I lost my most ever-present spark of joy, my Gofffins Cockatoo Bunny three nights ago.
Bunny came to me as a foster a year and a half ago. Then Covid lockdowns struck, and she became my best buddy, my only cuddle, the source that made me laugh and dance and play every single day, and I knew I had to keep her.
She was hilarious. She was a total ham. Strangers loved her. She entertained everyone. Anyone could hold her. I called her my birdie ambassador. She loved to dance. Disco was her jam. She never tired of playing, dancing, and cuddling. She was weird and ridiculous, and we were utterly bonded.
She was a royal pain in the ass. She screamed, loudly and often. She was demanding, attention-seeking, and bossy. She was a diva. We called her the Tiny Dicator. She was a bit of a narcissistic sociopath. She relentlessly bullied my other parrot and my dog, and sometimes even humans. She was profoundly and sometimes dangerously jealous. But I loved her with wild abandon, passionately and purely. At times I was almost embarrassed by how much I loved her.
She was my best friend and my playmate. She came with me everywhere. We had so many adventures together. She was 32, but she should have lived for another 30 years. I thought we had a lot longer together. I thought we’d get old together.
I am utterly crushed. I feel empty and lonely and the house is too quiet.
I keep playing back the trauma and desperately wishing I could unwind it and have a do-over. This is too sudden and too terrible. I feel gutted and empty. I miss her so much.