Piper spends his days playing and hanging out with me, alternately causing chaos and commanding cuddles. I love when he sits with me while I read or watch TV, usually on my shoulder or hand, but sometimes burrowed in my hair up against the side of my neck. My favorite position of his, though, is when he’s on my knee or finger, facing outward, with his back to me. It is in a bird’s makeup to constantly be on high alert and even in our home relaxing he is always birdedly aware of his surroundings. So for him to leave himself completely vulnerable by having his back to me fills me with love and gratitude.
As I have written about many times on this blog, Piper has come a long, long way since he joined our family five years ago. He had been through a lot in his first six years when I found him online. He challenged my husband and I and we accepted with patience and understanding. Then while still very early on in our relationship, I spent a week in the hospital and come home unable to see, terrified of one thing: not being able to take care of Piper. As I regained some sight and began to heal, he took care of me. My world became isolated and lonely in the opening of my eyes one morning but everyday I had somebirdy waiting for me. I was not alone and after years of uncertainty, neither was he.
I know without a doubt that me being home and not at work enabled Piper and I to bond in a way that would not have been possible had I not lost my career when I lost my sight. But even with all the time we had to devote to each other, we both had to work hard to get to know each other and learn each other’s boundaries. And once those were established, we slowly but surely stretched them. There was biting and squawking on his part and tongue-holding and persistence on mine. And Band-Aids. Lots of Band-Aids.
No, trust did not happen overnight. And looking at his back reminds me just how very far we have come.
