Pretty Birdie

I learned from the best, I thought, as I nursed Pretty Birdie back to health. “I don’t want you to feel like I once felt,” I whispered.  Pretty Birdie, smaller than the palm of my hand, trembled in fear—squirming and squawking—I held it gently and spoke softly.

“Pretty Birdie, you can trust me. I didn’t know you were sick. Your doctor said every parakeet in the cage was sick—not a problem. I have medication for you. It’s in this little dropper.  I just need to place it on your tongue.”

I caringly held it between its nape and its breast.  Finally, our eyes met. I smiled and kissed it on the top of its head.   

Pretty Birdie is mine to love—not to abuse.  I probably look like a giant.  I once felt like a bird trapped in a cage with vicious, scheming cats eyeing.  Negative energy.  I felt overwhelmed—panicky. If only Pretty Birdie knew what I knew. I do not mistreat people or animals. Cruelty is cruelty.  Please, that I just can’t be.

My thoughts wandered back from its mental journey.  Pretty Birdie’s eyes were gentle, and I could see it had connected with me.  “Are you ready for your medicine?” I softly asked. 

Believe it or not, it opened its mouth.  From that day forward, that was our routine three times a day.   He got stronger and walked around the house freely—always letting me know where he was.  He’d climb on me,  run up my arm and over my shoulder, and kiss me over and over—over and over. 

“Pretty Birdie,” I said, “I learned from the worst.  You are a good teacher.  In fact, the best.  Pretty Birdie you are really a good teacher.  Why do I keep your door open? Because you’re free.  Your cage is yours as you let me know.  The door is open so you can enter my world whenever you want to.  I know how you feel about your home. How is it that your beak is soft when you kiss me but hard when I invade your personal space?   I love, honor, and respect you. Kissing me, kissing me, kissing me.  That is all you do.  Again, I ask. Why is your beak soft when you kiss me but hard when I invade your personal space?” 

Pretty Birdie is chirping, singing, and dancing—Free!

I love Pretty Birdie—no abuse from me will he ever receive. I lived in Pretty Birdies’ world once—then again, No, I didn’t.

Vivian Dixon Sober©
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One thought on “Pretty Birdie

  1. Excerpt From: The Book of Vivian

    Bullies like to instill fear in anything having to do with them—be it an animal, a woman, a girl, a childgrown…whatever!

    Bullies don’t act alone—the blind leading the blind.

    Victorious Women toss Fear! Do it Right Now!

    Toss Fear! We just can’t walk around in Fear.

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