Yesterday, as the Mother Unit was walking out of the house, Pinky took a wild hair and flew out along with her, and up into the canyon. Mama fell apart. I rushed outside and was helping her call for him, and set out to try to find him further up the canyon, walking so fast, I almost passed out! Before I headed out, though, Matt rushed out to see what the commotion was about. When the Unit told him Pinky got out, he turned and screamed at me, "WHAT DID YOU DO?" Mama was quick to inform him that I had nothing to do with it, that I came after the fact and was trying to help.
This is how I've been treated the entire time I've been here in Southern California. Everything has always been automatically my fault.
We never found Pinky...
When Matt got up this morning, I asked, and he said that the temp got so low last night, there is no way the poor bird could have survived.
Pinky was my favourite of all the birds. He was a precocious little sonofabitch and was pretty much affection in flight. It hurts me that he is gone, and I can only take comfort in thinking that his last few hours were filled with a freedom he had never before experienced and that he died as happy as he could be, given the circumstances.
Matt seems to have had his spirit stepped on by the stiletto heel of karma. I'm grieved that it manifested in such a manner that a life was forfeit, and I sincerely feel bad for him, despite his jumping to conclusions about my involvement in the situation, as usual. It was my profound hope that this chapter in all our lives would conclude without much upheaval. The last thing I wanted or expected was for some of us not to make it out alive, least of all one of the true innocents in this whole mess.
Fly free and joyfully, little man.
Stay safe, cradled in the arms of Nathor.
May it someday be we cross one another's paths again, in one form or another.