Alastair's eulogy for Monte
Our house a lot quieter now. It has been two months now since Monte has been gone and I still find myself some nights letting the dog in and turning to where his cage stood to tuck him in as well. Twenty two years. Twenty two years I have covered that cage, with a few breaks for college and when Monte went on furlough for the arrival of Emery. In that time, he became embedded in my family like he was one of us. For a small parrot, his reach was very long. Among the friends I have made in twenty two years, and all the places we have lived, he was universally admired and often coddled.
Monte came to me after a year long campaign to get a conure of my own. At that point, the Lewis menagerie consisted of a dog, cat, two budgies, and sometimes a turtle or two. The horse was in progress (long range plan) and a green cheeked conure was all I could talk about. My poor parents. I think Alastair's Minecraft obsession might be payback for all the avian and equestrian factoids they were regaled with over the years.
I found Monte through a breeder at a "bird fair" after my parents agreed just a bit too late to let me buy that perfect little bird at the petshop. By the time my parents relented and brought me back to the store he was gone. The day I convinced Dad to fire up the Acura to take me into the wilds of Lenexa, Kansas, I had solid parental buy in. If they had known quite how long he would live, I'm not sure that would have been the case.
Monte was a cuddly little baby when he came home with me: eating solid food but with his tail feathers not fully grown in. I would let him out of his cage in the morning while I got ready for school. Monte would waddle along the floor in his silly way and then climb up my pajama pants in order to clunk at himself in the mirror or try to get into the sink. That little guy loved water.
When they were both kids
By the time I went to college, Monte had a solid routine down watching out the second floor window for all our cars to return home. He never learned to talk, though it is possible for the breed, having secured enough popcorn and spaghetti noodles through shrill cries or something clearly resembling be a wolf whistle. He did have a distinctive announcement cry as well that clearly meant "someone's home!" and over the years several dogs (for he outlived them all) learned to heed the warning and would rush to the window to see who it was.
An illicit sip of Coke
Monte is survived by his best friend, the brass bell that was with him from the beginning. No enterprise could begin without a run to ring the bell first. Add new food: ring-a-ling! Open the cage: ring-a-ling ding! Sometimes Monte would wear his bell tipped rakishly over one eye and peer out at us from underneath. On those days we called him the cockeyed sailer. When he was feeling a little feisty, he would box with the bell, bobbing and weaving with shrill whistles and shrieks. Occasionally, he would get so worked up he would fall off the perch and then grumble in conure curses on the way back up. Monte didn't hold a grudge and would be back canoodling with his bell immediately. This year the bell is going to take up residence on our Christmas year, to be brought out every year when it is time to remember.
Monte in mosaic tile
Monte made considerbly more of an impact with the kids than I thought he did as he was less interactive than a dog and made it clear pretty early on that he wasn't going to have them changing his water or handling him. There were many tears shed over his loss and we chose to commemorate him with a mosaic stone and a gardenia bush over where he is buried in the garden. It pleases me to see that this little guy who came into my life when I was still a child was important in the lives of my own children. Show me a dog that can do that.
Emery's eulogy for Monte
Twenty two years ago when I brought home my little friend I had no capacity to predict what my life would look like by the time he was to leave it. With a husband, three children, and an aging canine of my own life looked a lot different for Monte than those pajama climbing days of old. In recent years we began to call him "Bird Immortal" as it seemed he would always be here, joking to "go towards the light, little bird!" When the time came for him to actually leave us though, I found I wasn't really ready at all. I feel a relief from the never ending cycle of water changing (which would be icky about five minutes after changing it) and actual pet maintenance. What has not gone away is the guilt of knowing I was not the bird mom I should have been to him in the last few years. That remains.
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