Twelve days ago, my husband decided to buy our five year old two pet budgies.
Twelve days later, only one bird remains. The other has gone off to birdie heaven.
I came home Thursday after dropping the kids at school and noticed both birds were on the ground and one wasn’t really doing much but panting heavy and puffing up it’s feathers. I could tell there was something wrong, so I rushed the bird back to the pet store and they took it to their vet.
They informed us that the female (at home) had been preventing the male from eating by pecking at him every time he tried to eat. Since it doesn’t take much for the bird to die, even stopping him a few times made him sick enough to basically die from it.
I thought he might make it but I got the call that the bird died when I was picking up the kids from school Friday afternoon. I told them in the car and they both started crying. I feel awful about it.
Funny enough, the surviving bird (aka the murderer) almost seems happier now – she’s been singing non-stop, which is sort of disturbing when you realize that she just killed her buddy. As punishment, I’ve been whispering “murderer” near her as much as possible, and forcing her to watch Kardashian television.
It’s only fair.
RIP little budgie that we hadn’t even named yet.