Goodnight Albert

My friend Albert died suddenly a few months ago. The fact that Albert was a bird, a white-faced cockatiel, does not diminish our friendship. He was maybe six inches tall on his tiptoes and I'm over six feet tall flat footed. Still, we had a bond. I know dogs are a man's best friend and cats are wonderful companions, but our bird Albert was quite a guy.

I was reminded of Albert a few days ago while walking in front of my home. Funny sometimes how the Universe works. There on the sidewalk before me sat a very large grasshopper. I stopped a few feet from it and we stared at each other for the better part of a minute. Suddenly the grasshopper jumped up and flew at me, passing just behind my back. I didn't flinch at all because this was exactly how Albert would land on my shoulder. I actually expected the grasshopper to land on my shoulder or back, but it flew past and disappeared into a multi-colored lawn. It blended so well that I completely lost sight of it even though it was probably no more than a few yards away. What a surreal feeling! For an instant, as this large insect flew behind my back, I was physically reunited with my friend. Later in the day, with that encounter fresh on my mind, I reminisced about our times together.

I thought about how Albert joined our family. Let me say right off the bat that I am not in favor of buying a bird just to have it live out its days in a cage, even if they are raised for that purpose (perhaps especially if they are raised for that purpose). I think birds need to fly free. But then along came Albert. Literally, he found us.

My brother was on a typical stroll along the green-belt next to his home which itself sits on a bluff above a nature preserve (poor guy). Waddling toward him on the grass was this little white dot. And I'm not surprised he was walking on the grass. Albert was never big on flying, but no doubt that was from lack of opportunity. Not a fan of birds, my brother stops in his tracks, Albert stares at him for a moment...and then advances. My brother backs up a bit...and Albert advances some more. No doubt thinking that my brother reminded him of someone he knew, he flies up to my brother's shoulder and refuses to leave.

A bit of luck for me, my wife and I attended my brother's annual Summer Bash a few days later. We only had to see Albert for a minute before we knew we had a new friend. Since efforts to find his owner proved fruitless, we rescued Albert from his small prison, a no-kill animal trap, and set him up at our place with a comfortable cage. We pronounced him "Albert", my brother's middle name, and he instantly adopted us as his new family.

There were two things that Albert loved more than anything else, cereal boxes and paper bags. While out of his cage (which was frequently) we encouraged him to exercise and fly about the house for as long as possible. But "as long as possible" for Albert was usually just a few minutes before he would alight on top of the fridge looking for munchies or, better yet, a box. He was very adept at moving a box along a kitchen counter and tipping it over the edge to the floor. Once on the floor it officially became his property and he would fuss and play with it for hours. An empty cereal box was his favorite. He could somehow maneuver himself under the box and use axis points and his innate sense of balance to push the box upright. It was really quite a sight, considering the box was so much larger than him. Then he would walk around his accomplishment for a brief time before pushing it over and starting again.

I don't remember exactly how it happened the first time, but we quickly learned his very favorite thing in the world was a large paper grocery bag. This was his Holy Grail. He could spend hours scurrying about inside the bag, which seemed cavernous compared to his size. All we could hear from inside the bag was scratching and the occasional "pick, pick, pick" of him making a hole in it. Every so often he would dart outside the bag to make sure the world was still the same, but I think he would have stayed in the bag all day and night had we not insisted he return to his cage. Trying to get him back to his cage was not a fun moment. He had extremely strong opinions about leaving his bags.

During this time we had a dog called Fenris, a black Cocker mix named by my son after the mythical Norse wolf, who came to us in much the same way as Albert. Fenris was the most gentle and tolerant of any dog I have ever known. If Albert wanted to climb on her, no problem. If Albert wanted one or two of her hairs, that was fine. Albert was fearless, and because Fenris was such a gentle soul, he could safely go anywhere in the house. As I went about my chores in the house he accompanied me on my shoulder. When I sat in my chair watching TV or working on a computer he sat on the tip of my socked foot, mostly on my big toe. There he would drift off to sleep for as long as I sat.

Fenris always had multiple health problems. To our immense sorrow, her brief, happy life was cut short with heart disease about two years after Albert's arrival. I take these things pretty hard, and was not keen to find another dog. But after a while my family began looking online at pictures of rescue dogs at our local shelter. Weeks of looking came and went and there was one picture they came back to time and again. She was a corgi-terrier mix named Robin, who got her name at the shelter because of her ear-shattering "chirp" when she demanded attention. Well, of course, we had to go see her and, of course, we brought her home.

Unlike Fenris, Robin is not at all friendly to animals and only reluctantly tolerates humans outside the family and close friends. She loves us, we love her, and that's pretty much the limit of her compassionate relationships. So Robin's entrance into the family changed Albert's flight plan considerably. No longer could he have unlimited space and freedom of movement within the house. We had to schedule his out-of-cage excursions so their paths would never cross, and that led to a reduced amount of outside play time and more in-cage playtime. His cage sat in a common area between the kitchen and family room. Frequently, anyone passing by would stop for a moment and say a few words to him. And invariably he would chirp a response.

In his cage he loved to have his neck scratched through the wires, as long as it was his pre-approved the manner of scratching. He would play endlessly with a small thin cardboard box in his cage, talking to it for an hour at a time. My daughter-in-law taught him to dance on his perch, so that they both made the same moves at the same time. That was a sight. Albert and I would have whistle competitions where he would try to mimic my tune and then I would try to mimic his. For an onlooker it was unclear who was teaching who. Actually I wasn't sure either. Sometimes we would all play a board game on our dining room table. We brought Albert along in his cage so he could watch the action because he loved to be wherever we were. If I made toast or snacked on some peanuts, he scooted to the edge of his perch and made it very clear that he should have the first right of refusal for anything I might hold. And when one of the family arrived home, Albert alerted the rest of the household from the second the car was parked until whoever returned came to greet him. Albert was a fixture in our home.

I remembered all these things on the day of the grasshopper. And I miss all these things. We have a terrific dog, but still I miss his personality. I miss my buddy. And there is one thing I miss the most. Our family usually ended each day in the family room watching television. When the show was over and everyone went to bed, I would take the dog for one last quick walk and close up the house. Lastly, I would go to Albert and, just before I would drape his cover over his cage, he would look up at me and I would look down at him and I would say "Goodnight Albert." He would always give me a little muffled chirp right back.

So today is a great day for me. I have been writing this story on and off for what seems like a long time. I am glad that I have it now to help me fill in any memories that might fade in the years ahead, because no matter how strong the bond, time is stronger. I was grateful to the Universe when Albert came into our lives. I am grateful today that I can feel him with me and I can say once more, "Goodnight Albert."