Happiness that can't budge.

I am absolutely walking on sunshine today. The morning didn't start out as wondefully, for two reasons. Number one, the baby rosybill duck from yesterday did not make it through the night. I was very upset at his loss. We did all we could, and I don't regret the care we gave, I just regret that it didn't pay off. As least his last night was spent comfortably snuggled to a teddy bear in a warm incubator. The other reason my morning wasn't stellar was that the dear curassow, Tiffany, left quarantine after ruefully pecking at my leg and plucking at my heartstrings. I was certainly happy for her, because she was going to get acclimated in preparation for meeting her man-to-be, Scud. I will miss cleaning her enclosure in the mornings as she curiously walked all around my legs, emiting soft whistles. But her attachment to me speaks of a greater need she has, one that will be fulfilled soon--and that is companionship, but not just of a silly human, companionship of another of her species is what she needs. I really hope her and Scud get along, and I'm eager to hear about their romance. It was just hard watching her leave the nest, so to speak.

This afternoon, I was the only person working in the clinic, and I happened to leave lunch early today to return to work. I had much to accomplish, and little time to do it, because today was my day to work in the petting pen. It was fortuitous that I did leave early, because I found a small sticky note on the door to the clinic. Written on the note were the words "Parakeet on counter not doing well. Found laying on side." Well, I popped into the clinic and went back to the counter where a carrier was placed. Inside of it was a little budgerigar (or common pet parakeet) who was pale yellow and green. He was laying on his side, not a good sign in a bird, and barely responded as I stuck my hand in the crate to retrieve him. He didn't even make a peep, and I could tell he was feeling quite rotten. Upon picking up his light body, I could feel the keel bone sticking out prominently; he was extremely thin. His eyes were half-closed and he lie limp in my arms. If you have ever tried to hold on to a healthy parakeet, you understand how pitiful this is. A healthy parakeet will squirm like crazy when you hold them, constantly trying to bite your fingers as they chirp incessantly. The mother hen side to my personality definitely came out, and my thoughts were suddenly consumed with how to help this bird--I took on a demeanor or urgency and gingerly, albiet quickly, walked the bird to ICU. I offered him some water from a syringe, but he could barely open his beak to swallow it down. I got him set up in an empty cage with a heating lamp, sitting up in a towel. Because I could feel no broken bones, and see no discharge from any of his orifices, I assumed the diagnosis was a fungus called Macrorhabdus ornithogaster. Basically, the fungus keeps the birds from being able to digest their food properly, and they become malnourished. Without treatment, it will slowly kill them. I could not get in touch with the technician on the phone, and was very concerned, as my time to go to petting pen was rapidly approaching. Thankfully, the veterinarian was to come out during her lunch hour. I left her a note detailing the situation, and left for the petting pen in a worried state.

My time in the petting pen was not terribly eventful. I spoke to several nice people who had enjoyed the zoo, and spent alot of time loving on a cute goat named Chocolate. In the back of my mind though, the parakeet was always there. After two hours, I briskly walked back to the clinic, and found a note at the entrance. It was from the vet. She had given the bird fluids and medications, diagnosed it with Macrorhabdus as I expected, and under prognosis had written "Poor." My first day alone when a sick animal was brought in, and the bird in my care wasn't going to make it. My face sunk with the sadness of the situation. Veterinarians commonly believe that 'Where there is life, there is hope,' and I was still clinging to that. I walked slowly into the ICU room, worried about what I would see. Crouching down in front of the cage, I saw a very surprising sight. The little budgerigar, whom I had begun to affectionately call "Verde," was standing, and even turned his head to look at me when I peered in. As I got up to get his medicine ready, and the other birds began their flying around and making a racket, the little guy let out a few chirps. I eagerly got some yellow water ready (the antifungal medicine in it made it this color), and got a towel to pick him up. He was still somewhat weak, but as I held him on his back, he took a few nibbles at my finger and flexed his wings in an attempt to get away. I dropped a bead of water from a syringe on the side of his beak, and he opened it up to draw it in. I gave him a few more drops, and he continued to try and leave my grasp, so I let him back into the cage. I prepared a little salad with extra nutrients in it, as well as some seed, and when I placed it in the cage with him, he even ate a few seeds on his own! I am smiling now as I remember Verde's resilliance. Certainly he is no where near healthy yet, but he was on the brink of death, limp and gasping, just two hours before I came back and found him active. He fluttered his wings, and my heart also gave a little flutter. Surely Verde would have died if he was not brought to me. I saved a life today. What glorious waves of happiness flow through me as I remember it. The whole reason I came here, and the whole reason I want to become a veterinarian, is to save sick animals. To see the hallows of death banished with care as new and perfect life takes hold again is the pinnacle of joy for me. Sometimes you try hard and life does just not take hold, as was the case with our little duck. But sometimes, when the conditions are right, another chance is given to a breathing and beautiful verde parakeet, and just as death was swallowed by life, so despair is swallowed by hope.