Tiki

As we drove home from Orillia that afternoon in October of 1996, I kept glancing back to the Hagen cockatiel cage strapped into the back seat. Tiki clung to the bars of the cage as far away from Sassy and Nipper as she could get. We were far from convinced that the scrawny little female with dull, ratty looking plumage would even survive the trip to her new home. This twelve-year-old Lutino female had already had three homes that we knew of and had survived the past year grabbing food and water whenever her bonded cage mates were not guarding them from her. In fact all three Cockatiels were housed in a dark corner of a little used dining room.

For a year we watched as all the attention they had been getting went to the new baby. The birds had become inconvenient and the owners were relieved when we offered to take them. We were relieved too. We knew little of Tiki's first ten years of life, but we knew that some of it wasn't easy. One eyelid and one nostril were scarred and  her "ankles" were fused. That was nine years ago.

When we arrived at home, we gave Nipper and Sassy their own cage and Tiki  moved in with another Lutino female, our gentle Samantha. Although she remained somewhat furtive about eating and drinking, she quickly gained weight and a healthy plumage. And she was so easy to love. Everything she did, she did with strength, vigour and fearlessness, be it bathing, jumping, flying or demanding a head rub. I understand that male Cockatiels do more than a wolf whistle. But Tiki must have been a canary in another life. When she wanted out of the cage, she would whistle a sweet complex melody that was irresistible. And oh, did she enjoy a spray bath. She'd open her wings wide, turn almost upside down and always look for more. She laid at least one egg most years, usually in May. Tiki seemed to prefer men to women. Her favourite perch was my husband's right shoulder, and she would quickly fly to any male  visitor, as though she' been waiting for someone specific. She'd nestle into our necks to signal her desire for a head rub and nap. Through the ensuing years we were reminded occasionally that time and history were gradually taking its toll on Tiki. She would quickly lose patience with us if we were not quick enough to respond to her request for a skritch or didn't do it quite the way or where she wanted it.

She developed chronic polyuria and slept more and more. Her droppings stopped dropping and became wet projectiles. I started wrapping the outside of her sleeping corner of the cage with plastic to confine the mess to the cage itself. Lorne, her favourite person, potty trained her. Actually, she trained us to recognize the "dance". But the urates would coat the underside of her tail, which required daily cleansing; she hated it. One day, in a panic, she flew down the basement stairs. We didn't know that's where she'd flown at the time. But we couldn't find her. By bedtime I was exhausted, upset and in a panic myself. Surely she'd have called out if she weren't hurt. She must be hungry and thirsty. Outside, I imagined all the predators from the ravine closing in on her. After a sleepless night and while preparing to search the house yet again, I heard he call out. It took several calls to track her to the darkness under the stairs. Our relief however, was short-lived. By that evening she'd been hospitalized with heavy metal poisoning. She'd found something to chew on under those stairs.

In 2001 Tiki became egg bound. Dr. Sawyer tried everything to get Tiki to  pass that egg. The egg, eventually, was removed surgically. I think that's when I first became concerned about Tiki's quality of life. By then she'd been a part of our family for five years longer than we'd had a right to expect. But, despite her weakened condition, her calcium reserves were just fine and she bounced back quickly from yet another close call.

One morning, not too long ago, Tiki barely acknowledged my good morning and I noticed that she was favouring one leg. As I watched her over the next couple of days, she seemed to eat and drink normally, but continued  to sleep more than usual and her limp worsened. And she'd  lost some weight since her monthly weigh day. So we were off to the vet once more. Dr. Sawyer examined her thoroughly and ever so gently but couldn't find the cause of Tiki's discomfort.

Given Tiki's age we couldn't justify putting her through the more intrusive diagnostic procedures. So, we returned home with a medication to combat pain. She seemed to rally for a day or so. But February 11th was the day we'd been dreading and preparing ourselves for. In the morning I found Tiki hugging the bottom of the cage, eyes closed and beak gripping the bars of the cage. She couldn't perch any longer and staggered with wings spread for balance when she attempted to walk. Her weight was down another six grams.

Lorne held her gently wrapped in a towel on his lap while I arranged for a last visit to Dr. Sawyer. And we said our good-byes to that tough, gutsy little 'tiel that had beat the odds nine years before.

The past couple of days have been tough for all of us. The rest of the flock is unusually quiet. I still look for her in her usual place on Lorne's right shoulder, and at the beginning and end of each day; and while we are grateful for the nine years that she allowed us to share with her, we will miss her terribly.

February 2005

Published in the Companion Parrot Quarterly Summer 2005
Published in Parrots Magazine November 2006