When Piper came to us almost four years ago from a bird rescue, he was aggressive and always on alert. He was most likely going to bite you if you put out your finger for him to step up.
This picture is from yesterday. I was reading a book using my Merlin CCTV while Piper climbed from shoulder to shoulder. Settling down on my left side, he began to play with my hair and then charged into my hair and nuzzled against my neck. He eventually backed out and repositioned himself on the outside of my hair, sidestepping over my hair until he was pressed up close against my head. He hadn’t moved for awhile and I knew he was either dozing or close to it.
I slowly reached for my phone and gingerly lifted my arm, pointing the phone in my left shoulder’s direction. I took a few pictures in rapid succession and gently moved my arm and phone to where I could look at the photos. Piper, eyes closed, was sleeping.
I finished the book after a few minutes but continued to sit there so my little feathered boy could keep resting. I thought about when we first brought him home from the rescue, and how far we have come. A mere three months after joining our family, I lost my vision. The only thing I was worried about when I was discharged from the hospital, still unable to see, was how would I be able to be a good mom to Piper and would I be able to care for him? I knew that we had a lot of work to do; he had major trust issues and after being chomped on by his strong beak so often, his dad and I had them, too. I needed to make him feel comfortable and confident that his being bounced around days were over. He was home, forever.
The details of how we got from there to here is for another day but I promise you will hear the story of how an orange-fronted conure came into my life right before my sight went out of it. How in my darkest days, literally and figuratively, he was the reason I got out of bed.
But today, it’s about love and the full weight of that love pressed against my head . . . and my heart. All 90 grams of it.