The reality of rescue is ugly sometimes. You go in to do morning feeding, greet everyone, and instead of happy chirps you find a bird dead on the bottom of the cage. That was our morning today. We lost Tweety. Tweety wasn’t just another parakeet. She was hands down the friendliest, sweetest, most snuggly little bird we’ve ever had. If you know parakeets, you know how rare that is. Most choose their own kind over people — but not her. She loved people. She loved us. She came here as one of five that were about to be “let go” if I didn’t pick them up. I couldn’t let them freeze to death outside. And this is the part that makes me angry: just because they’re parakeets, and just because there’s an epidemic of them being dumped and overflowing rescues across the country, doesn’t mean their lives are disposable. Her life mattered. Tweety should’ve had the chance to become someone’s heart bird, maybe a kid’s first parakeet, maybe the bird that teaches someone how special parrots really are. But instead, she was dumped on us with no history, no medical info, no age, nothing. And sometimes this is what happens. This is what we walk into every day as a rescue. It’s brutal. It hurts. And it never gets easier. But at least she didn’t die cold, starving, and alone. She died safe, warm, and loved.