The sad story of Frederic the parakeet, by David Bradford

 

 We bought two parakeets and named them after Frederic Chopin and Franz 
Liszt, two of our favorite composers.  We didn't know their sex until much later.  
Franz was larger and more boldly colored. Frederic was smaller and a more 
delicate blue and white.  
   They lived in a big cage on a bookshelf next to our piano.  They loved to sing 
along when we played, although screeching was more like it; after a while they 
developed quite a repertoire of chirps and gurgles for various volume levels.  They 
learned the pieces as we did, and would sit absolutely quiet during the dramatic 
pauses, resuming when we did.   It was great fun.  
  Our cats (Robert and Clara, after the Schumanns), loved to sit on the cage.  
After a few early knockdowns, they learned to jump on and off without disturbing 
the cage.  They would occasionally bat at the birds, but mostly would sit quietly on 
the cage, the picture of contentment.
   One day, while I was playing Debussy's L'Isle Joyeuse, I noticed that the birds 
were oddly quiet.  I looked up; Frederic was on top of Franz and they were having 
enthusiastic sex.   This solved the question of gender, reversing our suspicion that 
Franz was the male.  I attribute this discovery of theirs directly to the sensual 
nature of the music.
   They enjoyed their new activity.  The next morning when Cindy removed the 
cover, they woke up and immediately began going at it again.  This entertaining 
new behavior led to trouble, however, within a week or so.  One day when we 
came home late, Franz had an egg half laid but stuck to her rear end in a rather 
bloody mess.  We made some efforts to remove it but couldn't.  The next morning 
we took poor Franz to the vet.   The doctor was very nice but made it clear that 
she doubted the bird was going to make it.  I couldn't bear to watch while she 
removed the egg, but Cindy did.  She then discovered another egg behind the 
first.  The bird was a complete wreck by this time.  The vet said we had to leave 
Franz with her for a while to see if the egg would pass.  The egg passed, and she 
returned Franz to us later that day.  She was quite skeptical about her chances, 
but told us what to do.  She said the birds had to be separated forever, because if 
Franz laid another egg it might kill her, as there was extensive tissue damage.  
   So the great romance was over.  We bought two cages.  The vet instructed us 
to keep her as warm as possible, so we took them off the shelf and put them on 
our piano which is in a warmer spot.  We were a bit worried about what the two 
cats would do with this increased access,  but they were quite well behaved.  In 
fact, during her initial rehabilitation, they seemed to understand how sick she was 
-- they would sit pressed against her cage and purr for hour after hour.  Perhaps 
their companionship helped her recover.  After about a week of this excellent 
behavior, they decided she was well enough and resumed batting her cage, biting 
her tail, and sitting on top of her cage.  We then moved them back to the shelf.  
The birds insisted on doing everything in mirror images, which made us sad.  They 
sat most of  the day as close together  as they could.  Franz slowly recovered her 
strength,  although to this day she hasn't flown.  After Franz seemed to be 
somewhat better, we discussed trying to put the birds back together, at least for 
short supervised visits.
   Over a period of a few days during Franz's recovery, Frederic started to appear 
sick -- nothing terribly dramatic, but he seemed quiet and didn't keep himself well 
groomed.  We debated what to do, as he really didn't seem terribly sick and he 
continued to eat well.  We thought he might have a cold or something.   We 
decided to see if a visit with Franz would cheer him up and make him feel better.  
We put him in Franz's cage, and the result was dramatic. They greeted each 
other, clearly extremely happy to be together.  It tore our hearts just to watch.  
Franz went right to work, and within hours Frederic looked sharp.  When I put the 
cover on that night they were sitting together on their perch pressed tightly 
together, something I had never seen them do before.  They were the picture of 
birds in love.  The next morning when Cindy removed the cover, Frederic was 
dead.