As a child raised on a farm, I was surrounded with animals, whether as pets or as a means of livelihood. For a long time, though, I didn’t consider myself an animal lover because I was deliberate as to which animals I allowed myself to love. I wasn’t obsessed with an animal simply because it existed in proximity to me. Usually I became attached to it because it was sick or vulnerable, such as homeless, abandoned, or newly born. But as an adult with my own place, a little farmhouse, I quickly surrounded myself with pets. I started with fish, then a dwarf hamster, then outdoor cats, a parakeet, and dog. The parakeet story, though, is the most unconventional. He came, not from a pet store, but from a generous local family, sang happily all day long, and finally, escaped from a predator, only to die of stress.

I obtained him through a coworker who said in passing, “My friend Alisha is looking to rehome her parakeet. She’s asking on Facebook if anyone’s interested. She says he’s a happy boy but he sings too much through her kids’ naptime.”

A budgie had been on my wish list for a while, so I said,”Tell her I’m interested!” Two days later, thanks to my coworker and a casual comment, I had a free parakeet, cage, and bird food.

Sunny was a pretty blue boy who sang and chirped all day long. I loved it, because I would struggle with drowsiness when I came home from work. Hearing him happily warbling helped keep me alert and focused when I would sit down for online schoolwork. When Anthony would play the piano, Sunny would hop around in his cage and sing his heart out in competition. I learned that Sunny wouldn’t eat cold lettuce, only room temperature, and that he enjoyed some hardboiled egg pieces now and then.

After my hamster died from an unfortunate prolapse, I had a superstitious feeling that another pet might die too. I couldn’t place my finger on why; I had no logic on which to base my fear. I prayed about it, asking that my remaining pets could stay healthy and safe. With living next to a highway, I was well aware that my cats might not make it through their proverbial nine lives. However, I didn’t expect my little Sunny boy to be the next.

Late one night, a small pin fell out of our front door handle. The doorknob still worked, but with a catch, and the door would sometimes bounce in the lock and not close correctly. “I’ll have to put in a new doorknob, I guess. I’ll see if I can go to Menards in a day or two,” said Anthony. Well, less than 48 hours later, he hadn’t found time to run to the hardware store and the knob still worked, we thought.

I came home from work on a bright afternoon to see the front door ajar. First I thought, “Oh no, flies in the house.” Next I felt sick to my stomach and instantly processed what had happened. We had both left for work that morning and the door had not latched. One of my outdoor hunting-inclined cats had entered and discovered the birdcage. The cage had been knocked over, birdseed scattered, the door ajar, no sign of the bird. Adding insult to injury, potted plants in the living room were knocked over and a loaf of bread on the counter had been gnawed on by sharp feline teeth. My gray tommy cat strolled and stretched on his way to greet me from where he’d been napping in the bathroom. I looked at him, feeling numb. “Out,” I said and placed him outdoors and shut the door on the chaos within.

I searched the house for Sunny or evidence of him, but only found a few downy feathers and one long tail feather by the front door. “Maybe he flew outside,” I said, and tried not to worry about him.

As I cleaned up the mess, I confess I grieved. I love my little critters, with all their quirks and messes. They are more than conversation pieces when friends come over; they hold part of my heart.

An hour later, I was loading the washer with some clothes when I heard the faintest “peeep.”

“Sunny? Sunny!” I found him, hiding on the floor beside my deep freezer, coats and boots protecting him from view and cat assault. I was relieved, but not completely. Birds are fragile creatures, not well suited for survival in domestication. Even being left in front of a cool draft can mean the end for a parakeet.

I placed him back in his cage but he didn’t sing again. He sat silently for almost two days, looking more and more ill. He became hunched, with stained yellow feathers around his eyes, and flinched when we walked by. “Sunny boy, you’re not gonna make it, are ya? You’ve been such a sweet little thing.” He survived the initial trauma, but may have flown into a window and been injured internally, or simply so stressed that he failed to recuperate.

Currently, the cage sits empty, waiting until I prioritize a pet store run. The bird cage and this little house needs another warbler to be my study buddy.

The moral of the story is to ensure the security of your doorknob and understand that many animals are predators by nature. I didn’t waste energy getting angry at my cat; it wouldn’t have done any good. I appreciate the fact that I’ve seen him eliminate eight outdoor mice, so its hard to begrudge him for following his prowling instincts. The other lesson is that while it can be hard to loose animals we love, we choose resilience when we refuse to close our hearts to them. With time, it can be appropriate to get another pet and re-establish those old bonds. Statistics continue to indicate that people with pets are generally more happy than those who have no pets. We can benefit from our attachment to animals and demonstrate resilience by choosing to love again.

“We demonstrate resilience by choosing to love again.”