Sweetie Petey!

When I was a kid, my mom had a sweet, little, delicate, yellow canary named ... 

Bruiser.  

Yes, such a delightfully tender name for our little singer.  But he was named such after much serious consideration, trust me ... his name fit.

On the day my mom brought him home, she set up his cage and hung him from a stand in our kitchen.  I'm sure that she took great care to give him some fresh seed, clean water and maybe a little treat of broccoli or lettuce.  She probably cooed at him, helping him to settle into his new home.  

Then the excitement started.

After school, a neighbor girl (who had never actually visited our home before) came in the door and spotted the bird.  My mom still shakes her head at what happened in the next few moments.  The young girl walked up to the cage, opened the door, grabbed the little bird and pulled him out ... and then let go.  What?!?!  My mom was stunned for a few minutes while she watched her new tiny pet fly off into the dining room.  After several minutes, she managed to cover the poor, frightened, little fella with a dish towel and return him to safety.  I don't know what happened with the little girl ... perhaps my mom shooed her out the door with the same dish towel. :)

Eventually the little birdie's breathing slowed and his little heart stopped pounding.  My mom also took a deep breath and realized that he was going to be okay, in spite of his unschedule excursion.

The next event of that afternoon is still shrouded in mystery.  None of us kids are claiming any responsibility, but somehow that little guy got out again.  Perhaps I was wanting to be helpful or maybe Allison was getting a closer look or perhaps Joshua thought he could train him ... whatever the case, the little squirt got out ... again.  This time our cat helped out.  

In the flurry of activity, excitement and yelling, our cat managed to catch him in her mouth and duck down behind the chair in the living room.  My mom remembers catching the cat by the scruff of the neck and "helping" her open her mouth ... to find the little bird all in one piece, but looking stunned.  Back to the cage.  Back to safety.  Whew ....

I'm sure that my mom gave us all a stern talking-to about not opening any of the doors on the cage for any reason.  Period.  Got it?  Got it.

But we weren't done yet.  Sorry, little fella.

That evening, my sister and I lamented (for the umpteenth time) the fact that our little town didn't have any sidewalks.  Nowhere to scooter, skateboard or ... roller-skate.  Outside, at least.  I don't recall that we roller-skated in the house very often, but I'm quite certain that we never roller-skated in the house again after this night.  All I really remember is rolling past the kitchen sink, down the one little stair into the dining room and ... CRASH! ... into the bird cage.  The whole thing went over!  Bird seed everywhere.  Water all over the floor.  Me on my back.  And one terrified little canary sitting in the corner of his toppled cage, trembling.  

My mom remembers vividly hanging up the cage, covering it with a tablecloth and telling her new, little bird, that if he was dead in the morning, she would understand.

Amazingly enough, that little guy was just fine the next day.  A resilient little fella.  One tough bird.  A true Bruiser.  I told you he was named appropriately!

I also remember another little canary my mom had when I was in college, Mr. Peabody.  And most recently, Max.  She has always loved having these little singers around ... and apparently it's genetic!

Imagine my excitement when, at Christmas, Brett gifted me all the parts I needed to have my only little singer!  Yeah!  I could barely wait!  Over the past several weeks, I have been clearing out a space in the kitchen for him and putting together his cage.  I found some twisty branches for him to perch on and I picked up a swing and a little treat bar to hang in the corner of his home.  Everything a little canary needs to be happy and sing-y.  (Is sing-y a word?  It should be.)

On Sunday, my dear Norah and I took a little road trip to Montrose to pick up my own little singer.  (That's a post all on it's own...)  We came back with our new little buddy.

Introducing:  Peter, Pete, Petey (or Bird, as Ashley calls him) ... whatever his name, he's a cutie!

My Sweetie Petey!

Petey's Digs ... not too shabby.  Even a little jacuzzi.

This morning as I was coming down the stairs to the kitchen, he was twittering a little song.    Such a delightful way to start my day!  Aaron said that he'd been "yakking it up."  Yeah!  Throughout today he has tweeted, squeaked and sung, often times with great gusto and passion.  I think I might have a few things to learn from this little fellow.  Passion and gusto ... I could use a little more of that attitude in my life. :)

Lydia loves to sit on the kitchen bench and talk to Petey.  She especially enjoys when he whips around on his swing, or his "Wheeee!" as Liddy calls it.  Aptly named. :)  Norah perches on the bannister next to him and squeaks to him in her birdy-voice, "Hi, Pete.  Are you eating your orange?  Are you going to take a bath?  Are you going to eat some seeds?  I like you!"

A precious addition to our family ... or as Aaron declared, "The 14th thing living in our home."

.... and no, he hasn't been set loose, "caught" by another pet or knocked to the floor.  So, that's good. :)  I'm not making any promises, but I'll do my best to keep him safe and secure ... and sing-y.