Chip’s Life Story

Remember Chip, the surviving parakeet of the Chip Peter duo?

He died yesterday. This is his life story.

A picture of Chip and Peter. Chip is the one on the right, in front of his mirror.

When Mom and I got parakeets in late 2006, she chose the one most likely to be a good pet. I chose the one with the most spirit…much to the dismay of the girl who had to catch them.

While Peter devoted himself to a quiet life of the average pet bird, learning to sing for us when we called his name, Chip proved himself to be a crazy bird. (Why is it that most of my pets have temperaments ranging from eccentric to insane? Please, don’t answer that.) He liked to pick up his feed in his mouth, cross his cage and dump it in his water. Then he liked to watch me fuss and change his water. Then he’d start it all over again; and if by some chance I didn’t change his water immediately, he would swear up a storm until I did so. And as I said in Peter’s post, “Chip…doesn’t use English. He doesn’t have to.”

The only time he liked to sing in was in front of his beloved mirror (beloved because it showed him his own reflection–he did not like to see anyone else’s in that thing!)

Despite the differences between them, I think Chip was really fond of his companion, Lord Peter Death Bredon Whimsey. It was many days after his death before Chip raised his voice again, either to swear or to sing. When he did lift his voice, it was to swear and scream at Ellie, whom he detested. This was probably Ellie’s fault as she had once knocked him and his cage off the table.

Even after recovering his swearing, Chip was a different bird after Peter died. He was more subdued, more sane.

I found him yesterday on the cage floor, midway between perch and food bowl. We shall miss him…and his colorful personality.

 

In Memory Of

Jericho Jake (better known as Jake) entered our lives and our home on the day after Thanksgiving, 2008. From the very first minutes we knew we had a different type of dog. Jake was a lively, not so serious and definitely not as interested in training as our Max. That was okay; he was Jake.

A lively personality defined Jake throughout his short, but happy life. He loved nothing more than to deepen mud holes, much to the detriment of the yard and his own appearance. He had a quick intelligence (more often exerted for a piece of toast than a training command, ’tis true). Quite often his exuberant spirits would get him in trouble, either with us human occupants of the house or with Opal, his canine companion. Let’s not even mention how he got along with the resident felines.

Also from the first it was clear that Jake was not a healthy guy. SIBO (small intestine bacterial overgrowth), EPI (inability to digest and metabolize fat), food allergies and hip dysplasia plagued him throughout his life. Nevertheless, nothing slowed him down. Nothing but death.

He died shortly before his first birthday.

 

Our Buddy Jake

On Tuesday, Jake our dear buddy and German Shepherd dog died. I know I usually write the life stories of our dead animals, but I’m going to need just a little bit longer before I can do this one; so here is Mom’s telling of Jake’s passing:

This blog ends as it began.  Me mourning the loss of my dog.  Max had years and years to work his way into our hearts.  Poor Jake only had 10 1/2 months.

Max was serious and hard working.  Jake was a happy-go-lucky dude who was a total goof ball.

We loved them both in their own ways.  We’ll miss them both.

In the end, Jake’s exuberant spirit overcame his fragile body.  He passed on October 13 at 2:30 in the afternoon.  I was home alone and got to spend his final moments stroking his big ole head and chest.  He died looking into my eyes, peaceful, but in pain.  Confused, but trusting.

Here is a final picture to celebrate his life.   I may take the blog down after a bit.

From Gentle Trust/Mom’s dog blog.

 

Long Lived The King

This morning I found Hazel-rah, our Chief (and for a while now our only) rabbit dead. Poor guy was 5 years old, a ripe old age for his kind. As is my new tradition for deceased pets, here is his life story:

He was born here all of 5 years ago, one of I can’t remember how many. He quickly distinguished himself by being the spunkiest bunny of the bunch, so he was awarded with a name (which means he would be allowed to live as long as he liked): Hazel-rah, after the character in Watership Down. When he reached six months of age, Hazel was given as a gift to AS/Squeaky, who adored him. Unfortunately, Hazel’s common sense was somewhat lacking in his youth: he kept escaping from his cage, tending to wander in areas that were patroled by dogs. Fearing for his safety, AS regretfully returned him. 

Hazel next left home to become Peter Rabbit, the main breeding male for some friends of ours. There, he fathered a multitude and grew quite fat. When the family decided to thin the ranks of their rabbits, we took him back. He resumed his original name and position of King of the Rabbits–er, I mean Homestead– (“rah” means “king” or “prince” in Watership Down Lapine); and we inherited the rabbit-population problems that apparently were Hazel’s fault. I don’t think even Abraham (my first rabbit buck) sired as many children! Rabbits came and rabbits went in the years following his return, but Hazel was the undisputed king of them all.

We shall definately miss our bossy, demanding, yet utterly loveable king!

 

The Life Story of Peter

Peter and Chip

 

The life story of a parakeet named Peter. He is the one on the left.

His full name was Lord Peter Death Bredan Whimsey. I haven’t the foggest idea where he started life, but he ended up in a Meijer birdcage in late 2006, along with several other rare blue parakeets. Mom, still heartbroken from losing Max, suggested that we get some birds. I had a parakeet, Golda, years ago and remembered that they were fun pets, so I agreed. Mom chose the the gentlest one; I got the wildest one of the bunch. Cages, food, toys and random other stuff was purchased and we went home, with the expected groceries and two unexpected pets. I named mine Chipiparoe after a character in a little story of mine. Mom’s was named Lord Peter Death (read Deeth) Bredan Whimsey after Dorothy Sayers’ hilarious gentleman detective. Pretty soon both names got shortened to Chip and Peter, respectively.

After a few months, Mom admitted that a bird just couldn’t fill the gap and gave Peter to me. This made no difference at all in Peter’s life; he was already sharing a cage with Chip.

First impressions were not misleading in this case. Chip was (and still is) a sailor; swearing and cursing forming his two favorite activities and no, he doesn’t use English. He doesn’t have to. Peter was a gentleman of the old school; he loved to sing for us and was properly horrified at Chip’s more colorful language. Despite their differences, Peter and Chip were fast friends and shared the same big cage for the last 18 months. Under Peter’s influence, Chip gradually learned not to shriek 24/7 (now he just does it when he wants attention, food, the cat to go away, the dogs to go away or us to go away). Chip, in his turn, taught Peter not to be so high and mighty.

This morning I found Peter lying on the bottom of the cage. I’m guessing he must have died in his sleep; his feet were still curled and he rather looked as though he had fallen off the perch. Chip was bouncing back and forth, subdued (a rare state for Chip). 

I might go ring the Nine Taylors for Peter on his beloved bell. (Reference to The Nine Taylors, a Lord Peter novel by Dorothy Sayers.)

Hannah