all about trying to recreate those high feelings, whatever they may be for the individual.

There's also an entire culture, particularly in animal rescues, about chasing lows. People relishing every graphic, abhorrent, repugnant, horrific thing that may or may not have happened to an animal. I stumbled across one of those threads on Facebook last week, a few women in rescue talking about a rescue turned hoarding, discovered when the founder was in the hospital. None of the animals survived. I read a few comments before I had to turn off the desktop and leave the house. I felt physically ill for two days, like my skin was crawling, wondering why those people were so fixated on recreating gory details of misery. Nothing anyone said or did would help themselves or the animals that died or the person who caused the situation. None of them saw the situation first hand, though they bragged about having access to police reports and how they all knew for years that so and so was going to kill every animal in her care. None of them called the police or animal control or anyone else to do a welfare check.

I have ten parrots in my house, and tomorrow I will have only nine. Mel, my beloved Greenwing macaw, is dying. Last Wednesday, we had a wonderful day. I had promised the parrots that after the dogs shows in Davenport were over, they would have extra Mom Time with me. I opened a big new box of toy supplies, made toys for everyone, deep cleaned both rooms, played music all day, and everyone had extra treats and cuddles. On Thursday morning, Mel was obviously not well. Her food from the previous night was untouched. Usually she eats what she wants and throws the rest, normal macaw behavior. Mel didn't want to come to the front of her cage for her morning petting. I had her step up on my arm, and her grip was shaky. I told Andy I was concerned and he suggested maybe she was having an off day. Parrots don't have off days, which we both know. When a parrot changes behavior, even a small subtle change, it is usually a sign of illness. As a prey animal, parrots do everything they can to cover their symptoms so they don't get rejected from the flock and fall to a predator. I was able to get Mel to eat a few grapes and bits of apple, hoping that Friday would be better. Friday was worse. Mel's food was untouched, water as clean and clear as it was the night before. I called my avian vet and scheduled an urgent visit for Friday afternoon with Dr. Lauren. Dr. Lauren observed Mel's vital signs, said they didn't "look too awful," and took radiographs and drew blood to send off to the exotics laboratory. The radiographs were bad. It appeared Mel had at least the start of pneumonia, far more severe that the mild upper respiratory infection that I was hoping would be the issue. Dr. Lauren was also concerned about cardio issues. She prescribed a strong antibiotic to be administered twice daily, and said that hopefully Mel would improve over the weekend if we were just dealing with an infection.

Mel got worse over the weekend, to the point that she is unable to digest the small bits of food she does consume. She's having troubles perching. She spends most of the day fluffed up and sad. She hated being restrained to be medicated, a ghost from her own traumatic past before I adopted her. I emailed Dr. Lauren last night, giving her an update of my observations. Early this morning, she emailed back with the radiology report from the specialist and full lab results. It's bad, worse than she thought looking at the radiographs on Friday afternoon. Cardiovascular disease and labs that showed she already has muscle deterioration and more. The humane choice is euthanasia. Andy reminded me that Mel has a vet, a good vet, and she needs me to be a good mom at this point. So, I called the vet clinic this morning and scheduled to take Mel on Tuesday afternoon to have Dr. Lauren help her cross the Rainbow Bridge, where no birdies are abused, she will have all her feathers again, she'll be plump and able to fly and nothing will hurt. She will never be scared again, never. I will stay with her during the process. I know the routine. Dr. Lauren helped Roscoe across the Rainbow Bridge in October 2018, after he had another stroke and lost his ability to swallow.

One of my Swedish Vallhund mentors has a saying about helping a companion animal that is terminal. Better a week early than a day late. They don't know why they are suffering. Some are afraid whereas some are stoic. They are already at the foot of the Bridge.

I have a short trip planned later this week, which I planned a few months ago. Last week, I thought about taking Mel along, since the house I rented allows pets and what's one macaw in addition to three small dogs? After viewing the radiographs with Dr. Lauren, I realized that the stress of the trip would be the last thing that Mel would want or need. I thought about taking Mel to the University of Illinois vet school, Dr. Lauren's alma mater, for advanced testing, observation and overnight care. It is practically on the way to the VRBO. Then I was hopeful that the antibiotics would kick in and that I could shorten the trip to being gone for just 24 hours, so Mel would miss just one dose of antibiotics. By yesterday afternoon, even before I emailed Dr. Lauren, I felt the deep pain in my soul that I would have to say goodbye to my friend Mel, my Melly Belly, my Baby Eep, and that without her eating or sufficiently drinking, that it would be very soon. I did not medicate Mel this morning. I don't want her last memories of my to be her wrapped in a towel while I administer the bitter tasting antibiotic. I'm going to be a good mom for the short time we have left together. She has three bowls of different foods in her cage that I discard and replace every 2-3 hours, as well as two bowls of water. I held one of the water bowls for her this morning and she drank well. She even flashed her eyes at me as if to say, "Mmmmm," one of her hallmark happy sounds. She didn't say it but that small gesture took a lot of energy from a parrot running on empty. I have a small oil filled electric heater turned on in her room, keeping the room 75-80 degrees, so she is comfortable and warm.

I'm scared and I'm sad and those are selfish feelings. Mel has not seen me cry and won't, because parrots are not domesticated and don't empathize with human emotions like domestic dogs. I spent a few hours in bed with all four Vallhunds, being comforted by their warm little selves. Mel should have never been hatched in an incubator, should have never been sold as a pet, should have never been subjected to a shit seed diet and physical abuse for the better part of two decades before she was surrendered to an animal shelter. She should not have been adopted to a dirtbag in Muscatine without any background screening and she should not have been scared there for a year before the dirtbag called the rescue, said she didn't want the birds anymore, and the heroic director sent me to gather all the birds, including Mel. Mel didn't recognize me when I walked into that house by myself. She was in a filthy cage with a foot of debris under her, a house of horrors. I loaded as many birds in carriers as I could. The carriers were all my own, which I brought, assuming there would be none, and I was right. I drove the birds to the rescue. Mel was the only macaw but there were multiple African Greys, cockatoos, cockatiels, and other species. I crammed nine carriers into the cab of my Toyota Tundra before I went to her house, and left with all carriers filled, some with multiple birds. I was focused on getting them out before the woman changed her mind, as sometimes happens. She decided while I was there to keep a conure and a Quaker parrot, which came from who knows where. I managed to maintain a neutral presence, nodding my head sympathetically when she described the woes of her life and lies, lies lies. Arguing at that point would have had a deleterious affect on the parrots. She had specificially asked for me to pick up the birds, not the founder, and "hoped I would adopt Mel." She knew Mel was my baby when she adopted her. Manipulative to the end, which will be soon if I cross paths with her again.

Half the birds she told me to take were not from the rescue, no history at all. Some of the birds she had adopted from the rescue were missing. At least one was sold in violation of the adoption contract. They buyer contacted the rescue a few months afterwards, a good home that felt bad about what had happened and wanted to keep the bird. The bird stayed with them. All the birds that I removed were the chaff, plucked or sick or untamed, and therefore unable to be flipped for financial gain. I adopted Mel shortly thereafter and took her home with me, in February 2019. Mel was the last bird that I adopted before things completely went to shit at the rescue. I retained Kozmo, who was a presumed hospice case, with a long list of chronic medical conditions including a heart arrhythmia. Axel has an arrhythmia and murmur. If a bird in this house was going to suddenly fall ill from advanced heart disease, I expected it to be one of those old gals, respectively in their 50's. Not Mel, who is in her mid 20's and should have had clear sailing with my family for many years. I had three good years with Mel. I had hoped for three decades but it is what it is. I don't get to choose. I give them the best nutrition and habitat and healthcare and enrichment that is possible.

There is no bright spot here for my human eyes. I am glad that Mel did not die at the rescue or with some moron coddled and sheltered by the founder. He always made excuses for the worst people and presumably still does. I have no fangirls, have never been swayed by compliments or flowery words. I don't look for bright spots. I look for the darkness, because I want to blot it out and replace it with something better. I was able to make the last three years for Mel about the best that captivity could offer.

I love you Mel and I am sorry for so many things that I cannot change in the world. I will honor your memory by looking for joy in unexpected places and beauty below the surface.