He fell out of the sky one day last summer, landing at the horse barn.
A tiny, bright coloured green, yellow and blue budgie.
He was caught and put in a pretty cage in the tack room.
And there he stayed.
For days.
Weeks.
Months.
A tiny room with a closed door so the barn cat couldn't get in.
A cage with only two perches, a water dish and a seed dish.
The thought was that his owner would want him back.
But despite repeated and numerous attempts to find an owner, none ever showed up to claim him.
Perhaps he had escaped through an open window somewhere.
Perhaps he was set free intentionally.
They can be noisy.
I brought him a few seed sticks, where he would get some enrichment having to chew away to get to those tasty treats.
I brought him a couple of hanging toys, so he would have something to do and wouldn't be lonely.
And then, November came.
It turned cold.
The heater in the tack room was on high, but it would sometimes get overheated and turn off.
That meant the tack room would get cold - sometimes down to near freezing.
He was a hardy little fellow; those budgies can withstand cold temperatures, I read somewhere.
Originally from Australia, where they are considered a nuisance bird by farmers, they roam freely in large flocks.
They are so pretty with their beautiful colours, that someone no doubt decided they would make good pets.
And now, here we are.
This little fellow must have been someone's dear pet.
Perhaps he flew out of an open window from his home at the nearby seniors community a few kilometres away.
I read they can fly up to 25 kilometres per day!
But his fate was sealed from the moment he got tired out and landed for a respite at the barn.
The coldness of the tack room was weighing on me; I wanted to bring him home but didn't know what our two elderly cats would think about that.
We had no real place to put him; no place high enough or safe enough for him.
I began to call around to retirement and care homes to see if they would like to have him as a community pet for their residents.
I remember seeing one at a care home I visited awhile back. He was happily singing in the lounge area, and numerous residents came over to say "Hello" to him while I was there. They loved it! And he loved the attention.
That particular care home, however, was not able to take this little fellow. Turns out the budgie they have is a "friend killer" - doing away with at least two other birds that have been put in the very large cage with him as companions. I guess he likes his own space.
And so my search to rehome him continued.
No, no, and no.
No space, no one to take care of him, no interest.
Except for one.
The response was, "Oh, what a lovely idea!"
There was light at the end of the tunnel, maybe.
It was far from a "Yes!"
The end of November came. I could not in good conscience let this little fellow go one more day in that tack room, placed up against a north facing window with only his little feathers to keep him warm and a temperamental heater.
So, he came home with me, with the grateful blessings of the barn owner, who couldn't take him inside their house either because of numerous cats and dogs.
And so on the desk in the home office he went, tucked at the back, where he could survey the room and its contents and see people come and go all day long.
He would no longer be alone, solitary in a cold tack room.
All was well; he sang along to the classical music as I did my yoga; clicked and chirped as I answered emails; drank and ate his seed and played with his toys and chewed at his food sticks.
He seemed happy and content, making sounds I never knew could come from a little budgie.
It was almost as if he was having a conversation with himself.
He was hilarious; he made me laugh.
The decision was made to call him Ziggy. It certainly suited him.
He was scared of humans though, and would fly away from my hand as I cleaned his cage and topped up his water and seed and repositioned his toys so he could get at them better.
Hopefully he would overcome that, I hoped.
Clearly he was either very young, or just never handled by his previous owners.
But he was brave; his mini-parrot instincts were feisty and not timid.
He was open to suggestion, I thought.
A good project to work on taming him.
But then Chester, our very old cat, caught wind of him.
Up onto the desk he jumped, incredible given his age and frailty.
And there he would sit, staring at little Ziggy.
I would take Chester off the desk and put him on his window ledge.
Then our even older cat Princess, frail and a little deaf, caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye one day while she was soaking up a sunbeam.
It looked like she was going to try to jump up on the desk too, but I quickly distracted her and she was happy to turn her attention to something else.
That night, after what had been several days now, I lay in bed and thought I heard the budgie fluttering around in his cage. He shouldn't be doing that, I thought, as when it is dark, he is still and quiet lest predators find him.
I went to investigate, and was shocked to find Chester on the desk staring at Ziggy.
The poor bird must have been frightened out of his mind; this looming black furry creature with the big amber eyes just staring at him would be enough to put even the tamest of budgies into a frenzy.
I realized the office door would have to be closed at night, limiting the cats' access to one of their three litter boxes.
The plan was starting to unravel.
Ziggy was once again locked in a room by himself.
How ironic.
Although he was warmer now, and more stimulated by surroundings and people, ultimately, he was just a little bird in a cage locked in a room.
This was not how it was supposed to unfold.
I was heartsick; how had this plan failed?
The next day, I received an email from one of the care homes. The one where the response was "Oh, what a lovely idea!"
They could take the budgie! Wanted to take the budgie! Were looking forward to having the budgie! When could they get the budgie? Does he have a name? How old is he?
Was this the Universe's way of opening another door? Was I all along merely a conduit for the next chapter of this little bird's journey and adventure?
I was heartbroken that this was going to have to happen; this was the only way out.
Our cats' lives were becoming upended; Chester was having an existential crisis over this new interloper, and Princess was about to hurt herself trying to jump up onto the desk to see what all the flutter was about.
I was grieving the loss of this little bird already, even though I had only had him for a few days; he was part of the family now.
But for his safety, my peace of mind, and the cats sanity, he would be much happier in his new place.
I packed up his seed bags and emptied the water dish for travel; I put a red plaid fluffy throw blanket over his cage for darkness and warmth so he wouldn't stress and tied it tight.
Into the back seat he went, again. For the second time this week. He was becoming quite the traveler!
He chirped at me a bit - good to know he was still alive - as he did when I brought him home from the barn. Scolding perhaps? Giving me his two cents? Thanking me? I choose the latter.
At the care home, my contact came out the front door to greet me. He would be placed in the activity centre, they told me, but right now there was a little party going on in there so he would temporarily be placed in the lounge area, just beside the fireplace on the mantel.
It was perfect.
The little budgie who came for Christmas.
I unveiled him from under the red plaid fluffy throw blanket, and lo and behold, there he was, all curious and happy and chirping still.
He drew quite the crowd; it seems a lot of people love birds.
I handed over his food and supplies and put a little green placemat under the cage for stability.
I was assured there were at least two people who were being assigned to take care of him; a resident and a staff member.
Suddenly, even more people who heard his chirping came over to say "Hello!" and welcome him.
Little Ziggy seemed to be taking it all in stride; he was not scared, he was facing his admirers head on. Was he meant to be here? It seemed so.
Perhaps this little bird was meant to contribute to the enrichment of the residents of this care home, just as they were to contribute to the enrichment to his life.
A win win, if you ask me.
And it was warm.
There would be no more cold nights for little Ziggy in the tack room.
There was even talk of a re-naming contest - something for the residents to enjoy!
I guess that would be alright.
I am putting faith in his hardy, mini-parrot fortitude that he will adapt and come to embrace his new surroundings.
I heard talk they would even get him a bigger cage!
I know that his cheerful chirps and whistles and singing will be beloved entertainment for all who love birds.
I left the red plaid fluffy throw blanket with him in case they want to put it over him at night, for darkness, privacy and warmth.
Hopefully he will get some peace and quiet there - he has gone from zero to sixty in just a few days.
I was overwhelmed at the reception and attention and excitement that his arrival brought; I couldn't help but shed a few tears. I wasn't even really emotionally attached to him - but for some reason I felt emotional. It was all good. I was given a hug by the lady who said "Oh, what a lovely idea!" She understood.
I glanced back at him as I left the building; he was receiving even more curious visitors anxious to see what all the chirping was about.
I believed and hoped he would be in good hands. That was all I could do.
I was a part of his journey, but not his destination.
This was his destiny, to be a part of a bigger community that would love him and care for him and hopefully enjoy him.
I was told I could visit anytime.
I may or I may not; I like to know that the door is open, however.
All I know is that Ziggy's destiny is now in the hands of a caring group of people, where I hope he lives a long and happy and fear-free rest of his life.