TheBanyanTree: Call of the Pionus

[Jena Norton]

Great story! Glad you finally got the boy to safety! And keep on keepin' on. Please! Jena Norton
 
      From: David <dseaman77 at gmail.com>
 To: A comfortable place to meet other people and exchange your own *original* writings. <thebanyantree at lists.remsset.com> 
 Sent: Saturday, November 28, 2015 7:37 PM
 Subject: TheBanyanTree: Call of the Pionus
   
I like to say I Steve Irwined some things. I have a lot of animals 
living in my house and when I successfully navigate an animal crisis I 
like to use the name of the late Australian adventurer as a verb. Like I 
just Steve Irwined the hell out of that dog.

The latest was my beautiful Blue Headed Pionus. Poor baby flew from her 
perch and escaped into an open cold air return duct. I was in a panic. I 
knew the bird was in there because my big dog Mos was trying to rescue 
him. A Pionus is just smaller than a football. A perfect fit, and I 
couldn’t find him. I reached, called out, and shined a flashlight; there 
was no answer. If he kept waddling through the dark vent system he would 
eventually find his way to the furnace. At some point it would require a 
fall to get there.

In the basement I opened the furnace covers, which killed the blower 
motor. The opening to the furnace was like a dark cavern. It was hard to 
believe my sweet little bird would find his way to the end. In fact he 
wasn’t there at the time. So I started again from the point of entry. 
Shouting his name, Llew. I followed the vent to the basement, tapping on 
it and shouting his name. At the furnace again I shined the flashlight 
and called his name. Out he waddled covered in dust!

So I always think of myself as Steve Irwin when I do something like 
that. Because that was how he was. Heroic and daring. You know he was 
exactly my age. I was always so jealous of Steve Irwin cause he had such 
an adventurous life. I wish I had that life. There were times I wished I 
was him. Then he died and I got really depressed about it. Really 
depressed. And I never snapped out of it.

That’s how I can always say that I know when my battle with mental 
illness started because I know it started when Steve Irwin died. So it’s 
been nine years. I’m in remission, but still on medication. Disabled and 
can’t work. Obviously I haven’t been depressed for nine years because a 
television adventurer died. I guess. It was just the trigger. The straw 
on the camel’s back. Except that he’s dead, I’m still alive, and I don’t 
know what that means.


Dave