Pixie Presence

I have a deep compassion for animals—even a $19 parakeet. Animals have a way of grounding us, and my keets proved to be the ones who steered me the most, forcing presence. I don’t currently have any birds, but I’m inclined to leave their (many) empty cages around the house as reminders—to pay attention to my heart and intention.

Pixie was the keet that connected with me on a level that wouldn't seem possible for a bird. She was fiercely interested in all that I was doing, perching on whatever would give her the best view of my activity or project. My birds were free to fly around the house so she would follow me of her own accord, joining me in whatever I was doing.

If she noticed me walking somewhere with purpose—say, to look for something in a kitchen drawer—she’d fly over and land on my shoulder. I’d open the drawer, and she’d hop down to my hand, nestle into my index knuckle, and tilt her head to look inside with me. She made even the smallest task feel utterly important. If my next move was something less interesting, she’d return to the counter above that drawer, craning her head as if trying to find a way to open it on her own.

It always amazed me. I was Cinderella—and she was my little sidekick.

These days Pixie the parakeet is a memory. An echo. A whisper that says, Be Present. She's missed —not just by me.

Shortly after her little bird soul checked out of this world, I encountered a friend I didn't know she had. One morning as I sat at the dining table, I noticed a finch perched on the deck railing.  He was striking—Pixie-yellow—and for several long moments, we just stared at one another.

Then he did something that made my heart stop.
He flew to the window where Pixie’s cage used to stand.
He clung to the exterior screen, twisted his head, and peered inside—searching.

I whispered, “She’s gone.”
There we were, sharing a moment. Both missing Pixie.

Amazing life will happen—when you’re paying attention.
Those are the moments that make my day.