Ode to Leila - Life Lessons From My Feathered Friend
Leila Bird on the day of her adoption - Photo by Molly Wald
I was a bird virgin. Never in a million years did I think I would have a bird as a roommate. For most of my life, I’ve identified as a dog, cat, and horse person. Mammal-to-mammal relations were my thing.
I met Leila on the last day of a therapeutic pet training at an animal sanctuary in southern Utah. We were touring the exotic bird department, and my ears rang from the cacophony of noises. Even though we were in the desert, it felt like the jungle. Parrots can be loud and intense creatures. We were greeted with screeching hellos and deafening enthusiasm.
At the time, Leila Bird was nine — a tiny, injured Senegal parrot, still healing from her wounds. Before she was relinquished to the sanctuary, she flew full throttle into a running ceiling fan. For most birds, this would have been a death sentence. Leila survived the accident with a broken wing that left her permanently crippled and unable to fly.
Because of the trauma, she began self-mutilating. She arrived at the sanctuary with a bloody and raw belly in addition to the poorly healed wing. Yikes!
Someone who worked there placed her on my hand. I had never held a bird, let alone one with a hooked beak. Instinctively, I applied healing touches I had learned in my training, and she melted right into them. Oh boy!
Leila and I entered a trance-like state. She rested on my finger, her eyes were soft, and she almost fell asleep. She felt lovely and tender. Her belly was still painful and infected. She must have been in a lot of pain.
Our first meeting. - photo by Maggie Hall
The staff watched us and suggested that I consider adopting her. They reasoned that I was uniquely equipped to tend to special needs animals and that “She likes you.”
“We can offer you resources and parrot education. You have a therapeutic background, and she likes you.” Argh! It’s the siren song of animal rescuers, which I know all too well.
“No,” I won’t adopt a bird, let alone a parrot. “No! I have no clue about birds; I’m not a bird person; I have other pets, cats, and dogs; I don’t have a cage.” My list of objections was long, and rightfully so.
When a parrot doesn’t choose you, there’s nothing subtle about it. It can be painful and hostile because their beaks are powerful tools and can become intimidating weapons. Parrots are known to be territorial and bond tightly with one person or in the wild with another parrot; most of them mate for life and have monogamous relationships.
“She likes you.”
What can I say? We had a few more visits, and she allowed me to give her medication and apply ointment on her belly — gah! That sealed the deal. Yup, that‘s all it took for me to fall in love. A few weeks later, Leila relocated to Oregon, and I learned parrot husbandry from scratch. Ha!
Leila - photo by Ute
I can tell you that Leila taught me incredible things. She was brilliantly intelligent, easygoing, independent, and adventurous.
I learned to think like a bird, see things from her perspective, tune into the experience of being a prey animal, and understand the power of a hooked beak and its genius functions.
Leila owned an entire room in my house, designed like a jungle gym for her to exercise, climb, and forage. She also had “building projects,” mainly wooden furniture pieces. The architecture that she created with her beak was remarkable.
The room had a screen door so Leila could interact with the other mammals. She loved it! My cat Esme and Leila had regular morning meetings at the door, which made my heart soar—genuine interspecies communication.
It didn’t seem to bother Leila that she couldn’t fly. For the most part, she did what her wild cousins would do, except that I was the other bird in her life. And a long life it was.
For sixteen years, I had a slice of delicious wilderness in my life through the presence of this mighty little spirit.
Leila eventually developed cancer on the crippled wing and passed away at the ripe old age of twenty-five.
A little over two months after her death, a bird rescue picked up Leila’s cage, toys, and some of her perches. My house is much quieter now.
I miss you, my sweetie girl. I am so glad that we found each other. Fly free.
