The Death of Ringo

No, not the Beatles Ringo; I'm talkin about the african grey Ringo, my roommates feathered pride.

I admit, I didn't care for the bird. Months ago he sunk his beak into my thumb, and since that blood incident, I've held a grudge (I can hold grudges against birds for quite some time). But, having said that, Ringo didn't deserve the death he got.

He was attacked by Jason's Husky, Friday night. Ringo crawled off his cage, waddled into the kitchen, and Mote, usually the docile pooch, crushes Ringo's beak in his jaws. My stomach turned when I heard. Ringo's lower beak was shattered after the bite. Despite the trauma, the vet assured Jason after a few hours of surgery the beak could be pieced together. The real problem, however, was the upper beak. Mort bite with such ferocity, the upper beak was ripped away, and that was beyond repair. For the rest of Ringo's life he'd have only a lower beak. He would only be able to eat pre-mashed meals.

Jason, heartbroken but humane, chose to euthanize Ringo. I felt so bad for the guy, he loved that bird. Hell, he even showered with the bird, because, Jason assured me, "birds love water" (I agree, it is a bit bizarre, but, at the same time, a testament to how much he cherished Ringo).

I didn't really have a point to the whole story. I just feel bad for both Ringo and Jason, having to endure such pain.