Despite the jokey title, I’m really upset right about now. Polly, my imaginatively named cockatiel has died.

We acquired her from a family in Owton Manor back in the early/mid nineties. I can’t remember the exact year, it was that long ago. At that point, I was growing up. My nanna decided it was time to get me a pet. After flicking through the adverts in the local paper, there was one advertising a bird*cage*, and the plan was to get a bird to put in it at a later date.

So, I went over there, with my Aunt, and picked up the birdcage. Complete with resident cockatiel. Awww. She was a bit straggled when we got her. The family had dogs who kept jumping on top of the birdcage and scaring the shit out of the poor little bugger.

And, she remained with us until this morning.

I’d noticed she’d been a bit quiet the last few days. Not quiet as in dead quiet, but she’d spend most of her time at the bottom of the cage. It became apparent on Sunday, that the reason she was down there, was that she was nesting, with her tail feathers stuck in the air. And, this assumption was quite correct. On Sunday, there were three white, lovely, unfertilised eggs in the bottom of the cage. So, it was natural for her to protect them.

I can’t wait until 31st December. I can finally place a firm boot in the testicles of 2005, because, quite frankly, it’s been a shit year.

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