Poor Sterling. He was just a few months past his 6th birthday. He was - as far as I could tell - happy. He was full of life.
Every night he made it a point to say "Night Night" as the lights went out and I went to my bedroom. He sang "Hello" in several octaves to acknowledge me. He asked for things; "Sterling treat" was a common request. And he had an uncanny ability to duplicate every sound he heard - my car alarm, the dogs, the baby, trucks backing up, the doorbell.
I killed him with neglect.

And yet he whistled with me when I wanted him to... our song was the theme to Andy Griffith Show. He practiced the "CarWash" clap because I liked it. He laughed with me (in my voice) whenever he heard me laugh. He hung like a bat from the top of his cage and attacked his toys in play to amuse himself.
I should have checked his cage. Should have played with the feathers on his head. Should have given him the shower I kept putting off. Should have let him stretch his wings outside the cage. I should have noticed that last night he didn't send me to bed saying "Night night."
I'm sorry, Sterling. Mommy failed you.
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