Frankie

 My accidental bird. We were his fourth home. He was 25 when we picked him up from a friend at the brewery last April. I knew the clock was ticking, but whatever time he had, we were going to make it good.

He’s the only bird since Paulie who would allow skritches, but like Paulie, he was flightless, so put up with it til he launched himself off my lap, letting me know he was done.

Today I took a moment while I was cleaning the bird room. He hung out with me as long as he felt like it. I gave him skritches. I didn’t intuit an ending.

An hour or so later, Gary was trying to pick a play out of him, and I tried to rescue him. He launched himself as he has dozens of times, but this time, he landed wrong, and I knew as soon as he did that it was bad. I scooped him up quickly (cursing myself, how could I miss him?) and held him close. And he closed his eyes and was gone.

His little face was peaceful. I sat with him for over an hour, talking to him and giving him skritches. 

He was such a good boy.

Struggle Bus

 Younger graduates from Temple in 3 weeks.

I said what I said.

Elder will not. Not yet. He celebrated 10 years at his job this month, certainly longer than I’ve been anywhere and has a side gig he’s trying to get off the ground.

That’s all I have for now.

Also, George died two months ago, suddenly. I brought home a young bird last night—Butters—who is getting acclimated.

I finish year 2 of my program and am building my committee.

One thing at a time. I am way overwhelmed.