At least four years ago, we bought Papaya from "Bird is the Word", a hand-raised bird store in Batavia, Illinois. She was just a bunch of pink skin with some bitty, yellow, baby feathers, and I loved her right away.Papaya quickly became a real member of the family. She's the best bird I've ever encountered, let alone had as a pet. She lived a few months in my bedrooms until she was finally allowed to live in the kitchen, and that's how Papi really joined the family. By the end of her life, I think she was more Hendricks than bird. She'd always rather sit on us, try desperately to have conversations with us, eat the same food as us, play with whatever our hands were using, and explore the things we liked.
She also learned her limits. Well, to an extent. She liked to give me kisses, nibbling my cheek or lip, and she liked "knocking" my cheek, too. With Mom, who I still think she liked best, she would chew on her hair and, as much as Mom hated it, her skin, sometimes, too. She tried to avoid Dad for the most part, but occasionally would land directly on his face or his head. I still haven't figured out why she ever thought that was a good idea. And Sami and she loved to play. Sami got as close as sniffing her multiple times; quite brave for our little Courage the Cowardly Dog.
But when it came to the things our hands were occupied with, Papi had no limits. No keyboard would go unchecked, no magazine page unchewed. If we had crackers in our right hand, she'd eat them. If you got a new, sanitary one for your left, she'd eat that, too. Cheerios in our bowl would be devoured. Anything that wasn't meat or spicy was free game as far as Papaya considered, and that honestly probably attributed to her shorter-than-average lifespan. Especially cheesy products. Of course, she also loved more natural foods, like house-plants and flowers. I'm not sure if she'd rather have a Dorito or a Daisy, but the choice would inevitably be a tough one.
And Papaya made the best noises. Unlike our previous budgies, that let us know they existed by screaming almost constantly, Papaya would only chirp happy gibberish. She also had the remarkable ability to "purr", particularly when she found an inanimate object she loved. Her favorite toy, the decorative plate above her cage, my dangly necklace from Forever21; she had quite the array of favorite things. She'd nuzzle them, chew on them, or just play with them and always purr in delight.
Sometimes, we would swear we could hear actual words amid her babble, and she did completely pick up on her favorite expression, "Pretty Bird" (and its many variations, such as "pretty pretty pretty birdy"), and "Papaya". She was getting fantastically close to "Merry Christmas" as well.
I read once that birds, especially budgies, will copy the squawking and words that their mates say to try and solidify their union and make sure they can find each other. I'm certain Papaya tried desperately to say English words because nothing would make her happier than to solidify her union with our family.
But I can't possibly forget her love of showers. My biggest regret of our years together was never filming her showers- I have a recording on my phone of her eating a peanut-butter sandwich, but never the America's Funniest Home Video (or at least Cute Overload) worthy practice of her using the sink faucet to bathe. She'd sit in our cupped hands, turning her head as to douse her entire neck, lay down to wash her belly, stretch her wings to dampen her feathers, and prance through like a duck. We always knew when she wanted one, because as soon as the faucet went on, she'd start squawking and as soon as it shut off, she'd go silent.
The day I walked by her unusually quiet cage to say hello and saw her on her back, I felt my blood run chill. I ran into one of my parents' arms and began to sob...I don't even remember who it was holding me. Papaya's death was the most unexpected pet death I've ever had. She was literally chirping, flying, and singing to her last day, just as cheerfully as she had been two years before. She never showed a feather of aging.Mom helped me make the best casket for her imaginable, and she was laid to rest with her favorite toy in her feet and her ball alongside. Her pine box was decoupaged with all her favorite foods, people-toys, and flowers. I'm positive that, had she been alive to see her finished box, she would have nuzzled and purred to it, or maybe even tried to eat the food pictures, as she's prone to do. The idea made her burial much happier. Such an amazing bird didn't deserve a shoe-box, she deserved her own idea of a heaven on Earth.
I still miss her. But mostly, I'm just glad I got to raise her. And she is going to frelling love all the things to chew in heaven.
"Going out in Style" can be found by Kellie Pickler
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