Dead Pet Photos! One Time Only!
Monday, April 24, 2006 
When the Fiery One and I were first married in mid-2001, we bought two zebra finches. I have never liked living in a place that doesn't have pets, and I was determined that we would not go long without them. The building we lived in was supposed to be pet-free, so I knew that cats were definitely out of the question, but birds seemed perfectly reasonable.
Nothing about owning birds was actually perfectly reasonable at the time. Our building technically did not allow pets of any kind. Neither of us had ever owned birds. I did not like birds. We knew nothing about them aside from the fact that they ate seeds and laid eggs.
So, we ran out to a pet store and picked out the two most pathetic looking birds there. Elliott was the first one we chose, and we asked for him because he was the fattest bird in the cage. The pet books will tell you not to buy a fat-looking bird, but why heed conventional wisdom when you can act on pity?
When we arrived home, we held the open end of the box we had transported him in against the open cage door, and he threw himself into the bird cage in such a flurry of feathers and feet that we could not tell which part of him was which. We were alarmed that he would die before we had even put seeds in the feeder. He lay on his side, heaving his walnut-sized body with huge panicked breaths.
And then we saw a spray of blood along the plastic edge at the bottom of the cage. Fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, I thought while we watched him huffing on his side. It was a relief when he finally righted himself and started hopping across the newsprint cage liner.
This was a fitting introduction to Elliott. He proved to be alarmingly clumsy and near-sighted. His continual accidents disturbed houseguests, but once you became accustomed to his falls and collisions, he could be quite amusing.
I don't know for certain if birds can be near-sighted, but Elliott sure behaved that way. He would stand on the floor of his cage eyeing the nearest perch for several seconds, darting his eyes left and right and up and down in order to guage its position, and then he would jump up. Most birds that I've seen land on whatever they jump to, but not Elliott. It was not a rare experience to watch him leap head first into the targetted perch, smack his head, and then land with a small thwock on the bottom of the cage. He did this from July 2001 until last week. He never got any better at it, but he always righted himself and gave it another shot.
Despite our having no good reason to settle on owning birds and my not liking birds and Elliott's obvious deficits, I grew to love that little guy. Over the last year, he has lived out of the cat's range in a side room where I iron my clothes. Every morning he greeted me with his trademark Woody Woodpecker chuckle accompanied by his patterned dancing circuit around the perches in his cage. I looked forward to his morning happy dance as one of the truly positive things I could count on every day. While I ran the iron over my work shirts, I chatted back to him. When I whistled, he would incline his head and listen intently.
Last Wednesday morning, I walked into the side room and refilled his feeder, but he didn't jump up to watch me fill it like he usually did. That when I saw him lying on his side in a corner of the cage, his beak slightly open and his feet curled together. I was surprised by the grief that I felt. It crawled over my skin like a thick nausea. I held my hand over my mouth like an old aunt.
I don't like change like this.
I don't like that all things end.
I don't like finality.
The next evening, the Fiery One and I took his body outside and placed him under a tree. I wanted something wild, even if wild meant an alley cat, to take him, because that would mean his not being forever cut off from all things by a layer of plastic or the mazework of urban plumbing.
After we left his body under that tree, I could not stop thinking about it. Elliott's death was becoming more than Elliott's death. It was becoming this symbol of so many things that have ended or are ending. When he died on Wednesday, it was like I had permission to feel a lot of the anger and loss and sadness attached to other parts of my life, and I am surprised by how bad I have allowed myself to feel.
Elliott lay under that tree for three days. Although some of his smaller underfeathers started to come loose, he looked just as soft and bright on Friday as he did when I found him on Wednesday morning. There was no visible deterioration aside from sunken eyes. Then, on Sunday morning, we noticed that he was gone. There were no feathers, no imprint left in the soil where he had been. There was no noise and no mark on the ground.
Saying goodbye to Elliott has forced me to take a look at how much I have allowed myself to collect painful emotions, how much I have avoided doing anything about them, and how much I have always done this. I don't need to do this anymore. Hiding these emotions and leaving them untended no longer protects me as I once thought it did.
I would like to take them out under a tree and lay them down. I would like to let them be taken away when I am not looking. I would like to give them away to the unknown as though they were things that could be disappeared.
On the other hand, I love that the death of so tiny a bird can make a person see so much. I am glad to have opened my eyes enough to want to be in the world fully again, to want to change, to want to affect change. It is not good enough for me to swallow the shit end of the stick and then perpetually pretend I am not choking on it.
Goodbye, Elliott. Thank you for your singing and dancing in the wee morning hours. Thank you for making my days happier. Thank you for pushing me to be greater ...
... even though you were about as bright as an electrified head of cauliflower.
Reader Comments (26)
Beautiful post and beautiful pictures. Thank you for the poignant words.
lovely post. and sorry for your loss, lady.
Wow - very powerful. I can definitely identify as I have a big soft spot for unwanted animals (which is in part why my fiance and I are almost outweighed by ours).
I'm really sorry for your loss.
This was a lovely lovely post. I'm so sorry for your loss. There are few things in this world as bad as losing a pet. I went to my father's for Christmas last year and a day after I arrived, one of his beloved cats died, and it threw the whole of the holiday into a decidedly mournful mood. Until we realised that she'd had a long and lovely life, despite being as daft as a brush.
Funny how it's the daftest animals that we adore the most.
You iron your clothes?
Yep. I iron my clothes every morning before work. I actually find ironing to be a soothing activity. It's also just about the only housework type thing I do on a regular basis
Aww. I am sorry for the loss of your feathered cohort. He looks very elegant and, well, simple in your photographs. Your very good photographs. And now I don't feel so bad about posting that photograph of the dead turkey, either. The turkey, unlike Elliot, was very inelegant. Non elegant. Not elegant.
brilliant bit about the cauliflower, love that ending.
My first zebra finch died in my hands. At that point in my life, that was the greatest grief I'd known.
I'm sorry you lost Elliot. What you've written about him and his effect on you is very moving.
Oh, schmutzie, I'm so sorry. Losing a pet is an awful thing.
Here's to giving those feelings away to the unknown and having them be disappeared for you. In my experience this is not only possible, it's what happens when you're ready.
Aw, Schmutzie. I am so sorry.
I'm so sorry for your loss. He sounds like he was a character.
You are so lucky you had him for five years. My bird died after a week? I'm a bad momma. No more birds. Cheers to Elliot.
RIP Elliot.
Karen
R.I.P. Elliot. What a wonderful home you had.
Leaving the deceased pet beneath a tree is a brilliant idea. Olive (our new puppy) unearthed our long dead kitty, Glitter, yesterday and was happily gnawing on what looked to be a femur bone on our living room rug.
You need to write a book, lady...and have a baby. Both at the same time would also be nice.
This was such an incredible post - what beautiful ways you express yourself. I'm sorry about Elliot :-(
Amazing. Truly. I know these conclusions didn't come easily.
Elliot was very loved. You sent him into the next world with dignity and grace.
"Present!" *raises hand while wiping tears out of her eyes
I went through something similar, recently, with my own finches. (I have an aviary full of zebras - currently there are five, but previously 13 before the, erm, tragedy.) It's so sad when they die - they're so small and pretty and soft and.. no longer making that really endearing 'beep' noise and, oh god, I'm not here to get myself worked up! Sheesh.
I'm sorry Elliot's gone. I empathize with the suckage of the whole situation. And if you're ever in the area (um, it could happen, right?) you have an open invitation to chirp and beep at the little ones in my house. They know who's their friend. All birds do, I think.
It's so hard to let things go to chance. To lay that little bird out there, to let whatever happens happen. Most of us can't do that. We have to wrap everything up in a tidy, sanitary little bundle and bury it somewhere suitable.
I admire your ability to let him go in that manner. I think it's a metaphor for something fundamental in you, and I like it.
I just realized I spelled Elliott's name wrong before. I'm sorry.
I'm sorry. It's sad to lose a friend.
It's inspiring, though, to read the thought process kicked off by your grief at losing Elliot. I'm glad you were able to use it to lead yourself to a stronger frame of mind.
I just had a strange thought, about Elliot's death and the disappearance of his body (on the third day?)being somehow like the Easter story-- death leading to spiritual rebirth...
He was lucky to have you. And you were lucky to have him.
brilliant.