Mickey Winkel

I knew it was coming, but I thought we had longer. You were so happy the day before, the happiest I’d seen you in a long time. You called to me quietly that night for the last time. I’m so glad I called back and added, “I love you, Mickey.”

Everyone is devastated. When I walked you around to the flock for the last time, Lovely reached out to gently hold the fleece you were wrapped in and said softly, “Wake up. Wake up, pretty bird.”

All I did all week was cry. Then, this weekend, while I was crying in the car on the way to Ma’s, a double rainbow broke through the rain. I followed it, and I knew what to do. Yesterday, the sunflowers bloomed.

The world had been so cruel to you for so long, my friend. I tried to give you everything you wanted, and let you make as many choices as possible since you had neither for most of your life. But there was one thing I or The Parrots’ Umbrella or everyone who cared so much couldn’t provide, that you longed for most of all, and it broke me every day how humans failed you over and over. I know it’s too late, but it’s what you deserve.

You’re going home.

Where you belong, amongst the flying, fighting, playing, screaming flocks of little corellas. Where you never should have been snatched from your family and stuck in a crate to have almost all your toes bitten off only to live in a rusty dog crate.

To finally be at peace.

Fly high, sweet Mickey. No more bars.

I love you so much.