Accidents Happen

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Spike was about 6 months old when something terrible happened. It was November; Mark was doing the annual male hunting ritual thing and staying out at camp with the guys. I was working during the day and home at night with the animals. I had to go to the store after I got out of work one night, so I was about an hour late getting home. It was unusually quiet when I walked in the door. Spike had a habit of climbing up on the side bars of her cage and yelling Hi when anyone came in. I could see her cage from the kitchen doorway – she was sitting on a perch in the top right corner with her back to me. I called her name and got no response.
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I went to the cage and saw that her foot was entangled in one of her toys. It actually took a few seconds for the entire scene to sink into my brain. There was blood everywhere – the cage bottom, bars and even the living room wall were all splattered with it. It was hard to believe there could be that much blood in such a small body. I grabbed the phone and called camp while gathering towels and a pair of scissors. One of the guys was already back at camp and promised to convey the message to Mark when he came in (this was before we all had cell phones).
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I opened the cage and unscrewed the quick link holding the toy to the cage top. Then somehow grabbed the toy and the bird and went to the kitchen counter to figure out what to do. Two of Spike’s toes were completely gone and there was a tendon hanging where one had been; the end of another toe was missing. First I had to get the toy off. It was Spike’s favorite – a piece of branch with holes drilled through and colored cotton rope laced through the holes and knotted at each end. Spike would hang upside down from the rope while flapping her wings and screaming with complete abandon. I cut the rope as close to her foot as I dared – no easy task, let me tell you. All Spike wanted was to be cuddled under my chin and I had to get that thing off of her. I finally managed to not only cut off the toy, but get all the rope off too.
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Just as I finished and was consoling my poor baby, Mark roared in. He must have been flying. He wasn’t even in camp when I called and it takes a good 20 to 25 minutes to get home from there. I don’t think fifteen minutes had passed since I made the call. He called around for an avian vet and finally found one about 20 minutes away. We jumped in the car and took off. The vet just snipped off the hanging tendon and dressed the foot. He told us that there had just been a warning published in the bird magazines about birds getting their toes caught in cotton rope! He said Spike would be fine but wouldn’t be able to use that foot to feed herself.
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Cathy
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(Continued tomorrow)

P.S. The picture is of Spike and ChiChi. She was a box face Chow Chow. She was a wonderful dog, loyal, sweet, trustworthy and really good with the birds. I miss her more than I can tell you.