Occasionally I find one or two feathers tucked away under something I had taken with me wherever I decided to go that day. A few minutes ago I unpacked my laptop. Out flew a green feather, one I instantly recognize as belonging to my little green budgie back at home.
Just like any pet, even birds find a way to place their feathers in inconspicuous areas. Sometimes I visit the grocery store and catch something out of the corner of my eye, only to realize it’s a small piece of feather fluff that had gotten tangled into my bangs. Or sometimes when I do notice the feather and try to remove it then it ends up clinging onto my hair even more.
And at that point I just walk around with it. I feel amost proud about carrying around the feather because it’s almost as if I have a sign that says, “I have cute adorable birds and you don’t”.
Othertimes I open my textbook and find a feather or two tucked away.
Sometimes when I sleep over at my aunts I find it difficult. The little feathers are a reminder of who I have waiting back at home. The chattering of my tiny little flock, the occasional whistle from the cockatiel, the sound of one of the younger flock members playing with their bell.
All these things I miss, especially in the guest room where everything is silent. At home I share a room with my birds, nothing is ever quiet for the majority of the day.
I also think about what would happen if one were to be injured while I was gone, or if some other freak accident happens while I’m away. Maybe one could somehow get loose from their cage and fly out. Or maybe somehow figure out how to open doors for all I know.
They have remained the one constant in my life when it comes to all the events that normally happen across life. Relationship changes, new friend groups, work, school, so much has changed.
One thing has remained. My love for birds, and my birds themselves. Of course some have passed away. But even years later I can still manage to find a feather or two that found their way underneath the foot of a chair, or sometimes in other crevices.
I used to have a tiny budgie that was a light grey. She passed away a year ago, but I find her feathers in places I would never guess.
And when she passed away I of course got another budgie. Nothing could ever replace her, but I found that I would be even more sad if I wasn’t able to see grey feathers again. So I got another grey budgie. One who is nothing like her.
While she had a buttercup yellow face and a light grey that edged on violet in the right lighting, he has a white face and dark grey feathers the color of steel. He also much more prefers the company of the other birds over a human.
But even so, just seeing those feathers…I felt better. I gave a bird a home, and I got to see the grey feathers again. I guess feathers are kind of like rain or snow. If you are fond of one or the other, then the idea of not seeing either again would be pretty sad to most.
For me, feathers are like that. At the end of the week I have to clear away the feathers by the cage or the door. They cluster together in all sorts of colors. Blue, yellow, green…grey. Forming something equivalent to a feather bunny instead of a dust bunny. A rainbow feather bunny. I even end up picking up the longer pieces of flight feathers that I add to my collection. Which is really just a plastic bag full of an assortment of feathers I collected over the years.
Sometimes I find my hair also ends up in the mix and acts as a rope that holds the clusters together even better. Really it’s a mess. But it reminds me of a fresh layer of snow or rain. It feels familiar and just right, or even comforting.
Occasionally I’ll even find the ‘rare’ feathers as I call them. Usually a single tiny feather that has a simple black dot on them. Cheek patches. Budgies have these cute little dots on their face that remind me of beauty marks. And sometimes, if I’m lucky, I can run across the elusive and tiny feather. I’ll admit that it sometimes feels like what I imagine winning the lottery feels like.
I guess I’m just appreciating how much I actually enjoy their mess overall. What life would be like without. And I realized that the most when my little grey budgie passed and I no longer had a grey budgie like her. Never will I ever have one exactly like her. But I’ve always had budgies of all colors. Grey was the exception, there was only every one grey budgie. Her.
The one way to feel better was to adopt another that would leave me more little grey feathers.
I’m sure maybe dog or cat owners feel the same. Maybe they also miss the hair sometimes. Especially if you have a particular animal with a coat color that is hard to forget about. And when they pass the hair becomes less and less frequent until you’re left with no more. Or maybe the little pieces that somehow found their way somewhere hidden from the vacuum.
And eventhough I have to come home and vacuum up another cluster of feather bunnies, I realize maybe it’s not so bad.
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