All That Crouton Was

January 16, 2023 by Elizabeth

Guest Post by Anonymous

I don’t know how to share all that Crouton was with you.

In mid-December, I started writing the story of my foster bird, Crouton. While writing the story, I realized that Crouton’s story was inextricable from those of her best friend Sprout, me and my partner, and the community that supported her, including and not limited to Elizabeth and Jill and the wonderful vets that cared for her. Crouton was a bird that changed minds, inspired love, and received love so strongly.

Crouton has since passed. We now know that he was a boy. I am still unable to say his name without crying. Mourning is just one manifestation of love. I’ll be manifesting my love for Crouton in a million ways for a long time to come and the tears are part of that. Another part is reflecting. And I want another part to be sharing, so I am now revisiting the story that I started writing in December. I will not edit the part that I had already written, just pick up where I left off.

Sprouton’s Story

On Monday, October 31, 2021, at Medical Center for Birds in Oakley, a very special foster family was formed. Two young Palomacy birds, both ready for discharge after their hospital stays, would meet for the first time and their future foster mom, me, would arrive for totally unrelated reasons and end up taking them home with her.

Since that day, Crouton and Sprout have healed together. Sprout, who had been reliant on tube feeding and had not vocalized while in the hospital, immediately began self-feeding and vocalizing cheerily. I was able to decrease Crouton’s tube feeding amounts and let her self-feed with her new best friend. They snuggled together, flapped together, slept together, and ate together. While Sprout recovered from malaria and put on much needed weight, Crouton kept him warm and cozy. When Crouton needed help getting from one part of the cage to another, she pushed against Sprout to move around.

Despite their progress together, Crouton began having seizures. After the second one, I realized what was going on and immediately got her to Medical Center for Birds where she was started on an anti-seizure medication. The next day though, around 9pm, she had a seizure that would not stop. My partner, Chris, and I tried everything we could think of. Jill tried contacting Crouton’s vet after hours while Elizabeth reassured us and looked for help from knowledgeable friends. We turned off the lights in our house and I held Crouton and Sprout in their little bed together to try to allow Crouton to relax, but after an hour had gone by and Crouton started heating up and breathing hard, I knew we had to do something fast. I texted friend of Palomacy and animal superhero Dr. Tino Leuhman and she immediately told me to rush her over to her. Chris quickly drove us to Tino while Elizabeth, Jill, and I sent Tino all of the information and history we could on Crouton. Crouton continued to seize in the car while Sprout sat alarmed and quiet through all the stress. Tino immediately sedated Crouton and began checking her over. Once Crouton was sedated and no longer seizing, Tino propped her up against Sprout in a natural position to rest. She monitored her, administering tiny amounts of sedative, to keep her from returning to seizing. Sweet Sprout was very still and gentle, supporting his best friend physically and me emotionally as I pet him anxiously.

Tino saved Crouton’s life that night. Tino kept Crouton and Sprout together while she continued their care for the next couple days. I got to visit and give Crouton some gentle snuggles. Even in her sedated state, she responded happily to my holding and petting her. While I held Crouton, Tino and I noticed Sprout wandering over, peering curiously at little Crouton in my arms.

Once the two of them were back home with me, Sprout’s worried gaze never went away whenever I had to take Crouton out for her medications and tube feedings. It was touch and go for a little while, and an emotionally challenging period.

Crouton’s seizures are now effectively managed by her medications.

And at this point I stopped writing. I remember getting distracted because I turned around and saw Sprout and Crouton lying, pressed up against each other, preening each other and themselves, looking so comfy and happy.

Crouton had lots of wins. He learned to take steps (with my help for balance). He met the big king pigeons in the big aviary and ate some lunches there. He did happy duck tail wiggles while bathing and even stood on his own in the bath. He learned to walk around in a makeshift tinker toy wheelchair I made him, and to hang out in a sling I sewed to fit him just right and to give Sprout tall bird preenies. He responded to his name with happy wing twitches, even popping up on both legs when I greeted him one morning.

He had beautiful coonversations with Sprout and received many a feather from him, always accompanied by a beautiful dance. He explored the world, with Sprout always right next to him, on walks and trips in a cat backpack. He happy flapped, he locomoted, he preened, he played. His seizures suddenly became more frequent, so we started giving an extra dose of his seizure medication, and then we found him dead.

His new wheelchair will arrive in the mail any day now. And he won’t be here to use it. I know he would have loved it.

Sprout and I are hurting, and Sprout is ready to make new pigeon friends. In the short time I have volunteered for Palomacy, I have had the chance to learn that pigeons heal, and when they heal, they can heal the hearts of those around them as well.

There’s no other kind of pain I’d rather have, than to have known and loved and then to no longer have and still love. I miss him. I want him back. I want to continue to watch him explore the world and learn new things, maybe even become more mobile with the help of his little chair.

There is no “but.” It’s just tough. It’s the right kind of tough.

Crouton was home on October 31st. He had no doubt about it. He made himself permanently, essentially, inextricably part of our family.