He Lives! I know my Budgie Lives!
Posted 17th August 2009 at 06:48 PM by jellybean99
Budgies are the most popular pet bird in North America. However, I loathe seeing birds in captivity—especially in cages. That inspired me to create “Project Wilderness.”
On the frigidly-cold, Canadian prairies, it’s highly unlikely a budgie will ever find its way home to a 10,000+ budgerigar flock in Australia. Even Central America, where budgies also live in the wild, is an unlikely destination. The closest thing to true freedom a caged budgie can hope for here is a perch at the tropical house at a local zoo—and so began the preparations for a budgie exodus.
My rationale for the project is this: even if the budgies fall ill or are attacked upon their arrival to the mall-sized, 200 bird-species biosphere, that first wondrous, exhilarating moment of unimpeded flight in their “wilderness” will be well worth it (for them and for me).
After one year of intensive fun and training at their jungle gym in the apartment, my babies are finally ready to relocate. I repackage Jellybean, Jujube, Spidey and Swish and prepare them for transport.
Upon arriving at the zoo, I say my goodbyes & give the birds a few minutes to recover before their release. The moment of freedom is breathtaking! Tears of joy stream down my face as I behold my birds soaring skyward like eagles. After watching them dash and play in their new home, I eventually lose sight of them and leave—it’s been over 2 years since I said bid my birds “Godspeed!”
Every few months, I return to that tropical house to do some bird watching in the hope of one day seeing a budgie. These budgies are essentially wild—they will never return to my hand. To avoid capture, I trained my little tweeters to be fearful of all humans, including me, in case the zoo staff ever spots one and attempts to recapture it.
The vastness of the biosphere and the foliage within made a ground-view budgie sighting unlikely. I “accidentally” ventured up the “staff only” stairs in order to get a “bird’s-eye” view on one occasion, but was unable to locate any budgies. The one-eyed kookaburra at ground level hasn’t been much help either. I thought the budgies might drop by its flat to say “g’day” and share some eucalyptus, but none have appeared during my visits.
Just the other day, I visited the zoo in the hope of seeing a budgie. As usual, I pan the translucent sky with binoculars & periodically call out “budgie” (their recognized group designation). After about half an hour, I begin to make my way to the exit—I am astonished! Jellybean, their group leader, circles above me to say “hello.” I grasp my hat, enthusiastically twirl it in response, and leave.
He lives!
I know my budgie lives!
He lives within my heart!
On the frigidly-cold, Canadian prairies, it’s highly unlikely a budgie will ever find its way home to a 10,000+ budgerigar flock in Australia. Even Central America, where budgies also live in the wild, is an unlikely destination. The closest thing to true freedom a caged budgie can hope for here is a perch at the tropical house at a local zoo—and so began the preparations for a budgie exodus.
My rationale for the project is this: even if the budgies fall ill or are attacked upon their arrival to the mall-sized, 200 bird-species biosphere, that first wondrous, exhilarating moment of unimpeded flight in their “wilderness” will be well worth it (for them and for me).
After one year of intensive fun and training at their jungle gym in the apartment, my babies are finally ready to relocate. I repackage Jellybean, Jujube, Spidey and Swish and prepare them for transport.
Upon arriving at the zoo, I say my goodbyes & give the birds a few minutes to recover before their release. The moment of freedom is breathtaking! Tears of joy stream down my face as I behold my birds soaring skyward like eagles. After watching them dash and play in their new home, I eventually lose sight of them and leave—it’s been over 2 years since I said bid my birds “Godspeed!”
Every few months, I return to that tropical house to do some bird watching in the hope of one day seeing a budgie. These budgies are essentially wild—they will never return to my hand. To avoid capture, I trained my little tweeters to be fearful of all humans, including me, in case the zoo staff ever spots one and attempts to recapture it.
The vastness of the biosphere and the foliage within made a ground-view budgie sighting unlikely. I “accidentally” ventured up the “staff only” stairs in order to get a “bird’s-eye” view on one occasion, but was unable to locate any budgies. The one-eyed kookaburra at ground level hasn’t been much help either. I thought the budgies might drop by its flat to say “g’day” and share some eucalyptus, but none have appeared during my visits.
Just the other day, I visited the zoo in the hope of seeing a budgie. As usual, I pan the translucent sky with binoculars & periodically call out “budgie” (their recognized group designation). After about half an hour, I begin to make my way to the exit—I am astonished! Jellybean, their group leader, circles above me to say “hello.” I grasp my hat, enthusiastically twirl it in response, and leave.
He lives!
I know my budgie lives!
He lives within my heart!
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