The Parakeet
A few years ago I inherited a parakeet from my daughter. I did not want a bird, mind you, but I got one.
So, making the best of things, I went about the business of accepting her as mine. Being the creative genius I am, I gave her a superb and thoughtful name: BirdieBirdie. With lilting variations and other ridiculous sounds.
Yes, I did. She seemed to like her new keeper and BirdieBirdie and I became friends. It didn’t take long. I talked to her and she would leap to the side of the cage and talk back. Cute, fun. I bought her toys, bells, ladders, mirrors and all sorts of things that seemed entertaining to me, but what she really wanted was my attention.
All the time.
I had a home office so I took the teal green creature up to be with me while I worked. It seemed like a good plan. We’d keep each other company. It worked fine. Until the phone rang with a business call.
The second I started talking, so did she. It seemed any time I spoke, BirdieBirdie assumed I was speaking to her. And she responded. Loudly. Now, I’m not big on caged animals of any sort anywhere. I didn’t want this one in the first place for exactly that reason—and about five hundred others—so, in that desperate moment, I let her out.
Oh, my, it was a circus in the beginning; a bird-wrangling rodeo to get her back in the cage when the time came. It was, however, fairly effective in keeping her quiet during business calls. Fairly.
Then one day, I was talking to her and she swooped down and landed on my head. Always the head. I put her on my shoulder, my desk, my chair, and she’d stay for a little while then back to the head or gone.
Eventually, she would come to me when she wanted or whenever I called. She’d go back to her cage when she felt like it and she’d hop in whenever I carried her over on my finger.
She was no longer trapped. She could come and go, and know that there would be another time of freedom.
She had loved me when I kept her in a cage, but she wanted out so badly, to be free. I was afraid if I let her out, she’d hurt herself, she’d get out or get eaten by the dog. Believe me, we had plenty of close calls.
In the end, it was the cage that killed her. We had a new kitten and she flew to the side of the cage to see what was going on, and little sharp claws got her through the bars. The cage didn’t protect her at all.
In her freedom, she came to me of her own free will. Trapped, she died.
Keeping someone in a cage through jealousy or codependency may keep them with you. But it is only in the freedom that they can truly choose to be with you.
The Key
The cage is locked
The key so near
All that’s holding me
Are the bars of fear
Paula Renaye is a certified professional coach, life transformation speaker, regression hypnosis practitioner and award-winning author of the newly released Hardline Self Help Handbook. Visit http://hardlineselfhelp.com for details and more self improvement tips.
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