While I was sitting on a bench on the shore Spy Pond last week, I found myself looking down from above at Spy Pond and the autumnal trees of Elizabeth Island. Whether this was some sort of spontaneous out of body experience or a product of dissociation combined with vertigo and a high aptitude for spacial transitioning, I do not know.

Regardless of how I got there, it brought my thoughts to the budgies. The budgies get a lot of out-of-cage time. They fly around a lot in Lake's apartment. But it's not the same. The room has a ceiling and walls. The room has limits and I wish I could give them the sky. They are birds, that freedom is their hatchright. It seems unfair to keep them contained, but there is no realistic other option. To set them free in New England, especially on the dawn of winter, would be to give them death sentences.

We do our best to give them the closest to what they deserve as possible. We try to give them what we hope is a better life than they would have in the wild: providing a constant food supply, healthcare, and freedom from predators. It might not be enough, but it is all that we have to offer.