Squeaks up and died February 9. There was no warning that it would happen that day. He made love with his mate the day before and seemed fine. Except...
Remember how he made his sad sound months ago, as if he was mourning the loss of his mate again? I dosed him with ProBac and Systemajuv and VitaPak and Trace Minerals, trying to ensure that he was as healthy as possible. And that helped a lot. He got over the constant sad sound, but retained a tendency to make it from time to time over the last year. We heard his sad sound very little lately.
Then one day it was back. It was a very cold day and I didn't have the TV on, so his cage on top of the TV wasn't as warm as usual. It dawned on me that there used to be a cage above him and it maybe provided a lid of sorts, maybe helped the cage be just a tad warmer. I had shifted that other cage across the room and Squeaks and Fay were all alone up there.
I swapped cages around and put his cage directly on the table where he should be able to enjoy closer access to warmth from the furnace. There were two cages stacked on top and the TV to one side. Best of all for me, he was right by the sewing machine and easy for me to see him and interact with him. He liked it there.
He seemed fine in the morning of the day he died, then suddenly I noticed him on the floor breathing fast and looking out of it. Joe picked him up to see if there was anything to do for him. Squeaks was so far gone, he didn't seem to know or care that he was caught and held. Uh-oh. Joe put him back into the cage and we put food and a lid of water on the floor beside him. He didn't seem to notice or care.
He was still alive an hour later. Joe picked him up again, mourning his favorite finch not feeling well, maybe dying. There was still absolutely no response from Squeaks. No struggles, no fear. Joe put him into a nesting house in hopes of making Squeaks more comfortable. We were startled twenty minutes later when Squeaks flew out of there and landed on the floor. His wings worked in a sputtery way. His legs seemed not to work at all.
Another hour passed and his breathing was shallower, maybe faster. Poor baby, we kept thinking. How long would this go on? I'd become used to the finches just falling over dead. It was difficult to see the longer process.
The next time we looked he was nose down and his legs stuck out straight behind him It was a variation on all the cartoons of a dead bird on its back with feet sticking up. It was over. I appreciated the sure signal.
That little no-neck fellow was the sweetest boy finch we ever had.
