Over all? Not a good day.
Gracie and George (my two lovebirds) headed off to stay with my parents for the weekend. Wednesday night, my parents pick them up. There was wrestling involved. (Hey! They love to wrestle!) and both seemed fine.
Thursday night, my mom calls and says she thinks Gracie threw up but she otherwise seemed fine. Since my dad was going in for some medical tests (nothing serious, but something that involved fasting and drugs) everyone was a little distracted. In either case, both birds were running around and driving people (and my parents' pet black-capped conure, Kermit) crazy in general.
Friday I call from Maryland to see how Gracie is doing and she seems fine if a little puffy.
Saturday...bird is definitely sick. She's crawling into my parents hands and falling asleep. Not a good sign. So my parents rush her to Tufts University Medical Center (the vet section) and bring George with since they've never been apart. My mother is upset and she doesn't understand how Gracie ended up in the birdie equivalent of ICU since she was *fine* (throw up incident aside) until Saturday morning.
They test for everything...all they can figure out is she's got a bacterial infection and that her liver isn't working right. George stays with her in the incubator (he's totally healthy) since they've been together since chickhood.
Anyway, she seems to recover a little. Meanwhile, I'm going nuts in Maryland.
My parents visited her Sunday night. George is going out of his feathers with boredom (yucky food, no perches, no toys, and Gracie's being totally no fun) and so he keeps trying to sneak into my parents' pockets so he can get the hell out of dodge. Gracie's balance is fine. She is responding to antibiotics, but she's still not doing so hot.
They keep her another night.
So, to make long story short, I haul in from B'more this morning, de-cat myself (my friend has three cats and everyone in my family's allergic, including me), and head to my parents so we can go to Tufts.
Gracie died while we were en route.
I let Tufts keep Gracie for a necropsy (it's a vet school and honestly, the doctor seemed relieved that I was willing to let them keep her) so they could hopefully tell us how the hell she died.
George, naturally, is going out of his tree because he can't get the hell away from Tufts fast enough.
We've disinfected everything. I've tossed all the food just in case. George is eating and drinking just fine. He even had some grooming action going on. The only sad thing is he'll chirp and then cock his head to listen for the the answering chirp. He's a little confused as to why the cage is his, all his.
Right now, he's a bit quiet.
I get to go back to work tomorrow morning.