My Bird is Wiser than I

Many of you know that I have pets. I love them, and I love them for all the same reasons others do. Unconditional love (or food-based love, for those who have ever had a pet run away), understanding and perpetual happiness that they seem to posses. Except cats, they have either a neediness or a dramatic flair or both, but still fairly predictable set of outward expression.
But I have always loved the "others", the pets other people dont generally have. Pythons in unusual colors, exotic marine fish, chinchillas, sugar gliders, monkeys... the fun stuff. And, of course, birds. Chickens and parrots have long been my favorites, even before I was a bird trainer at Sea World for that short but wonderful time.
In the past several years I had fallen in love with chickens. My fascination actually began in college when my roommate and I would joke about getting rare breed chickens, which you could buy for the more expensive $3 per chick - in a catalog no less! Well, I eventually got those rare breeds and so many more, and fell in love with everything chickens were.
And now, facing a move to an over-restrictive town, we have had to get rid of my flock of chickens, every last one of them. One of my big roosters (named Steve) still wanders around the yard because he is difficult to catch, but the others are all gone, the coop sold to the neighbor. It is excruciatingly depressing.
Now, I have received word that we are to move out of our current home three weeks before our new one is ready, and I have received this news 2 days before I leave for seminary for two weeks. I will refrain from telling everyone how I feel about my current landlord for the sake of a diverse audience. Anyway, I am stressed, depressed, and I dare say a little bit miserable. My main stress relief, my chickens, are now gone, probably wandering around wondering where they are, where I am, and whether that shiny thing is edible.

God has this way of communicating with me, should I decide to listen. Sometimes, its hard. Sometimes I firmly believe he does it through the gentle reassurance of pets.
The kids are in bed, and I was lying on the couch trying to read an entire book that is part of my pre-load assignments for seminary, due in a few days. My parrot of 24 years, Pretzel, was making some God-awful noise to get my attention, but he wasn't getting anywhere. Then, silence.

"Are you okay?" Pretzel asked, in a tiny but decidedly humanesque voice.

I ignored it and tried to keep reading. I could hear the traffic on rt 83 outside the window over the gentle hum of a fan. Pretzel had a very limited vocabulary for a 24 year old bird, and in the past 18 years I had never heard him pick up a new word. He did have a knack for using the words at curiously appropriate times.

Then, a gentle whistle and he said again, "Are you okay?"

I craned my head back to look at his cage, most of which was hidden by the wall in the other room. I could see his head from around the corner, one big (relatively) eye looking intently at me, clearly expecting a response. 
"Hi Pretzel" I said, and went back to the kindle app.

"ARE YOU OKAY?" he asked again, with enough insistence for me to put down my ipad and look to him with sincerity. He was still looking directly at me. 

"I'll be okay, I am just a little stressed" I said, felling only a little silly about answering.

"Oh." He replied, sounding half disappointed.

"I don't want to have to move again, I hate this" I said from the other room.

"Are you okay?" he inquired again.

"Yes, yes, I'll be fine" I said with a sigh.

"Oh." which was followed by a wolf-whistle.

"Thank you!" I said.

"Whatcha doing?" He asked, never taking his eye off of me.

"I'm reading this book for school but I can't get into it. I just don't know..."

"Oh" he said again, cutting me off. "Come here, come here..."

"Okay". I complied and got up and walked over to the cage and opened the door and stood there. He didn't move from his perch, but puffed up the feathers on his head and let out a whistle that suggested he was happy I came over to see him.
"We've been through a lot, you and I." I said. And it was true. I had owned Pretzel for just as long as I hadn't, if that makes sense. Half of my life. He went to college with me, through roommates, my marriage to Amy, and the birth of my two kids, not to mention numerous pets, some of which he loved but mostly hated. He had also been through countless moves. He was the grumpy old man in the family, but he has always been a good listener.
"I guess we'll never settle down and be happy" I said, half talking to God.

"I love you, Pretty Birdy. I love you, Pretzel" he said to me. "Give me a kiss..."


And that's when you figure it out. Everything is going to be okay. Whether Pretzel has any clue what he's saying or not is up for debate. But I know this, while I worry and post stuff about how I have no place to live or store my stuff, so many people are offering to help that I need to be awkward and choose between them. It comes down to this - God is Love. And it is this love that binds us to one another and to His creation. It is this love that provides, should we trust it. Pretzel knows. He doesn't freak out because he trusts that I, as his caregiver, will do what I need to do to take care of him, and of course I will, because I love the little guy. We shared a bowl of cherries as he made chirping noises to express his delight in the moment.

So I guess I need to trust my caregiver, too.
Yes, I will get through this. Yes, I am okay, little buddy.

-B