Coo-ca-roo! (oy-ee!) Coo-ca-roo!

"A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer,
it sings because it has a song."

- Maya Angelou

Almost 20 years to the day, my mom and siblings found Palomo in Versailles Park. He was just hanging out, and let my brother and sister pet him. Our family had recently adopted a puppy – a chocolate lab we named “Cookie” – and while everyone was distracted by the tame, white dove in the park, Cookie ran up from behind and ripped all of the bird’s tail feathers out. My mom panicked, grabbed the bird and brought him home. He’s lived with us ever since.

We named him “Paloma” - Spanish for dove – but changed it to “Palomo” when he never laid an egg and started crowing. Palomo has always been very tame – sitting on our heads, doing our hair, flying around the house and crash landing into the furniture. My brother even taught Palomo to fly to him with a series of “Here Boy” calls and finger movements.

Of course, it hasn’t always been fun and games. My cat, “Tootsie”, managed to catch Palomo on two occasions. Cat saliva is venomous to birds (which is why a bird will die from only a small bite from a cat), and Palomo had to be rushed to the vet, stitched back together, and given round after round of a Pepto Bismol pink colored medication. I vividly remember my grandfather coming over and helping my mom nurse Palomo back to health. That same grandfather passed away over thirteen years ago.

More recently, Palomo was caught by my mother’s dog, Schnitzel. My mom discovered Palomo pinned down in between Schnitzel’s front paws on the back porch. The dog – thinking the bird was a glorified chew toy – was systematically ripping Palomo’s feathers out. Luckily, Palomo’s injuries that day looked worse than they actually were, and Palomo made a complete recovery.

When my mom left for a two week vacation on Friday afternoon, she called and asked me to check in on Palomo and water the plants. She had left Palomo on her covered back porch, which is pretty typical this time of the year. Palomo loves to be outside. He sings to all the neighborhood birds as he hops and flutters around his three-story, white bird cage.

I considered bringing Palomo inside on Saturday afternoon, but the Weather Channel was calling for a pleasant evening with a cool breeze. The rest of the week looked like it was going to be hot, so I figured I’d let him enjoy one more day outside before bringing him back in my mother’s house. Plus, Palomo has a history of self mutilating (this is common in birds), and pulls his feathers out when he gets bored or lonely. This generally gets worse when my mom goes on vacation and the house is quiet. We always leave a TV or radio on for Palomo, but sometimes even that isn’t enough to keep him from picking at himself. Since he seemed so happy outside, I figured one more night on the porch wouldn’t hurt.

When I went to check on him Sunday afternoon, Palomo – at first glance – seemed fine. I moved his cage back indoors, and placed it next to the French doors so he could still see the goings on in the backyard. Then, I started the process of cleaning out his cage, giving him more seeds, changing his water, etc. I did notice that Palomo wasn’t singing (he always sings to me when I give him more seeds), and seemed to be having some problems hopping from one perch to the other. I didn’t think too much of it, though, and ventured back outside to water my mother’s plants.

On the porch, I noticed a few feathers here and there. I took this as a sign that Palomo had still been self mutilating despite being outdoors, and made a mental note to find an upbeat radio station for him once I got back inside.

While I was setting up the radio, Palomo started grooming himself and I noticed something rusty colored on his neck. Worried that he had ripped a feather out and it was still bleeding, I went into the kitchen, found a bowl, filled it with water and took it into the bathroom. Then, I went and got Palomo and dipped him in the water to rinse him off and check him over. At first, I saw nothing wrong, and was about to put him back in his cage to dry off. But - at the last minute - I decided to turn him over and lift up the feathers on his breast just to make sure everything was okay. That’s when I saw the blood. Because of all the feathers, I couldn’t tell how bad the injury was (but it seemed pretty severe).

Not knowing what else to do, I called the emergency vet near my house and asked if they knew of a bird vet in the area that could see a dove on a Sunday afternoon. As fate would have it, there was a bird vet that was at the clinic until 6 PM. Unable to find Paloma’s travel cage, I dumped out a large tin containing pretzels, filled it with newspaper, carefully placed Palomo inside, and loaded him in the car. I was at the vet less than ten minutes later.

Once at the emergency clinic, the veterinary staff whisked Palomo into the back for evaluation. I was sent into a waiting room, but didn’t have to wait long before the vet returned holding Palomo in his hands. He had removed the feathers on his breast, so the injury could be seen clearly – and it was horrible. Much, much worse than I had anticipated. I’d later learn that the emergency vet didn’t know that Palomo was family pet – he thought I had just found the bird, caught him and brought him for medical attention when I realized he was injured.

Palomo had an almost two inch long laceration that extended all the way across his breast from his left wing to the right and up the side of his neck. You could clearly see some of his internal organs. This was definitely not a case of an injury that “looked worse than it actually was”. It was severe, and Palomo’s life was – literately – on the line.

The vet said that he could clean out the wound, check for any organ damage and stitch Palomo back together. In order to do this, though, they would have to anesthetize Palomo, and there was a real chance that he would never wake up. Anesthesia was risky for even the healthiest of patients – even more so for a twenty year old bird.

The other option was to humanely euthanize Palomo. This was a call I didn’t want to make by myself. After all, Palomo is a family pet, and the family should be involved in deciding the best course of action for him.

Sobbing, I called my mother in Colorado and asked what to do. This was the first she had heard of the injury, and had a hard time understanding me through my tears and borderline hysteria. Realizing that I wasn’t doing the best job of explaining…well, anything, I asked the vet to speak to her. Unlike me, he was calm and described the situation, our options and what he would recommend as our best course of action: Namely, clean out the wound, see what we are up against internally and proceed from there. Both my mother and I agreed, and the vet whisked Palomo to the back to get started.

I spoke to my mother for a few minutes longer, before hanging up and calling my sister. I was still crying, but no longer hysterical. I explained the situation to her and told her what mom and I had decided. She asked where the emergency clinic was located, and both she and my dad arrived shortly thereafter.

My dad, sister and I waited for about an hour before we heard anything. I was starting to think that it wasn’t going so well, when a young veterinary assistant came into the room and handed me a Ziploc containing a small, plastic container with a tiny amount of liquid antibiotics inside and an eyedropper. She then started instructing us how to medicate Palomo, how often, etc. I finally had to interrupt her and ask, “So, he survived?” The veterinary assistant gave me a blank look and blinked a few times before saying something to the effect of, “Uhmmmm, yeah. I think so, at least. Let me go get the vet, though, just to make sure.”

I remember not wanting to get my hopes up – just incase the vet assistant had made a mistake. Two minutes later, though, the vet reappeared and confirmed that Palomo HAD survived and was in recovery.

The vet was extremely guarded when discussing Paloma’s prognosis and recovery. Apparently, they had started to lose Palomo on the operating table, but were able to bring him back around at the last minute. And the injury wasn’t “clean” either. Palomo’s crop - a thin-walled organ used for the storage of food prior to digestion - was torn open, allowing digestive fluids and bacteria to enter the chest cavity and increase the risk of infection. The doctor had been able to repair it, and had tested the organ’s competency by filling it with water and checking for leaks. However, there was no guarantee that the organ would heal or rupture again. It was just a game of “Wait and See”.

They brought Palomo back into the room shortly thereafter in a cardboard box with holes poked in the sides. He looked like the birdie equivalent of Frankenstein. My poor sister hadn’t seen him, yet, and the sheer size of the injury was shocking. I couldn’t believe he was still alive.

We thanked the vet who performed the procedure profusely, paid the bill (just over $500), and gingerly loaded Palomo into my father’s car. My sister and dad took Paloma to their house, while I returned to my mom’s, located the birdie travel cage, rounded up all of Palomo’s food, vitamins and toys (just incase) and drove to meet them. Once there, Amy and I set up Palomo’s temporary apartment, created a make shift nest for him to lie on, and found several towels to cover his cage and help keep him warm.

Finally, once everything was ready, we gently picked up Palomo out of the cardboard box and placed him inside. Within moments, Palomo went to his water dish and drank – something I saw as a good sign. After watching for a few more minutes, we covered his cage with the towels and let him go to sleep.

The next morning, Palomo was still alive (which was very exciting considering the vet wasn’t sure he’d make it through the night). I gave him his first round of antibiotics (which was much, much easier said than done) and watched him for awhile before leaving to run some errands (note: I had a scheduled comp day off so I didn’t have to go to work). When I returned, I was encouraged to discover Palomo sitting on his perch instead of the cage floor. He seemed more alert, too – all good signs that he was recovering. My sister helped me administer the second round of antibiotics later on that evening, and I went to bed with a newfound hope that maybe (just maybe) Palomo was going to survive all this, after all.

Tuesday was even more encouraging. Since I had to work, Amy and my dad gave Palomo his meds and monitored him during the day. When I dropped by to check on him yesterday afternoon, I was pleased to witness Palomo grooming himself. Well, that is until I saw him also pick at his stitches with his beak. Concerned, I called the Palomo’s (quasi)regular doctor, and made an appointment for the vet to see him at eleven this morning. Apparently, it is possible to make an Elizabethan collar (i.e. a lampshade) for a bird, but it must be handmade (and measured) by a birdie vet. I figured Palomo definitely needed the Elizabethan collar (especially considering his habit of self mutilating and picking at himself), and an overall check up to make sure his recovery really was going as well as we hoped it was.

So, Amy took Palomo this morning…and, well…the news isn’t encouraging. Amy had noticed that Palomo seemed to be having a hard time drinking on Tuesday, and reported this to the vet. To be safe, the vet conducted an experiment to check the competency of the recently repaired crop. Using an eyedropper, the vet gently squirted water into Palomo’s beak. Instead of going into the stomach, though, the water leaked out externally…through the stitches in Palomo’s neck and breast. Not a good sign.

Additionally, the skin around the stitches is dying – most likely due to the fluids and bacteria being released from the torn crop. In a real sense, Palomo is digesting himself. Slowly.

The vet was hesitant to recommend that we put Palomo down immediately, though. Instead, she suggested we leave him at their office over night so they could give him fluids and calories intravenously. In the morning, they are going to draw blood and see how Palomo’s other organs are doing, and if he could potentially survive another surgery to repair the damaged crop and skin around the stitches. More likely than not, though, the blood work will show signs of organ failure. Depending on which organs are failing (and at what rate), the vet will be able to determine whether or not the most humane course of action will be to euthanize him before the weekend or allow Palomo to return home with us and slowly slip away when he is ready.

I guess it is also possible (although very, very unlikely) that Palomo’s blood work will reveal nothing wrong, and the vet will recommend attempting another surgery to fix him.

At any rate, the next 24 hours are extremely touch and go for little Palomo. I know some of you out there probably think we are all crazy for worrying so much over a bird. It’s is just that Palomo has been in our lives for 20 years now. I was 7 when we found him. He’s a member of the family. And it rips my heart out to know that I may never hear him coo again.

So, if you think of it, please consider saying a little prayer for a sweet, little, white dove that has brought smiles and happiness to my family for almost two decades now.

The Prayer of Saint Frances (the patron saint of the animals):

Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;
where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.

O Divine Master,
grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood, as to understand;
to be loved, as to love;
for it is in giving that we receive,
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

Amen.