Personal Narrative #2

Tiara De Boer
February 22, 2011

Chrissy

The day that I got Chrissy as a gift, I was ecstatic. It was quite unexpected because one day my mom’s good friend Nancy called and asked if we would like to own a little lovebird. She wasn’t able to take care of the bird anymore and wanted to find a good home for him. My mom turns around and asks me whether I would be willing to take care of a pet in need of a new place to live. I was in seventh grade at the time. I yelled “of course!” at the top of my lungs because my brother and I hadn’t been allowed to own a pet besides a fish at that point in time. You probably already know how boring and uninteresting a fish is, so I’ll spare you the exciting details of owning one. This small creature was going to mine to play and cuddle with. My mother is allergic to cat fur and dislikes the smell of dogs so I was never able to experience a family pet I could hold. All of my friends had cute puppies and cats to pet; so whenever I went over to their houses I would ignore them and play with the dogs instead. I was told that the lovebird was going to arrive at our house at approximately 8pm that night. At that moment I started scrambling and looking around for a place to set up the cage. Also I was told I could name the little birdie whatever I wanted, therefore different names were running through my mind. I heard a knock at the door. Nancy had arrived.
When I first laid eyes on Chrissy, I instantly fell in love. He was small with green feathers covering his body and red feathers around the eyes. His sweet chirping instantly brought a smile to my face and all I wanted to do was hold him in my hands while rubbing my cheek against him. Nancy expressed her gratitude for taking the lovebird off her hands since she was working so many more hours at work and couldn’t watch over him anymore. At that moment I decided that the lovebird’s name would be Chrissy; there was no explanation why or where the name came from. It just was. For the next few weeks all I could think about at school was how much longer I had to be in class because I wanted to go home and play with Chrissy. My mom allowed me to let him fly around our living room and bedrooms to spread his wings since I didn’t like seeing him cooped up all day long. He would land on the paintings hanging against the wall and chew at the corners of the frame. My mom got so mad. I said that I would make sure it would never happen again; please just let him keep flying around. It never did stop, but I always found a way to distract the mother so she wouldn’t notice. I loved Chrissy so much, especially when it would sing songs on my finger. I was incredibly happy with life.
One year later my mom, brother, and I decided to go to the movies on a Sunday night. The film was some sort of comedy; however I don’t recall what the title was. We all walked in the front door of our house laughing and joking, relaxed from a pleasant day. I run over to Chrissy’s cage to hold him and let him fly around, but stopped dead in my tracks the moment I had a full view of it. Before me was the image of my lovebird on the floor of the cage, unmoving. His wings were fully spread and his tiny black eyes were glossed over, looking at nothing. I immediately dropped to my knees and tears started to silently fall down my face. My mom and brother quickly came over to witness what had caused me so much distress. “I’m so sorry,” my mom finally says. “I know how much you cared about him.” I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t look at anyone in the eyes. All I could do was stare at the horrid scene before me. Eventually, I tore my gaze away from Chrissy and just said out loud to no one in particular, “why?” We decided to wrap up the tiny little body in a handkerchief and wait until the next day to give him a proper burial. I slowly walked to my bed and laid down, still in shock. At that moment, all the memories of Chrissy flooded my head and there was nothing else I could think about. I started bawling and shaking uncontrollably. My mom rushed into my bedroom and held me, telling me everything was going to be okay. I didn’t comprehend what she was trying to say since all I could think about was Chrissy’s dead body on the cage floor. Eventually, I cried myself to sleep with eyes so swollen it was hard to see clearly. The next day, many of the kids in the neighborhood attended the little funeral I held for Chrissy. I buried him in a shallow dirt grave by the rose bushes out front, wishing I could’ve buried a corner of the picture frame he loved to chew on so much. I said my goodbyes while trying to hold back tears. It was one of the hardest things that I’ve ever had to do.
It took a couple weeks to finally get out of the haze I was engulfed in. My mother told me she didn’t think she wanted me to own another pet because of the way I attached myself to Chrissy. She believed that every time a pet died, I would break down and cry for days. Unknowing to me, my mom bought me a cockatiel one day that was beautiful to try to cheer me up. Yet, it would never replace Chrissy and my whole heart couldn’t love this new pet. To this day I think about my lovebird and every one of the great memories that we shared together.