Writers Write by Alberta Ross
Posted June 11, 2013on:
I don’t think I’ve seen a more perfect description of why we do what we do… at least not for a while!
I posted a while ago on the theindieexchange.com, I mentioned a budgerigar my sister once had. It was one of a pair. Flying loose in her dust-sheet clad room. A brief recap of his story, one day he suffered a stroke. The vet said, too much, it will die. It didn’t die. Mum never allowed such disasters. However, maybe it had been too much, he was left with deformed legs, unable to perch.
Life with a capitol L had slapped him hard. I made padded balsa wood platforms for him to sit on. He hated them; he was born to perch. Recovery was long, Mum fed him by eye dropper some kind of mash (I never enquired too closely what it was she had mashed:) minor setbacks occurred, minor triumphs. That tiny bird was determined, had grit; knew himself for a bird and birds perch. Home birds can also hang…
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