BABY was a moustache parakeet I had hand raised 3 years before he died.  He had a small vocabulary consisting of, “Hello,” “Hello Baby,” “I love you,” and a few more phrases.  One Sunday evening I washed, peeled, cored, and cut up an apple I had bought at the local supermarket and gave pieces to each of about 15 birds. All but two refused to eat the apple.  Everybody had tasted the apple, there were bite marks on the pieces, but that’s all.  Even the lory didn’t eat his slice, and they love fruit more than anything.  It seemed that all but two of the birds knew there was something wrong with that piece of fruit.  I wish I’d known.  My mealy Amazon, Thurston, a much larger bird than Baby, ate his slice and he’s fine.  Baby ate his slice, and an hour later I found him on the floor of his cage dying.  It took him another hour to pass away.  I held him on my lap, and tried to talk him into staying alive.  He talked to me during the entire hour while I held him.  I was on the phone with the vet repeatedly, but although she said I could bring him in, I knew he wouldn’t live long enough to make it there. There was nothing I could do but hold him and watch helplessly as he died.  A necropsy was performed and his veterinarian gave the insecticide in the apple as his cause of death.

We don’t feed that stuff anymore, and never will. Organically grown only. That’s it.

–Robinn