The Lives We Love, the Goodbyes We Owe
October has always been a month associated with death and transition.
Summer slips away, and the trees begin going dormant, shedding leaves that only weeks before were green and full of life. The days grow shorter, the warmth of the sun becomes a little harder to find, and we watch our local wild birds gather and fly south, escaping the harsh winter ahead. Of course, at the end of it all is Halloween, a holiday filled with ghosts, graveyards, skeletons, and reminders of mortality made playful.
But I never would have guessed just how much loss October would bring into my own life this year.
Just a couple weeks ago, I held a tiny turkey poult in my hand as it took its last breath.
There is something uniquely heartbreaking about holding such a small, fragile life as it slips away. At the time, I certainly didn't expect that this would be only the first of several avian deaths I would witness this month, and this weekend brought two more.
Saying Goodbye to Cupcake
Despite our efforts to provide supportive care to our duck, Cupcake, she showed no obvious signs of improvement. Eventually, we were faced with one of the hardest responsibilities that comes with caring for animals: recognizing when our desire to keep them with us is no longer in their best interest. The decision was made to humanely euthanize Cupcake and bring an end to her suffering.
Although her breed is one not meant for longevity, her rapid decline was rather unexpected. Although the need to make the decision to end her suffering happened far sooner than we were prepared for, observing her in her final stages allowed us to come to terms with the idea of losing her before we had to lay her to rest. Her loss was heartbreaking, but this was not the first one we've said goodbye to this weekend.
Alliah
Some of you may remember my previous posts about Alliah, our ringneck parakeet.
Believed to have been close to 30 years old, I had long accepted that our remaining time together was probably limited. Unlike Cupcake's sudden illness, Alliah's decline had been happening gradually.
Age was catching up with her. She showed obvious signs of arthritis and discomfort, flying had become more difficult, her preening became less diligent, and even in the last month she stopped taking her usual baths in her large water dish. A long-term foot injury that had always presented challenges seemed to trouble her more as she became older. I increasingly watched her misstep or lose her balance, occasionally falling clumsily from her perches.
I didn't initially acknowledge it, but her personality began changing too. Anyone familiar with parrots knows that "spicy" can sometimes be an understatement. Alliah had always been a little spicy, but recently her aggression had become more extreme. Even her favorite treats were sometimes met with refusal when offered from our hands. These little changes observed separately didn't tell much of a story - but taken together, they revealed something obvious.
She was getting tired, she was hurting, and it was her time to move on.
On Friday afternoon, Alliah climbed inside her favorite shreddable box after enjoying a few of her favorite seeds and a couple of peanuts, settled in, and fell asleep. She did not wake up. Her death was quiet and peaceful. There was no dramatic final goodbye, no obvious moment where medical intervention could have turned things around. Her death was in some sense a relief. She was old, and her body had been slowing down for some time. Although saying goodbye after so many years hurts immensely, there is some comfort in knowing that her final moments were ordinary ones. She had not always had an easy life, and was subject to a lot of instability in different homes over the years. To know that she spent her last years here with me is an honor. She was in a place she liked, she had gotten the opportunity to enjoy some of her favorite treats, and then she simply went to sleep.
The Responsibility We Accept
Watching animals I've poured my heart and soul into pass away is never easy.
Some are with us only briefly. Others become part of the rhythm of our lives for years or even decades. We learn their personalities and preferences, their peculiarities and bad habits. We arrange pieces of our lives around caring for them, and then, inevitably, there comes a day when we have to let them go.
No matter how carefully they're housed, how closely they're watched, how quickly we respond when something seems wrong, or how desperately we sometimes want another day, we cannot love an animal into immortality.
Maybe accepting that is part of loving them in the first place.
I've welcomed many different species into this house over the years, and each comes with a responsibility that extends beyond providing food, shelter, enrichment, and veterinary care. We owe them a life worth living, but we also owe them compassion at the end of that life.
Sometimes that means fighting for them, sometimes it means recognizing when fighting isn't helping anymore, and sometimes all we can do is sit with them and bear witness as they leave us.
I can't make October's losses hurt less, and I can't know whether every decision I've made over the years was the perfect one. Anyone who deeply cares for animals can probably think of things they wish they'd noticed sooner, understood better, or done differently.
But for every animal I've chosen to bring into this home, I've tried my best to give them safety, comfort, dignity, and a decent quality of life for however much time we were fortunate enough to share. Ultimately, that's all any of us can promise them.
October will end soon. The trees will finish dropping their leaves. The birds that migrate will continue south, winter will arrive, and eventually another spring will follow. Life continues, even while we grieve the lives that don't continue with us. This October, though, I think I'll let myself linger in the season of goodbye just a little longer.
For a tiny poult whose life was far too short.
For Cupcake.
And for one very old, very spicy little parakeet named Alliah.
They were here, and they were loved.
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