After Peanut died, I got a lot of messages from people who read the Finster Log, expressing their sympathy. I tried to reply to them all personally, but as I recall I was having problems with my e-mail account at the time, and — of course — I was a little distracted. So if I didn't reply to you, I apologize. I appreciate all your thoughts, and words, and kindness.

Nicolette is a special case, and not just because she lives in Paris — imagine that, Peanut is famous in Paris! — but because we started up a short conversation. She sent me a long and lovely and bittersweet note about her budgie Perry, who died on November 22 last year, far away at Nicolette's parent's home in New Mexico. I never replied to that note, and I apologize. I just can't seem to respond without being sad crying.

I haven't written much about the sadness, but really it's there all the time. And I guess it's unrealistic not to mention it once in awhile, at least. Because I feel it every day. Every morning when I don't give Peanut breakfast, every evening when I say "Sweet dreams, the Finsters." Because before I tell the Finsters good night I'm supposed to tell Peanut good night: "Sweet dreams, Peanut, sweet dreams, the Finsters." That's how it goes. And some nights when I don't say the first part out loud I start to cry, and some nights when I do say the first part out loud I start to cry, and every night, every night, I think about that first part, because that's how it's supposed to be.

My brother recently got this very adorable puppy named Wilma. Partly because his dog Nora died. Small consolation. (Literally.) He says, "I don't try to be overly-rational about the pets. It's too hard and unproductive."

So despite the fact that I wouldn't tell a prospective employer about this web site, and despite the fact that I haven't written much about the sadness, let me be irrational, or at least honest, right now: every day the world seems wrong without Peanut. He was a good friend. No reason not to talk about that. No reason not to reply to Nicolette. I'm sorry.

Partly I'm sad because Earl Grey is fading dying. Let's continue with the honesty, shall we? He's dying. And this morning I noticed that he was having a hard time pooping. I hovered over him for awhile and realized he was all plugged up. He finally did manage to poop, but it took a lot of work.

Since Peanut died I've stopped expecting vets to perform miracles, but Death By Constipation would be a terrible way to go. So I took him to the vet's office, to see if there was a way to make him more comfortable. Of course, the vet had no idea what might be going on, but she sent us home with the bird equivalent of a stool softener, and an anti-inflammatory. The way Earl Grey has been getting around, I should be able to catch him pretty easily every morning for his meds. We'll see how it goes. And how long he lasts.