A few months ago I discovered Floor Snacks. They are the best things since Tasty Seeds. Funny enough, Floor Snacks are tasty seeds. You see, I'd noticed that Earl Grey liked to pick through the seed squeezin's that got kicked out of the seed tower dishes. You just never know where you'll find something tasty. So I got a new seed mix from the pet store, and scattered some on the floor of the Finsterium.

Instant success! All the Finsters love to pick through the bits on the floor, but Earl Grey is always first when I put new Floor Snacks down. He just loves Floor Snacks, and since he's my oldest Finster, and he was hatched in my kitchen, and he loves me (really), I like to spoil him as much as possible. So I put fresh Floor Snacks down every evening, after I change the poop paper.

Yesterday was Jon's memorial service, so the Finsters missed an evening of fresh Floor Snacks. When I got home last night Earl Grey was so excited to pick through new squeezin's that he kept hopping down to the floor while I was changing out water and paper. While Earl Grey is usually pretty calm around me, he never sits calmly on the floor while I'm in the cage doing stuff, much less hang around to get in my way. I offered him Floor Snacks from my hand, but he wasn't ready for that, so I finished my tasks and closed the Finsterium door. He was down snacking right away, and the rest of the Finsters joined him soon after.

Tonight I was ready with the camera. To be honest, I'm a bit concerned about his health — nothing new, just the old concerns, about an old finch, and I have a bit of death on my mind. So I present you with a few pictures. Technically speaking, the millet spray is not Floor Snacks — they're the loose seeds, unrecognizable things and weird dyed bits (the mix is sold as food for pet birds — really). But the millet was fresh, and when you're a foot away from a Finster that's letting you take photos with the door open, you don't get picky about what he's eating.









The rest of the Finsters didn't come down for Floor Snacks until long after I closed the door.

I meant to write about two newspaper articles and a public service announcement on TV awhile ago, but I got distracted. Here they are now, instead. They're all about the growing recognition that pets are important to people, and they all appeared at about the same time, no doubt in response to the US president signing the "Pets Evacuation and Transportation Standards Act of 2006" (PDF file) into law on October 6 (although that document is dated presumably the day it was presented to Congress). The bill and later law was created in response to the plight of pets and their human companions during Hurricane Katrina, when the people were forced to leave the animals behind. Terrible! Now states will risk losing federal money if their disaster plans don't include help for pets.

The San Francisco Chronicle wrote an article about the new law on October 10, 2006 ("States must help save pets" by Kimberly Geiger).

National Geographic News wrote an article on October 6, 2006, about a number of religious groups that are recognizing the importance of pets ("Pets Gaining Recognition in Places of Worship" by Maryann Mott). This article describes a "growing movement among places of worship, some of which not only recognize the human-animal bond but offer pet owners support and services almost unheard of a decade ago." The article mentions an Episcopal church in Connecticut, a Jewish synagogue in California, a Catholic priest in Connecticut, a Baptist chaplain in North Carolina, and an Episcopal church in New Jersey, all of which are paying more attention to the importance of the human-pet bond.

Finally, the state of Michigan produced a TV ad at about the same time reminding people to create a plan for emergency preparedness. The state created a space on the internets called "Michigan Prepares." Both the TV ad (included — since it hasn't been showing lately) and the web site include information on preparing for pet needs in a disaster.

It's nice to see our social institutions paying attention to the things that people think are important.

Jon is a human, not a bird. But he was a friend, and he died today. Bruce used to work with him, and knew him for close to 30 years; I also met him through work meetings, and knew him for close to 15. We'd all been out of touch for awhile. Jon e-mailed Bruce a couple of months ago — about a year after learning he had a brain tumor. Late in the game, as it turns out.

The timing of all this has been...interesting. Jon contacted Bruce just about the same time that Peanut died. Bruce got a contract to work in DC the month before. Jon lives in DC, so Bruce was able to visit him. Since Bruce's plane ticket and hotel were paid for, and I found some cheap plane tickets, I could visit too. (I also got to visit Jen!) And since Peanut was already dead, I didn't get any Pet Guilt for leaving him alone. I went for overnight visits, which is the limit I can leave the Finsters alone without a bird sitter. Except for that terrible dying part, it all worked out pretty well.

I'm sure that the timing of Peanut's illness and death, and Jon's illness and death, have made it all more poignant. You know: IT. ALL.

Bruce and I have worked from home for the past few years, giving Peanut the opportunity to almost completely take over our lives. And when Peanut was dying, I was able to give him Daytime Warm Toasties and become his Hospital Cage — Bruce, too, at the end. Even better, Bruce was home at the very end, and we could both stay up all night so he could spend his last night in our hands, not on a perch. It was terrible that Peanut died, but at least we could be there while he was dying.

Because when somebody is dying, the only thing you really can do is be there.

I know the experience with Peanut influenced what we did for Jon. Which was visit with him, as much as we could. We're going to the memorial service next week. But you know, the best part was visiting with Jon when he was alive. It was terrible that Jon died, but at least we were able to visit with him.

Life is hard damned hard, you know? But even so, the dying part is hardest of all.

R.I.P. Jon G., September 25, 1950 — November 21, 2006