Cielo

 Cielo (meaning 'sky' in Italian) shortly after he was given to me about 9 years ago. His previous owner was Italian. He was hand raised and very human friendly. We've shared hours and hours of time together. So very sweet:

On Monday, the situation arose where Cielo was out of doors in a non controlled scenario. It was my worst nightmare come true.

I had gone downstairs to put laundry in the washing machine. Cielo was on my shoulder and we set to the task together as we have done many times before.

My basement gets very wet in the spring. In fact for the first several years here, it flooded every spring. Since I had the sump pump installed, it doesn't flood but it still becomes quite damp, so in the late spring/early summer months I leave the far door open for air circulation. Normally, at this time of year, it would have dried out already, but at some point over the past few months a slow leak developed in one of the shut off valves, perpetuating a damp climate.

I traced that valve to the line which supplies water to the outside spigot. Seeing how I couldn't focus on the problem right away, I looked to see if there was another shutoff upstream that I could turn off to stop the leaking. There was, and after I had loaded the washing machine, I tried to turn the valve shut but it was stiff and hard to turn. It was higher than my shoulders and I couldn't get good leverage on it so I decided to pull up a chair that was nearby. As it's been so damp down there, the chair had weakened and it buckled when I stood up on it. Buckled in half right down the middle of the seat. I couldn't catch myself and tumbled backward and in the commotion Cielo got spooked and flew off my shoulder. That wasn't surprising. I expected to find him on one of the shelves, but I couldn't find him. I looked several times, slowly realizing the worst of my fears: that in his state of panic he'd done what birds do: fly towards the brightest light. I've witnessed this phenomenon many times upstairs when a bird that is unfamiliar with the living room, flies out of the bird room and doesn't know how to get back. They always fly towards the brightest window.

At one point I noticed that the cellar door from upstairs was still open and the stairwell was quite bright so I hoped against odds that maybe he'd flown upstairs. But he wasn't there. Disbelief was settling in. He couldn't have flown out. Please let that be the case.

There were moments of desperation as I imagined him outside, and being disoriented, flying and flying further away. I could barely let myself think of it. Philosophical thoughts raced through my mind.

After twenty minutes I heard him call and saw him fly: from the backyard up and around the house. I ran to the front yard and heard him in the woods across the lawn. I called and called, and continued calling hoping to get the message to him that he was in the right neighborhood. Then I didn't hear him any more. Then I did, but it sounded like he was in the woods above the house. When I heard him again, it sounded like the woods across the lawn. Back and forth it seemed. Acoustics were playing a game and I found it very stressful. His calls finally did settle and seemed to emanate from the woods across the lawn. By now, almost an hour had gone by since the calamity.

Eventually, I saw him in flight again and was able to keep my eyes on him as he alit in a tree directly on the edge of the lawn. A very tall tree, at least 75 feet tall, and he was way up in those unreachable heights. But he was in sight and as long as he was in sight I had hope, and it steadied my nerves. I could see him, and he could see me. I continued to call and call, using tones of voice that I use everyday in hope that he'd recognize one of those lilts of voice and respond by flying down. This was the scene for at least another hour. Some strong breezes would come along and he'd sway back and forth on those thinner branches at elevation. I kept talking to him, not wanting him to get spooked by the wind. Finally, he flew off. I'm pretty sure he flew in a downward direction, hesitatingly, but 'corrected' his flight upwards. He landed on the apex of the roof of the house. He could hear my other birds through one open window of the bird room and that window was on the other side of the house, so I ran up to the back field.

Another hour passed with him calling and responding to the birds in the bird room and I calling and calling. I'm pretty sure he didn't know that the way to get to the bird room was to come down. He was running on instinct since getting spooked. I kept calling. Eventually, I decided to go indoors to open the window on the other side of the bird room to see if that would help. Moving myself again to that side of the house, I continued to try to get him to respond to some familiar tones of voice. But he stayed near the peak or just below the chimney. I was ready and willing to spend the entire day out there, and night if need be.

In falling from the chair, I had scraped my right calf quite badly and it had been bleeding and I finally decided I should steal a few minutes to go in to clean it and spray it with Bactine. I didn't want to. I didn't want to lose sight of him. I feared he might fly off while I was in the house and I'd never see him again. No, I couldn't think of that. I rushed a quick clean of the wound and when I went back outside he was still there. A moment of thankfulness.

After a considerable time I figured he might be getting hungry so I quickly went in and got a small bowl of seed. I went out on the deck where I'd be closer to him--though far from reach--held the seed above my head and shook the bowl. He immediately looked down and.... oh, can it be?... he started inching his way down the roof. There was a tense, deflating moment when he stopped and started climbing back up, but it was brief and he turned to continue making his way down. He finally made it to the eaves, so close... yet so far... but a moment later he flew over and landed on my head.

I wanted to immediately raise my hand to grab him--instinct--but reason prevailed (a sudden movement of grasping from me could well have spooked him again) and I simply, calmly,  without faltering, moved to the door, opened it and stepped inside. Then I raised my hand and he stepped on my finger. I brought him down and kissed him. Blessed be. Emotional moments.

The far cellar door will never, ever be open again if Cielo accompanies me to do the laundry. It's not that he'd fly off my shoulder for the outdoors--he's accompanied me many times when that door was open--it's the unforeseeable possibility of something spooking him and instincts taking over. Dearest, dearest Cielo.