courage according to a budgerigar
About 2 weeks ago, I was going around checking on the havoc the summer heat has done to our plants in the orchidarium when I saw a budgie chick slumped over the edge of a bonsai pot I put in among the finches and budgies sharing an enclosure. It had a huge wound covering most of the top of its head. With some panic, I called for our birdkeeper on duty to hurry and get me the keys to the cage. I picked up the chick and checked out the extent of the wounds. I saw it had several. The gaping wound on its head, a smaller one on its neck, another one on the left wing, and one on its back. I had great doubts of its ever surviving but the vigor with which it reared its head to be fed gave me courage. I cleaned its wounds with iodine and got some of the baby food we feed our nectar drinkers. I prepared the baby food and added some drops of vitamins to it. The chick was so tiny with most of its porcupine feathers barely out. I wondered how it will survive the cold nights without a mother to keep it warm. I checked its crop and it was half full. Its mother has been feeding it. But it lapped up the baby food in less than a minute despite its wounds and soon enough its crop bulged freakishly out of its neck. It was all I could do to keep the food from its wounds. Ants easily find their way to food here at the park and they could be attracted to the wound especially if it was smeared with food. I weighed the options, I can put in back in its nest and have his mother take care of him. No care like momma care. Or take care of it myself. It was finals week. I was moving out of my old apartment. Deadlines were up to my neck. I cannot take care of it. So I decided, I have to put it back. Maybe this time the other budgies who want the nest will stop hurting it. That must how it must have happened. Other budgies who wanted the nest fought its mother and tried to kill it so that its mother would stop fighting for the nest. So I put it back. I asked our birdkeeper to monitor if the other birds will start attacking it again. He said yes. I fixed up the newly installed enrichment toys in the sun conure enclosure and that took some time. Later, much later, I went back to check on the budgie chick. It was now on the ground. Its mother bravely fighting for the nest hanging above the bonsai. A big male budgie worrying a part of its scalp off its head. Its head profusely bleeding again. I called again for the birdkeeper to get me the keys. We took it out. Again I cleaned its wounds. I put it in a dish lined with nesting material. I had to leave that same night because my piano exams were the next day. I left it to my assistant to care for and I wasn’t sure it was going to make the week. We once took a young budgie we wanted to tame. It already had most of its mature feathers out and it didn’t survive a week. This chick had more odds against it.
Two weeks. Unsatisfactory performance during the final exams, paco park concert, moving out of the old apartment, moving into a small room, two unsatisfactory lessons, an affair that fizzled out faster than I wanted it to, missing deadlines, missing a reunion with a dear friend. Tired from traveling without any sleep, I woke up and checked out on the stuff I sent over from the old apartment when I heard loud, desperate peeping. It was still alive. And hungry. I marveled at its desire to live. Makes me think about how sorry my complaints are. This chick was fighting bravely for its life. What am I doing moping about things I have control over? Like doing better in my music studies. Or not giving up on finding the one. I’ll take my cue from this chick. I’ll just do what I need to do to survive. Before I know it, the wounds will heal, I will find the warmth I need, and I will discover flight.
I didn’t want to name it last time because I didn’t know if my heart can take the breakage of losing again something I named and have attached myself to. I feel braver now. I think I’ll name it Vick after William Ernest Henley’s Invictus for its bloody but unbowed head. If it turns out to be a girl, I can always make it Vicky. I should have washed my hands before typing this. The keyboard’s all sticky from the baby food. Ta.
