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.