tuuschi

Page Forty-seven                                                                                                                         

sehnen posted on Jun 10, 2008 | views: 101 | Tags: linger breathingx

tues 10 june 2008    Greenfield

Fourteen weeks homeless, lifeless, loveless today. Three months tomorrow. I wonder if anyone reading this would deem it a mean-spirited, insensitive, unkind thing to do to shadow and crowd a person who is reclusive, private, frightened, and maybe a bit autistic. Would anyone find that a nasty, juvenile thing to do?

So Tuuschi. I’ve talked about him before. Born October 1994, 13 and a half years old when he was stolen from me on March 12. He was one of a family of 6: his parents Toby and Tessie, his two older sisters Tari and Tiki, and his sister and mate, Tammi. All these trochaic names. But ever since I read long ago that animals like and respond better to trochaic names, I’ve almost always used them. Anyway, Tuuschi was the last of his family still alive, and had lived longer than any of the others. Born crippled, his way was never an easy one, and yet I took years of pleasure in his almost unceasing happiness. He didn’t seem to be the least bit disturbed by being crippled, by the fact that he had a disability and couldn’t do simple things in the same easy way that other birds could. Well, he didn’t know it, did he, that other birds’ legs were formed normally and that for them, every movement was easy. He had to devise alternate ways to do these same simple things. He would hang upside-down from the top of his cage with his less-crippled leg, and he thought that was a great trick. So did I. His whole family had hung upside-down, but most of them could use two legs to do it, and Tuuschi and his dad were the ones who did it the most and loved it the most. Lovebirds are by nature somehow more bubbly than most other birds. Something about the shape of their beaks and the light in their eyes makes them look like they’re always smiling, even in the moment of death. But Tuuschi was bubblier and happier even than most lovebirds, and a great, great treasure, as all purity is.

He loved his Tammi, until the day she died. His need and desire to bond was so great, that even after twelve years with Tammi, he was willing to make a new bond. Not all birds will. Some birds just fade away after a long-term bond ends. Things were very bad with the landlady and the crime-chick at the time that Tammi died, and I didn’t want to get another lovebird, a new animal to come to the garbage and uncertainty my poor animals and I were trying to get by in. Enter the parakeet, whom we already had. I put their cages side-by-side, very close, and eventually the friendship was formed. To a much greater degree than I’d dared to  hope for. They took a great delight in each other.

I’ve written on another blog about Tuuschi’s love of bells, so won’t do that again here. Of all the memories of my stolen Tuuschi that stir the pain, the grief, the anger, it is often remembering him with bells that evoke these emotions most forcefully.

Update 24 June 2009: I imagine Tuuschi has been dead for some while, he was so old. The last of his family, and I was not with him when he died, and I don’t know the date or the place of his death. Supposedly he was adopted by someone in that damned Polish church in Turners Falls, and I’ve never been allowed to know who, and I was never allowed to visit him, because these turnersites exhibit so much goddamned christian kindness. I was supposed to see him, to see all of them to the end of their lives. That was my duty as their friend, their human mother; a duty I loved and wanted to fulfill.

What I was writing about in the first paragraph of this post was the group of men who had been watching me and following me since I first came to Greenfield last year. They were all pretending to be loopy, and I could see in their eyes that they were sane and sober. Matthew was one of them. I thought the DMH was doing something ridiculous by having these men watch that I didn’t kill myself after having lost all my animals. I thought the DMH was trying to mop up the mess it had made by having a year to help me save at least some of my animals and doing almost nothing to that end. And where were they getting the money for this? This post was first written on June 10. It wouldn’t be until June 23rd that I would decide it was something criminal. And when in the next few days I asked Matthew about this, he said yes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(part of the book Stolen Stars)

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all photos, graphics, poems and text copyright 2008-2011 by anne nakis. all rights reserved.

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