Flying free

When I was born, Sunshine had already been living with my parents for more than a year. He was an Orange-Winged Amazon, sold to my father as a Blue Front by a pet store owner who really didn’t give a shit. He was born wild in Brazil, was captured very young and lost a toenail in quarantine, and never much cared for men. When parrots aren’t hand-reared by humans, they don’t ever become super-cuddly — primate are the natural enemy who poses the greatest threat, after all. He bit everyone who came in contact with him at some point through the years — whether through fear or aggression — but never me.

We celebrated his birthday every September 19, and he gave me presents every Christmas, when his own stocking would be filled with peanuts and cuttle bones. He was like an older brother. I’ve always expect to inherit him and keep him as a squawking, voluble companion into my old age, a living reminder of childhood’s happiest days. I’m so sad that won’t happen.