She came from the local Pet Store. We rescued her from a little glass enclosure. She came in a cardboard box. Funny, when we brought her into the bedroom where our little flock hangs out, she was rattling and squawking in that little box like a flaming ball of chaos. That got everyone's attention.
For the longest time we've had a little 4 bird flock. The Holy Ghost was the best of us. The conscience of the flock. She was aloof, moved gracefully, took a bath in her bowl of water nearly every day. None of the other birds bathed as often as the Ghost.
She loved music. She would sing when we played cds, or when we practiced our songs. I'd often play guitar and she'd fire up a whole menu of chirps, trills, squawks, beeps. I'd stop playing and she'd clam up. She'd look at me as if she was thinking: "Don't look at me. I wasn't singing just my head off. Can we please go on to the next song?"
Death came quickly. One morning the Ghost sort of wobbled when I got her to step up on my finger to bring her out for breakfast with the flock. A few hours later she was gone. Our little flock has a major hole in it. The other little birdies seem a bit lost. The Ghost's best buddy, a little "fancy" parakeet named Little Edie has been calling and looking around for her old friend. It's a bit sad, no, really, kind of heart-rending to see.
We buried the Holy Ghost in the garden last night. We covered her up with rich, dark dirt. Sprinkled some flower petals on her grave, and put two little oblong rocks on top. We sang one of our original songs for her, "Dark clouds parting, Moonlight streaming down, the light comes thru the trees...", we rang the Tibetan singing bowl three times, bowed our heads and said goodbye.
Take care little Holy Ghost. You will be greatly missed.
