Some of you may remember from an earlier entry that our family has a cockatiel named Squeaker. We also had a lovebird named Calypso. Or perhaps I should say my mother had a lovebird, who was kind enough to share himself with me. He was such a mama's boy! Well, Calypso died in February at the ripe old age of 12. (I understand the 8 - 10 is good for a lovebird.)
You've seen some of Squeaker's antics, so let me tell you a bit about Calypso. First, he was green. His favorite pastimes included baths, chewing things, and heckling Squeaker. He was just a little bird, but apparently no one told him that. He was unafraid of pretty much anything, had a never-ending supply of energy, and a peep that could be heard for miles around. He didn't talk -- the only human sound he imitated was a kissy noise, which was completely endearing. We always said that if he were to pick up something else it would probably be a belch or a swear word. He was just that perverse, yet the ultimate charmer.
We buried Calypso on Easter among the spring flowers, sent off with these two poems I wrote --
Calypso feathers
Cannot contain his ego
Unaware of height
A tiny frame taking flight
Peeps mightily in God's ear
Proclaiming green-ness,
Pointy beaked upside down-ness.
For the love of noise,
Sheer joy of being alive --
I peep because I'm happy!
And I think that's pretty much Calypso in a nutshell. I don't want to get too sentimental, but if I ever needed a lesson in joie de vivre, I need look no further than the tiny green person who would drink water from my fingers and let me scratch his head.
