The trick this year, apart from the appropriate cleaning tools (including a new, stiffer scrubby brush), was to get up early and catch the birds before sunrise. Well, before full sunrise; we almost didn't get the last bird before the sun was up. But all in all, much easier than getting them the night before. No cramped sleepovers in a holding cage, Peanut didn't get as upset, and it puts the whole event within the scope of one day.

Even though we were only a couple of months late this year, it was still a tough cleaning job. Part of it, I think, is that I've been cooking more this year. The Finsterium has been getting sticky lately, and Bruce thinks it's the cooking oil reacting with the finish on the wood. Yet another reason to win the lottery, and get a bigger place.

Glad it's done, it's a lot of work. But boy, the Finsterium sure is beautiful when it's clean.

(In defense of that "before" picture: that's where Frank often sits. And poops.)

I went away for a few days, and came home late and a bit jet-lagged, to find Decaffeinated, dead. The details are a bit disturbing, but you can read them, if you want, by clicking the "more" link below. (Or, depending on how you're accessing this entry, the description starts at the statement "Here are the details...".)

Coming so soon after Sally's death, this one hit me pretty hard. And clearly, I can never go anywhere, ever again. I buried her with a bit of millet spray, but nothing else — she was one of the porkiest Society Finsters I've had, and clearly liked to eat just about anything!

R.I.P. Decaffeinated, November 2, 1997 — November 20, 2003.
...Read More...

Yesterday morning, Sally was looking under the weather. Bruce was able to catch her in daylight (alarming), on the first try (terrifying). All I could do was put her in the hospital cage, and try to get her in to see the vet. We got an appointment just a couple of hours later, and — to try to limit the stress — I transported her in the hospital cage, saving her the ordeal of catching her to put her in the travel cage. Unfortunately, the vet was also able to catch her very easily. This was a terrible sign for Sally. If a Society Finster had been this docile, I wouldn't have been as worried, but traditionally, Sally is very scared and flighty. The vet had no real clues, which is typical with birds. But, antibiotics in hand, we went home, once again set Sally up in the hostpital cage with heat and quiet, and hoped for the best. Yesterday evening she was looking a little bit perkier, but this morning she looked terrible. I was just getting ready to take her back to the vet when I found her, panting and lying in the tasty seed dish. A few minutes later she was dead. It's so hard to watch them die like that.

Finches are very good at hiding the fact they're ill — so good, in fact, that they're often on the brink of death when you actually notice. In retrospect, I have to admit that Sally was probably sleeping a lot these past few days. At least she finally discovered the fun of the white concrete perch before she died.

I buried Sally with a bit of millet spray, and a piece of lettuce, since she liked it so much. I've buried all the Finsters with millet, and usually another item or two that they particularly like. They all have had their preferences in life. Although I don't believe in the afterlife, I figure it can't hurt to send them...along...with their favorites. I suppose most burial rituals are really for the living.

R.I.P. Sally, circa April 4, 1998 — November 16, 2003.