Sad pet stories (funny if you're mean)

I've got one. Actually a few. We bought this little lineolated parakeet. It was a wonderful little bird, it would sit on your shoulder, preen your hair,land on your head and fly round the room as a bird should. It had the cutest little face. It was called Kawaii which means "cute" in Japanese. It was the light in my life and inspired me for parrots. She only went through one nippy stage when all her pin feathers were coming through. However she grew into such a gentle and affectionate little parrot. But my sister who was four at the time, a few months after we got it, started treating it real rough, but the parakeet was still tolerant and never bit her. She was as gentle as a bunny and as patient as a saint. It was like Jesus in bird form. However my mum found its little chirping annoying, but I liked it, and loved her no less. She was my friend, and what friend could give such loyalty and affection as that bird?
But one day I was upstairs in my room on the computer when my mum called me down, a voice of horror. "Ellie's hitting the bird!" So I flew down the stairs and tried to snatch the perch, which my sister (who was four at the time, remember?) had found and was "hitting" the parakeet with. She said she was trying to get her back in her cage, but she was literally banging it down, narrowly missing the bird every time. As I was trying to prise the perch off my sister, she landed another glancing blow at the parrot, and this time she didn't miss. She had hit poor little Kawaii in the head. I grabbed the perch from her hands and went to Kawaii. She arched her little wings up, blood seeping from her cere, a look of confusion on her beautiful little face. I took her upstairs to calm down, where I held her and petted her and talked to her. I hoped that she would live, though it was very grave. If she was to live, her brain would most certainly be damaged. I sat with her and, even though she was dying, still managed to turn her little head round for me to scratch. Even in her dying moments, she couldn't turn down a head scratch. As I cupped the dying linnie in my hands, her fragile little frame equal to the length of my hand, I just wept and prayed for her. "Kawaii", I said,as hot salty tears spilled down my cheek onto her feathers, "I'll always love you. Even if you don't remember me. I love you, Kawaii. Please don't die," I said. Soon after I took her downstairs where she tried to fly, but ended up fluttering pathetically to the ground. We wrapped her up in kitchen towel to stop her from trying to fly and put her in her snuggle hut where she lay limply.Eventually, she drifted into the beautiful sleep of peace, where she would no longer be taunted and abused by my sister. She was in a safe place now, that was very beautiful, and flying free again. She is free. She is in heaven. God is looking after her now, and she is like an angel. We lay her lifeless body down in our back garden and buried her. Her grave would be her favourite perch from a birch branch with beads on, and a rock and grate to keep animals out. Ellie, of course, being only four, showed not the slightest bit of remorse. Mum said, "I'll never forget the way she looked up at me just before she died - as if she was screaming "help me". Kawaii was the most affectionate bird I have ever had". At least, as I sat up there with her and comforted her, she went out with love and care. I cried for days, weeks, months. I'll admit that I still cry now. No bird could ever really replace little Kawaii. Even though I loved her most out of anyone, I regret some things as well. I regret not being able to stop Ellie from hurting that little bird. I wish I could go back in time and take the stick off her. I regret that I never got a video of her because my phone was broken. I wish I could have filmed her saying "Kawaii" or wolf-whistling as she used to. I used to have this toy plastic budgie (actually I still have it somewhere) and it would make a noise and she copied it exactly. Now I will never again hear her little voice. I still have some of her feathers which I have collected and stored. In essence, she will never truly be gone, because Kawaii lives on in my heart, and the memories that I have of her. Happy memories. Funny memories. Even sad memories. Because no one can ever take my memories away. I loved her, and always will love her. He will never be forgotton. I hope you cried while reading this, because I certainly got teary-eyed while writing this. Rest in peace, little one. x

holy shit @ bunny golf

Here's another one. As we were all so sad about little Kawaii dying, we realized that our life was not complete without a parrot. So the day after Kawaii's death, my mum announced that there was this mealy amazon parrot that she had fallen in love with, and bam! A few days later, we were off to get our new parrot, who was much larger than our little ball of feathers. Mealy amazons are one of the largest amazons, measuring up to 41 cm. He was already named. He was called Frank. He was green and had a yellow bit on his head. He was a beauty. He came out of his cage straight away. He was only £150 although most amazons are way more expensive. The story was that The owners were having a baby and they were getting rid of him. He came with a tiny little cage, that was only about a metre high and it was the same size cage we had for Kawaii. He was a lover of junk food, being fed crisps, chips and chocolate cake, though chocolate is poisonous to birds. The owners that they got him from just kept him in that little cage, never letting him out. They told us that he was six years old. Anyway we bought him, and we took him home. He wasn't used to being handled much, so we didn't try to touch him. But we did try to encourage him onto the right path. We had a pair of thick leather gloves and we'd use a perch to get him to step up, which he did. He was quite a stoical bird. He just sat on his cage. We bought him a new cage a week later. This one was bigger, about the right size for an amazon. He could actually walk around in this one and climb and stretch his wings out. He loved monster munches, chips, and jam on toast. He would often dance and laugh for food. He would actually throw his head back and laugh. Although he didn't like to be touched, he was a very loving bird. He would take food from our hands gently. The first night we had to catch him to put him away, but eventually he got the hang of going back to his cage at night.
More than once my brother would put his hand near Frank to touch him, and Frank never once bit him, even when his hand was nearly touching him. At most he would make a little noise of complaint. He was very quiet and he only started screaming once or twice, I didn't mind the noise, but we were afraid the neighbours might, so we gave him a crisp to keep him quiet. Normally he just stayed up on his cage, but occasionally he would fly to the other side of the room to land on a door or a curtain frame. We used to play copying games with him where he would make a noise and we would copy him, and each time he would make it more complicated. He was a very intelligent parrot, and one day when mum was trying to train him to hop onto the stick, he landed on her shoulder. She didn't really trust him, but he just played with her hair clip. Another time he flew down to her and bit her on the arm, perhaps not a sign of aggression, but just testing out how strong his new "perch" was. Well mum ignored him for most of the day, and he didn't like it, so he climbed down the cage to see her. She put out her arm and said, "come on then", and, as if to make up to her and beg her for forgiveness, flew to her. He wanted our friendship. Another time he was on my mum's head. We knew he didn't like to be touched, and we respected him for that. We loved him for the parrot he was, and sometimes it is best to let them come to you. You trust them, and they'll trust you. Give them your heart, and they will so selflessly give their own in return. Once when we were stick-training him, he flew onto the sofa, just inches away from me. He was actually coming towards me to see me, until my sister scared him away.
A few days later, a few weeks after we got him, he started to look ill. He was sitting with his feathers puffed up all day and appeared to be sleeping. He climbed into his cage when we were out, but was still acting lethargic and apathetic. He didn't even respond when I talked to him. We couldn't take him to the vet because there isn't an avian vet near us and we couldn't afford any expensive surgeries. A couple of days later, mum announced that Frank was dead. She said she was sure she heard him squawk and a bang, like he'd fallen down in the cage. A few says later my dad buried him in our garden. I miss that parrot. I loved that old bird for what he was, and couldn't help thinking, "what if he'd lived? What if he still lived today? Would he ever allow to be touched?" At least he is in no pain anymore, and we were prepared for the inevitable. The cause of his death, still remains a mystery. Was he older than they said he was? Did they feed him chocolate cake, causing him to fall ill? Was it the stress of moving that did it? Was it a night terror? Perhaps it was the previous owners. Maybe the reason they were getting rid of him and why they sold him for only £150. Devotion and love such as his, could not be bought for any price. RIP my big green parrot xxx
more coming soon!

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Right we now have a senegal parrot called Merryn. But soon after we got Merryn (who has quite a character)I decided I wanted a budgie, so my mum drove me to Harlow in Essex, to get it as an early birthday present. We arrived at the door and a middle-aged lady greeted us, her large black labrador at her side. She had some finches in a large flight cage, and my little baby in a cage. Did I mention she was also a crazy cat lady? She had many cats all over the place: on top of the doors, the fridge, on the floor, on the table, everywhere. This woman always took in the animals that were sick so she could give them a better life. She loved animals. She even had some guinea pigs with babies! Anyway, my budgie was a yellow dominant-pied colour. She was mostly yellow, like someone had rubbed a highlighter pen over her, with black bars on her head and a gap. She had random bits of dark barring over her body, green on her back, and beautiful blue-green on her chest and tummy. She had a lovely royal blue tail, and her cere was whitish-purplish-brownish-pinkish, but we thought her to be female. We had brought the box that Merryn arrived to our house in, but the lady suggested we take her home in a cardboard box. So we did. We brought her home (after getting stuck in traffic) and when we arrived, we put her in her cage, which was Kawaii's old cage. Soon, with help from my dad, we brought it into my room. It was my first bird that belonged to me and me alone. I pored over a long list of names, finally settling on "Pichu" after the pokemon cartoon. She was the same colour yellow as pichu. She let me stroke her o her tummy that night. A few days later it was my 15th birthday (I'm still 15. All 3 of these stories happened in the space of less than a year.)and although I was 15and still am) and it was my first bird I owned by myself, I must say I did a pretty good job of taming it. Our daily routine went something like this: Give her fresh food and water, leave her to eat and drink, play with her, train her etc. The day after I got her I came home from playing out with my friend to find that she had somehow escaped! She was on my windowsill. She was easy enough to put away - she nearly stepped up onto my finger but then decided she was having none of it and flew onto a hat. I picked up the hat and stuck it in the cage. There she hopped off.
The next day I discovered just how she got out, the cheeky little devil - there are two small gaps in between the food and water bowls and she'd managed to squeeze through them. This is the way my sneaky little Houdini came out of her cage every day. The next time I left her out while we just drove down to mcdonalds, figuring she'd be alright by herself, and turned off my bedroom light. I come back, and she's nowhere to be seen. I try calling her and chirping to her. I all of a sudden hear a rustling and see movement. She had managed to get herself stuck under some sheets of paper. So I picked the helpless little budgie up and released her, where she flew up to the lampshade, apparently unhurt. My best bet was that, unable to find her way in the darkness, got spooked and tried to fly somewhere but fell into a heap of paper. I then remembered to always leave the light on when I went out.
Training went well. I did what I knew about budgies and when I was clueless, I asked my mum, professional budgie/bird owner and veteranary nurse veteran, for advice. She had come a long way considering when I got her she wasn't exactly what you would call "tame", however I was willing to work on that.
She quickly became my new best friend. She made me laugh and comforted me when I was sad, and wanted to be with me. She loved to be stroked in the cage. She used to fly onto my shoulder and my head. She wasn't too keen on stepping up, and she would peck, but show her millet and she'd be straight up on my finger. She would do ANYTHING for millet. She would probably fly onto the dogs head if she could get millet. She was as stubborn as a donkey at first but we soon got around that problem. She used to hang on the strings of this night light I have in my room and spin round. She would bounce up and down on the snuggle hut like a trampoline and make cute noises. I worried for her too. My mum instincts were coming through. One morning I was worried because I never saw her drink, and the water level was never going down. But just then, as if to prove me wrong, to reassure me that she was ok, she hopped onto her water bowl and drank. It was this morning that I never see her again.
As my budgie's cage is next to the wall near the door and the cage door is level with the bedroom door, my budgie was out. I went downstairs for something, and when I came back up, I opened my bedroom door. But, horror upon horror, the worst thing that could possibly happen, did happen. The unthinkable, the one thing all budgie owners dread. She was in her cage, but my opening of the bedroom door startled her and she took this as an invitation to fly out of my bedroom door and, low and behold, she landed on the worst place possible - the window. My mum always leaves that top window open, and it was open now, she was just on the window. It felt like an eternity that she was on that window, like we were freeze-framed in that moment. And then, without warning, she flew out of the window and into the cold rainy street! I was traumatised! This budgie, the one that had become my best friend and the one that I had worked so hard to train, had disappeared before my very own eyes. "The budgie escaped!" I yelled. We went outside calling for her but didn't hear or see her. We made fliers and stuck them up over the neighbourhood. But days later, the rain had soaked the picture of Pichu off one, and another one had disappeared completely. I put one up in the newsagents a few days later and they kept it up for a week. I was distraught - I loved that budgie, loved her with my heart. It hurt so much to see her just fly away like that. It was as if she was scheming, plotting her escape.
A couple days later I got a new budgie. He is a green one, and he was very timid at first, but now he is pretty tame. He'll fly to me if I put my hand out, and sit on my shoulder and head, give me kisses and preen me. He is very loving, playful and inquisitive. He has a purplish-blue cere so I have reason to believe that he is male. It is as if he knows how upset I am about the loss of my Pichu because when I was crying, he flew over chirping and preened my hair. He has made me feel better about Pichu, but not made me get over her.
They say time heals all wounds, but that strictly speaking may not be true, for the parrots and budgies may have helped me feel better about all the ones we have lost, they have helped to patch up the holes in our hearts but they have not, and will not patch them up completely, for although it is getting better, our hearts still have holes that leak and overflow our body with sadness.
I still don't know what happened to her. She could be dead. There are many things out there that could have killed her. The world is a cold cruel and dangerous place for a budgie. Bigger birds could have killed her. A cat could have got her. She could have been hit by a car, shot, starved, or the weather which was stormy and rainy at the time could have taken its toll on her. Plus budgies are nomadic creatures, fluttering along in pilgrimages on the austrailian outbacks and dry grassy plains, so she never found her way home, even when I put her cage outside and took my new budgie outside and played budgie sounds on my computer. For all I know she could still be alive somewhere out there. Someone could have picked her up and found her and decided to have kept them for themselves. We phoned the vet but they haven't seen or heard anything yet. Still, I'm holding out hope. All I can do is hope for a miracle.
I miss Pichu a lot. Some days are better than others. I miss the way she used to sit up on the window. I miss the way she used to bounce on the snuggle hut. I miss the way she would swing on the strings from my light nights. I miss the way she used to squeeze through the gap inbetween the water and food bowls and from there she would hop onto the floor and hoover up any seeds and millet from the floor she could get her beak on. Most of all, I miss how much of a loving and loyal companion she was to me. Pichu, you will never be forgotten. The moral of the story I have learnt is to always close the top window.

"My girlfriend had this white cockatiel. It was your typical pain-in-the-ass bird, a pointless noisemaker that was also a shit and egg factory. My gf got lazy about taking care of it. Sure, she'd feed it and do the basic necessities, but didn't clean the cage often enough, and hadn't clipped "Chicken's" wings in a while. So she started to take laps around the living room sometimes. We often keep our back door open, as the weather here in AZ, even in Feb., warrants it. She never told me not to open the door or to be vigilant with the bird or anything. So, the other day while she was at work, I had the door open. I discovered the bird missing and started looking for her. I don't know when she snuck out, or if she's still in the house somewhere. So I look and look, outside and in. No sign of her. My gf finally gets home and starts to look for her. Eventually she finds her outside in a tree. She tries to coax her down. The moron bird decided to take a few huge laps around the block, flying extremely high. She's circling, not really looking like she's responding but kind of randomly flying. She looks like maybe she's coming closer, and when she gets about 50m up and away from my gf, suddenly... BAM! A HUGE HAWK comes outta nowhere and has a nice "Chicken" dinner! Right in front of both of us! Of course, my gf is much more horrified than I am. That'll shut that stupid bird up once and for all! Traumatic for my gf though, maybe a little for me too (kinda gives you the heebie-jeebies to see that) so I'm sorry for that, but not for that moron bird. I read once that you should never let a bird sit on your head, because then they assume dominance and become impossible to train or control. Yep, she let her sit on her head. She became such a stupid freak after that that when she got out, instead of going to her master, she flew around making a big white flag of herself, and nature took it's way. Sorry, honey. But we're not getting another bird."
sorry sorryhoneyohdang, but you are an asshole. How could you be such a heartless bastard? I hope you feel ashamed making a comment like that. Sorry? You should be. How could you be such a sick son of a bitch with no heart? Your girlfriend should, too. You should never buy a bird on impulse, unless you are able to provide care, training and social interaction. So many parrots end up in shelters because of people like you. Your girlfriend learned a lesson. I'm nor surprised the fucking thing flew away, being stuck in that miserable home with nothing to do, no one to talk to it or play with it. None of our birds wings have been clipped, and they would probably fly back to us if they ever got out of the front door, and why? Because we have actually bothered to spend time with them training them and playing with them. We have never neglected any of our birds like your gf. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those crazy parrot people who owns a house full of parrots and think I know everything there is to know about parrots and am so uptight about beginners getting parrots that are large because everyone is an individual, especially since cockatiels are great first time birds - IF YOU ARE WILLING TO ACTUALLY BOTHER WITH IT!!!!!!! I am so glad I am not any part of your life. It is people like you and your girlfriend especially you, that should not be allowed to own pets. Even I know that much and I am 15 years old! So please, never ever get another pet again. I know it is not your fault or your girlfriends fault that the hawk got it (well, it partly was, since you left the door open for it to get out)but the way you worded this and probably because you are, makes you sound like a fucking asshole. You can go drown in a pool of your own blood, burn in hell and rot there. I may sound harsh, but people like you make me so angry. It makes me ashamed of the human race. Seriously, I think the world would be a better place without us. How could you say that about that poor little bird like that? And fyi, birds do not assume dominance when they are allowed on the head. My relationship with my budgie is not "I am the master and you are the slave, you must do as I say". We are more just equals, friends, companions. Neither of us owns the other. If I offer my hand and he doesn't want to step up or be stroked, I respect that. I mean, how would you like to be touched all the time with no choice in the matter? Not very much I bet. They are not dogs. All birds are created equal, they are all part of the flock. Kawaii never assumed dominance over us when allowed on our heads or allowed to fly free round the house. She always stepped up and ould lay on her back in our palms. Your cockatiel was probably going through something similar to adolescence. Or maybe she just grew so fed up of being neglected and ignored and being told to shut up every five seconds that even she just decided not to be a part of your lives anymore. I bet she was always waiting for the day that she would get a chance to escape from your lousy home and her meager surroundings. Let this be a lesson to you and your girlfriend. Oh, and don't even think about getting a dog. No way. For the record, cockatiels aren't noisy. Macaws are noisy; Cockatoos are noisy; even amazons are noisy. Cockatiels are not noisy. If you thought Chicken was noisy, try bringing a large macaw into your home. On second thoughts, don't. Sorry to sound like a droning little so-and-so, but you are a complete twat ~ KawaiiTheLinnie

Here are a few more sad stories about more of my animals.
We once had this black cat called Merlin. He was lovely, but one day he had been shot by one of the local scumbags who own guns and now some old lady has him and named him Nelson instead. He could even still be out there.
We used to have a GSD x staff cross called Jessie and she was pretty old. She had some illness with her I can't remember what but she couldn't even go up and down the stairs, so we had to have her put down.
We also used to have a blue budgie called Lewis who wasn't tame at all because he was an aviary bird, and two cockatiels, one of which was a pearl cock called Harry who was very tame, lovely bird, and the other, Smartie a lutino hen, who was nasty. Well one day they all escaped and they were in a tree in our garden.
one that was much more recent was that we had 3 lovely chickens, all hens, 2 cuckoo marans called Lucky and Grace, Lucky being the more dominant one, and having a redder comb. Someone had to rule the roost, it had to be her. And a black bantam called Pingu, because she looked like a little penguin when she was a chick. Well they lived a good at least 6 years and provided us with eggs even through their 6th year. They would come running if you had food, it didn't matter what it was, they had to have some. And if you held the food up above their heads, they would jump up like feathered dogs to get the food to reach it. But one day we were out at my nans and we found 2 dead headless chicken carcasses, Grace and Lucky. Pingu and our girl mandarin duck were nowhere around. Our best guess is that a fox or two came looking for a feast and got away with the bantam and the duck, as the marans may have been too heavy to carry so they just left them there. But needless to say, we were heartbroken, absoloutely heart broken. We loved those old hens. At least they lived a long, fulfilled life. There is just no way that the fox could have come while we were home, as they would have made a right racket. The broom was knocked over, an indication that they must have flapped around a lot in distress.
One more is one that happened on my 14th birthday. We still had the chickens and we had a cayuga duck who had dark bottle-green feathers and purple and blue sheens. Well on my birthday my sister and the dog were out in the garden and my mum and brother ran out to see what was going on. It appears that they saw the duck writhing around on the ground in agony. It looked like its neck was broken. When they went out there it was dead. We have two culprits: my sister, who for the record used to pick the duck up by its neck, or the dog. My sister insisted and still insists that she was saving it from the dog, but we don't know what to believe. Do you?
Last one that also happened fairly recently around christmas. We bought two mandarin ducks as a pair, one apricot drake and one normal male. The male was in his ecclipse period though so he wasn't as colourful and looked just like a female. And mandarin drakes are very colourful, one of the most colourful ducks in the world, with the wood duck. On the day of our holiday to Cornwall, we found the duck dead. So we bought a new duck for our drake, this time a normal one. By now the drake was very colourful. But then one day he was dead! And then, well, you know the fox killed the second duck, which we named Juliet 2.

I'm going to try to keep this short for obvious reasons but I have a good one. I grew up in Dr Doolittle's house, pretty much, hundreds of fish, 15 birds, ferret, dog, cats, a few rabbits.. it was nuts.

We went somewhere and a friend was ferret sitting for us (we dropped Pepper off at this dude's apartment.) Somehow Pepper got into the vents and into the apartment next door. When the next door neighbours came home, so legend goes, Pepper was eating *their* pet bunny on the dining room table. Pepper got smashed by a frying pan :*(

My parents didn't tell me that for MANY years, luckily.

woah woah woah

err x-post

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