Routines are curious things. Every weekday, I get up and perform the same rituals before heading off to work. I stumble to the bathroom, shower, get dressed, get my son his breakfast, pack his lunch, feed the fish, feed the birds, gather my things and leave. Every day is seems to be the same monotonous routine that I'm sure everyone finds themselves in. 

On Monday, I stumbled to the bathroom, showered, got dressed, got my son his breakfast, packed his lunch, fed the fish and went to feed the birds. AJ and Chico were there on their cages, but Bob was not around. I cleaned and refreshed their water bowls and emptied and filled their food cups. Bob was still not around.

The birds have their own room and I cage AJ and Bob during the day because they get into mischief. They are bonded and will attempt to build nests all over the upstairs if they aren't watched. At night and on weekends, I let them out, since I'm home then to keep an eye on them. When I was on the computer, he would come down the stairs to check on me. He would perch on my shoulder and grumble in my ear, leaning against my head. He always had something to say, an opinion to proffer, no matter how unintelligible. 

I called for Bob that morning and he did not answer. Bob is a green-cheeked conure and he is a sassy one. He usually greets me by strutting across the top of his cage with his deep red tail fanned out. At three inches tall, he always thought he was nine feet tall. In the morning, he would hop on my finger and I would snuzzle him and tell him that he was my little stink-stink. Bob was from a local pet store, bought as a companion for AJ, a nanday conure, when I started to work full-time about ten years ago. AJ is probably 15 years old now, older than my son. Bob was so bossy that I knew he had to be a male. My husband swore otherwise, but Bob had such a macho attitude, he had to be male. 

I started searching the room for him. A dresser is in the room and checking the bottom drawer, I found him. He was puffed up and did not respond to my gentle questions. I scooped him up but he did not grip my fingers. He seemed unresponsive and weak, so different from his normal can-do attitude. 

Wrapping him in  a towel, I stroked his tiny feathered head and begged him to hold on. I got AJ for him and Bob closed his eyes and curled his head towards his chest. Calling our avian vet, I got all three birds in the car and raced out of the driveway. By the time we were a mile from home, Bob had passed away.

I bawled all the way to the vet's office. Dr. McKinley is very good with birds. He took the towel with Bob's now stiff body and examined AJ and Chico, taking blood samples from them. We allowed AJ to have a good-bye. AJ walked over to the towel holding the body of her beloved and her pupils flashed. She touched the towel once with her beak and turned away.

Dr. McKinley agreed to do a necropsy and found no obvious reason for Bob's sudden passing. Tissue samples have been sent out to the lab. He presented me with a tiny taped cardboard box at the end of it so I could have a funeral for Bob. He said Bob was definitely a male.

AJ has called every morning since Monday for her companion. When my son wakes, he gets AJ and has breakfast with her before catching the bus. When my son leaves, AJ starts calling again.

Bob's funeral was quick. I was able to dig the hole. We brought AJ outside to attend to the proceedings. Placing the box in the hole, we gave thanks for the time we had with Bob. My husband had to fill in the hole because I could not do it. On top of Bob's resting spot, I put a planter with a Persian elephant ear and lavender.  

The weekend before he died, my husband and I were sleeping in. It was a Sunday and I heard tiny toenails clicking down the hall. Bob, in his gravely voice, was muttering to himself as he made his way to our bedroom. Sleepily, I reached down to the floor and he got on my finger. I put him between me and my husband and he snuggled there in our bed for an hour before we got up. He seemed so content. Most mornings, he would join me in the shower, hanging out on the washcloth bar and enjoying the steam.

I walked out to put a letter in the mailbox and saw the planter with the Persian elephant ear and lavender and I still can't believe Bob is there. Telemarketers call and I tell them I can't talk because I'm distraught that a friend of the family passed away. Robert Byrd, also known as Bob, a member of our flock.

Maybe I am grieving too much for a little bird. It is hard to understand how a tiny creature with so strong of a presence could just up and not be here anymore. I just want to cup him in my hands and kiss his little green feathered head once more.