Last night I was harshly reminded of just how fragile our feathered kids are, and how blessed we are to have them for as long as we can.
Monday was a perfectly normal day with Patches. Great appetite, shower, play time, everything. Tuesday morning more of the same minus the shower. My normal routine was interrupted with the impending birth of my second granddaughter. YAY! I stayed home to care for the 3yo big sister while her mom headed for the hospital. The baby finally arrived at 1:24 AM, Wednesday morning. More Yay! About that same time, Patches started running around the floor of the cage, tossing dishes around and shredding the paper. He finally settled down on a low perch. When actual morning came, he was acting like a grumpy punk, and didn't want to come out. I cleaned up the cage, made his breakfast and medicine, and then headed to the hospital to meet my new granddaughter. Super Yay!
A few hours later, I got home to find Patches looking very bad. He hadn't touched his food, and nothing but liquid poop at the bottom of the cage. I got him out, held him close, and called the vet. She wasn't in, so I scrambled to find another vet that would see him ASAP. I found a CAV about an hours drive from me, and headed out. My boy was in dire shape. Extremely dehydrated, very weak, and neurological issues. If he was going to have any chance, he needed to be somewhere that could treat him over night. There is no option near me for that. The vet made some calls, and found the nearest place equipped to treat him in Massachusetts, another hour and a half drive.
We decided to try to get him there, and thought it better to do all the treatment when we got there if he could hold on that long, instead of stressing him any further with needles and tubes and no monitoring during the trip. I wrapped him in his snuggly blanket, sat him in my lap and took off. I held him close, petted him, talked and sang to him, and whistled to him which seemed to perk him up, and he started his content beak grinding for a few minutes. Then the labored breathing started, and he began to try to climb out of the blanket. I loosened it so he could move more freely, and tried to comfort him some more. He let out a few weak screeches, threw his head back, and died in my arms. We were 15 minutes from our destination.
Just like that, my best friend on this planet is gone, and I have no explanation. By all accounts, I was doing everything right. Now I am left kicking myself trying to figure out what I missed. It is very possible that his cholesterol levels took its toll.
My only consolation in all of this is that he was with me at the end, no tubes and needles, he had his forever home after everything he's been through, he was happy, and knew he was so loved.
Monday was a perfectly normal day with Patches. Great appetite, shower, play time, everything. Tuesday morning more of the same minus the shower. My normal routine was interrupted with the impending birth of my second granddaughter. YAY! I stayed home to care for the 3yo big sister while her mom headed for the hospital. The baby finally arrived at 1:24 AM, Wednesday morning. More Yay! About that same time, Patches started running around the floor of the cage, tossing dishes around and shredding the paper. He finally settled down on a low perch. When actual morning came, he was acting like a grumpy punk, and didn't want to come out. I cleaned up the cage, made his breakfast and medicine, and then headed to the hospital to meet my new granddaughter. Super Yay!
A few hours later, I got home to find Patches looking very bad. He hadn't touched his food, and nothing but liquid poop at the bottom of the cage. I got him out, held him close, and called the vet. She wasn't in, so I scrambled to find another vet that would see him ASAP. I found a CAV about an hours drive from me, and headed out. My boy was in dire shape. Extremely dehydrated, very weak, and neurological issues. If he was going to have any chance, he needed to be somewhere that could treat him over night. There is no option near me for that. The vet made some calls, and found the nearest place equipped to treat him in Massachusetts, another hour and a half drive.
We decided to try to get him there, and thought it better to do all the treatment when we got there if he could hold on that long, instead of stressing him any further with needles and tubes and no monitoring during the trip. I wrapped him in his snuggly blanket, sat him in my lap and took off. I held him close, petted him, talked and sang to him, and whistled to him which seemed to perk him up, and he started his content beak grinding for a few minutes. Then the labored breathing started, and he began to try to climb out of the blanket. I loosened it so he could move more freely, and tried to comfort him some more. He let out a few weak screeches, threw his head back, and died in my arms. We were 15 minutes from our destination.
Just like that, my best friend on this planet is gone, and I have no explanation. By all accounts, I was doing everything right. Now I am left kicking myself trying to figure out what I missed. It is very possible that his cholesterol levels took its toll.
My only consolation in all of this is that he was with me at the end, no tubes and needles, he had his forever home after everything he's been through, he was happy, and knew he was so loved.