“Marvelous” is Long for “Marv”

My sweet little buddy Marvin just left us. It was around 3:15. I had just put him in the car to take him back to the animal hospital. He was one day short of his 29th birthday.

This is something I have always dreaded. I have had many dreams about it. Now I don’t have to worry about that any more.

He was the funniest bird ever. He had incredible empathy. He read my moods. He adored me. He was far better to me than I could ever have been to him.

I didn’t deserve Marvin. This is for the best. Parrots were not created to be pets. They live too long. They’re too smart. They love too intensely. It’s better that my little friend is with Yeshua. I wish I could be there, too. I am so sick of death. I am sick of watching people destroy themselves and not being able to get them to listen to me when I try to help them. I wish Yeshua would come get us.

I don’t think Marv suffered much. He never seemed to be in pain. Even today, when he was declining, he wasn’t sad.

I may have caused this. Bad diet, maybe. Not enough sun. It’s impossible to know.

I will never have another parrot again. I don’t want the guilt of buying a pet that needs more care than I can give and which will probably outlive me. The only exception I would make would be for a rescue bird that needs a lifeline.

I wish little Doug could have known Marvin. He should have inherited him.

I call Marvin “he,” but he laid an egg when he was 26. I could never get used to “she,” and Marvin didn’t care.

I must have kissed him ten thousand times. I blessed him every morning and every night. I rubbed him all the time and told him not to worry. I held him to my face and thanked him for being here.

Yesterday he was not so sick. I took him out to weigh him and hand-feed him, and although he was weak, he refused to get off my hand. I blessed him and kissed him and thanked him again and again for being here; being mine. I asked him to stay a little longer.

I talk to him all the time instead of talking to myself. Sometimes I find myself doing it out in the yard, where he can’t hear me. I’ll have to stop now.

Thank you God, for all my undeserved blessings. Thank you for rescuing my baby bird from this horrible world. I can’t wait to be with him again, along with Maynard and all the people I know who died in Christ.

His toys, possessions, food, and medicines are on the way to the dump. I don’t want to see them. I will get rid of his cage as soon as I can.

I have contacted someone about communal cremation. I can’t bury him here. It would kill me to walk past the grave over and over. I don’t want to see his ashes. They will be scattered on a horse farm.

It doesn’t matter. He won’t be there. He is already in heaven, where he belonged from the start.