Tony

Tony has come home with me for a week. Tony is the clinic budgerigar, hand-raised by K, supposedly so that he could be adopted by M. In the meantime he lives at the clinic, where everyone looks after him and therefore no one looks after him. I worked last Saturday. The paper at the bottom of his cage was filthy. What water he had was slimy and his granivore mix was set like concrete. By blowing on his seed it was obvious he wasn't eating as there were no husks to be blown. We'd taken the pellets away as he wasn't eating them either. Two weeks ago I weighed him. He was 29 grams. I weighed him yesterday and he was 27. On Saturday, in a high dudgeon, I brought him home. He ate like a horse and seemed to welcome the company of the three birds already on the verandah. I let him out to fly under supervision while he was here and he adapted brilliantly although his favourite perch was on my head. I reluctantly took him back to the clinic on Monday.

For whatever reason, he doesn't eat at the clinic. I picked him some of those wild oats and he ate them but he's either running at the bottom of the cage or sitting quietly on his play perch. Quietly means not singing and for a budgie that's unusual behaviour. Cornelius sings all the time, even with his eyes closed when he's resting during the middle of the day.

Watching Tony today I notice that he's constantly eating and when he's not eating he's sleeping. He's had diarrhoea for weeks and his little bottom is featherless and scalded. I'm hopeful that, with a week of good eating and attention to hygiene as well as just having attention paid to him, he'll blossom. He's the loveliest little bird, affectionate and full of fun. Frankly, I don't want to return him to the clinic as it is just too busy with too many chiefs and not one reliable Indian. He's stuck in a lonely room and unless someone goes to the trouble of getting him out, sticking the 'Tony is Out' sign on the back door and closing all the doors to reception, which I don't think anyone but me does, he doesn't get a fly around. He's just there. It makes me weep, literally, when I think of this valiant little bird - and valiant is a word I've used to describe him before and it still is apt - living the life of a prisoner in solitary. I may not take him back unless specifically asked. He may become ours through default. At least I hope so. It's rather sneaky but I'm going to try it. His life and well-being is worth the aggravation. Besides, I retire in four weeks and I can ask that he be my retirement present.

Tony is significantly smaller than Cornelius, who I thought was a rather small budgie. His feathers are in poor shape. Some are clotted with dried granivore, others just frowsy. He smells like a mixture of granivore and bird poo. But I love him. He gives wonderful little nose kisses and adores, unusual for a budgie I think, having his right cheek rubbed. He even seems to like having his head rubbed. Gently of course. He's so small that one must be very gentle with him.

I am so glad to be leaving work. It's not the work. It's the sad animals I see. I'm sick of not being able to rescue everything - and of course I can't. It just hurts too much now . I am less tolerant in my old age than I used to be and cannot see why people don't really see their animals as beings, deserving of our highest regard and best effort to make their lives healthy and happy. Of course we have clients who adore their animals and go all out in their care and love for them. Unfortunately the vast majority seem to love them in a sort of remote way. They care for them, are fond of them but don't really see them as *people* in their own right. I suppose if they did they would become vegetarian. Thank goodness I don't eat meat. It is painful to watch all the commercials for chicken this and beef that and pork something else. It is akin to eating our siblings, a form of cannibalism made all the worse by our ignorance, and our failure to feel what these poor animals endure before we put them in our mouths.