The Silly Parakeet

She arrived at my window at the start of the pandemic, and with her enthusiasm and sense of humor, she kept me company for two years.

Her silly antics filled my life with joy… There were so many mornings when she’d show up with something new and play dumb to get her way.

She’d hop onto the table and eat from my plate: she didn’t like soup—hahaha—but she loved fruit and rice.

We shared unforgettable moments. I’ll never forget how she stayed with me when I was sick, pecking at my nose and hair—it felt like she was giving me strength to carry on.

She was super smart: she let me know when someone was at the door, and she was jealous when it came to me.

She was, truly, a little rascal.

She didn’t like baths—she was scared of water—but she did enjoy having her head and back stroked.

One time she chased after my brother when he was playing with me… I felt like she was protecting me.

She came into my life to take care of me and lift my spirits during the pandemic.

For two years straight, we were great friends…

Until I decided to let her wings grow and stop being selfish, because I knew she was friends with other parakeets that came to the terrace in the afternoons.

The day she left was tough, but deep down I also felt joy seeing her free with her friends.

I learned so much from her: I became more tolerant, more empathetic, and much more mindful of the environment.

Some days I feel like she shows up again in the afternoons with her friends and starts making a racket… but the RASCAL won’t let me see her.

Hahahahaha!

Analysis and reflections from Fundación Loros

When a bird bursts through the window, it brings more than colors and curiosity: it reminds us that freedom still exists beyond our routines. Clipping its feathers to keep it—no matter how well-intentioned by love or loneliness—turns that spontaneous visit into captivity. The gesture cancels what we admire in it—its ability to fly, explore, and decide—and traps us too in the cage of possession.

Letting it stay free, on the other hand, redefines the relationship. The bird may return if it chooses; its return becomes a vote of trust, not an obligation. That voluntary choice teaches more than any manual on coexistence: it shows that true bonds are sustained without bars and that respecting the natural cycle is the sincerest form of affection.

Every time a parakeet, tit, or hummingbird peeks its beak in, we have the chance to practice a simple ethic: observe, offer water or fruit if needed… and step aside so it can take flight whenever it wants. In doing so, we remember that wings are meant to fly—and that, deep down, we too need air, space, and the chance to choose our own horizon.