But then again, the texture of life is made up of tiny joys and sadnesses along with the momentous ones.
Yesterday marked the death of a budgie named Watermelon....
We have a small aviary, about 40 birds, and for the last few years there has been a disease creeping through it. We tried several vets, and I even bought a microscope to try to figure out what the problem was. I found various possibilities (mites? worms? protozoal parasites?) and treated for those, but it didn't stop the deaths that happened every month or so. Always the same process-- a previously healthy bird would become progressively thinner and weaker, even though it seemed to be eating normally.
This past month we lost two to the mystery disease, and had two more who had become very thin. I found a nationally-known avian vet, and we drove an hour to take the birds there. He was very busy and didn't have an appointment free, but he offered that we could drop the birds off and he would look at them when he had spare time between appointments.
The vet looked at the birds and ran several tests on their droppings, and seemed to be as mystified as we were. He said that we could leave the budgies there for several days (and didn't charge us for boarding them). By Friday we agreed that the birds would have one more poop test and if there were still no parasites or pathogens found, he would euthanize a bird and do an autopsy.
Saturday I got the news that he had done an autopsy on Watermelon, and she had clear evidence of an organism called Avian Gastric Yeast (AGY). This information explains the many deaths in our aviary, and will allow us to help the rest of the flock.
But still, it's sad to lose an animal before its time is up.
So-- here is a little thank you to Watermelon, the budgie.
She was a handraised chick, and whenever my son went into the aviary she was always one of the first to land on his head. She loved to climb as far forward on his head as possible, cling to his hair and rappel down his forehead. "Who's that on my head?" he'd say, and as the bird dangled into his field of vision, "Oh! it's Watermelon."
She didn't exactly talk but she came up with this two-syllable whistle that sounded as if she were saying "Be real!" My son and Watermelon would have conversations that consisted entirely of them whistling "be real!" back and forth to each other. Afterwards I'd say to him "I see Watermelon is still encouraging you in your pursuit of personal authenticity" and Kevin would roll his eyes.
This morning I woke up with my heart much lighter than it has been for quite a while. Now I know what we're dealing with in the aviary and we have a plan on how to fight it.
But we will miss the little voice telling us to "be real".
We miss Watermelon and it was helpful to be able to talk about her. 
