Mirabel The Monk Parakeet Teaches This 35 Year Old Some Important Lessons

I chased her in the 90 degree Florida heat for a good twenty minutes until, in an attempt to hide from me, she gave herself over to me by burrowing under the tall grass that she couldn’t immediately free herself from. I was then able to toss the towel over the little creature before I gently grasped it, and her with shaking hands. I could say something silly like “I’m not sure who was more scared, me or the bird”, but let’s be real, she thought her life was about to end, and I was just scared I’d further damage her broken wing. 

Ultimately, maybe she had every right to be scared of me because my interference with nature ended her life. There seems to be a clean break between my heart and mind on this, because the moment I guilt myself, I follow it up with grace. 

I drove down the winding road encapsulating my apartment complex, and as I passed the always reliable row of heavenly trees, a small figure attempted to run out in front of my car. It was obvious to me that this wasn’t just a miscalculation on the animal's part, so assuming something might be awry, I decided to stop. Not a squirrel as I had originally assumed, but a small bright-green bird with a very compromised wing. I pulled to the grass as cars whizzed past both ways and got out of my car. I was completely unprepared but still felt pulled to witness and possibly help this broken creature. Is this the moment I made the right choice, the wrong choice, or maybe even neither? It really depends what side of me you ask. Was my compassion and desire to help nature, or was it a direct interference with it? As the outcome would have ultimately been the same in either scenario, I may never truly come to a conclusion that feels complete.  

Unable to catch her, and now late for my date, I left her and decided I’d return to the area the next morning to, hopefully, catch her, and bring her to a local wildlife rehab center. 

As I geared up the next morning, filling my backpack with neglected binoculars, a towel, a water bottle, etc, I thought about how unlikely it would be for me to actually find the bird, and how clearly my inner child is still very much alive. And while I, for the most part, did not believe I would find her, I had a talk with myself about not applying any expectations or meaning to the outcome of this tiny green bird saga. 

I approached the heavenly trees, and I walked slowly and peered intently into bushes as that’s where the bird hid from me the previous day. But after an hour of searching and coming up empty, I decided to stop looking–after all that is how I happened upon her the first time–completely by chance. This didn’t mean that I was throwing in the towel, I just needed a new approach. So I walked and pulled myself away from thoughts of the tiny green bird, and eventually realized how many birds inhabited these heavenly trees. Lately I have been trying to relearn rest, relearn unplugging, and relearn tapping into nature (burn out is no joke, folks), and I have wanted to bird watch for quite some time, but haven’t been able to get myself out there, for one reason or another. I take a lot of walks with my pup, Lenny, and I see the gorgeous Blue Jays and Cardinals that grace my lush neighborhood, but I never truly take the time to seek out their beauty. As I pulled out my binoculars and peered up at a speedy cardinal, I felt immense gratitude for Maribel–whether I found her or not she pulled me to complete presence and connection with nature–something I have been longing for some time. Yes–apparently, at some point, I decided to name the bird I told myself I was supposed to attach no meaning or expectation. 

I adoringly gazed up at Cardinals, Blue Jays, Mockingbirds, Crows, and then, a Monk Parakeet on the street wire to my right. Monk Parakeets are not native to Florida, nor have I ever seen one, so I was unsure if Mirabel was a lost pet, or just another non-native species of Florida that made its way here via human’s making more poor choices (Florida is over-run with non-native species due to people bringing them in as pets and releasing them, and to sell for profit, causing an imbalance in the ecosystem, and damaging various structures). So seeing this Monk Parakeet gave me comfort–at least I knew she wasn’t a lost pet and likely had mates out here. 

As soon as I saw this bird, I felt hopeful about finding Mirabel. And then, a whole flock of these tiny bright green creatures flew in; family had arrived. As I stared at them in amazement and awe of their absolute cuteness (how often does one see a flock of tiny birds?!) I said, aloud, “I wish I could just find your friend” and, as I said the word friend, I saw Mirabel out of the corner of my left eye. She must have been hiding in the base of the tree, and came out upon hearing her flock’s arrival. 

As I turned towards the neighborhood with Mirabel in my hands, I saw Bob the maintenance man, and he helped me in getting Mirabel boxed up and ready for transport to the wildlife rehab center. I again tried not to attach meaning,  but as I prepared my backpack for this expedition, I stated to myself that I would see Bob and he would help me with a box–so it felt like it had to mean something!  

I arrived at the rehab center in good spirits, and the staff seemed to feel as though a broken wing wasn’t such a huge deal, so I left feeling positive that Mirabel would heal and be sent to a sanctuary (as a non-native species they will not release her back into the wild). 

At this point I was nauseous from hunger so I decided to stop at this vegan spot I used to love but haven’t been to in some time. The server gave me a free dessert, and I met a, seemingly, kind billionaire who offered to be my mentor; “did the little birdy lead me here?”, I wondered–or was I putting meaning where it didn’t belong? Unsure but happy with myself, I went home and told a handful of loved ones about Mirabel, and waited 48 hours to call and check on her status. 

If you haven’t seen the Disney movie Encanto the name Mirabel might mean nothing to you (and you should absolutely see it!); and yes, I am a 35 year old with no children who loved Encanto, and even named a hurt bird after the main character of this children’s movie. I named her Mirabel because while her flock could fly, she could not, yet she helped a depressed individual feel special, and find healing in connectivity to nature. I know I am the sensitive type, I know some folks will read this and have no idea how I could possibly be crying as I write this, but I also know that the child that lives within me keeps me compassionate–keeps me coming back to my humanity. 

I called the center, trying to remember to tell them that her name is Mirabel so they can alert the sanctuary she’s sent to when she’s done healing up. Somehow I knew the moment I heard the employee's voice that Mirabel was gone; she wasn’t somber, she didn’t say it outright, but I felt it. She had three fractures to her wing and one of them was a bad break at the base that could not be repaired, and was causing her great pain. They humanely euthanized her. 

I hung up as the adult version of myself, and told myself that it was all as it should be. Nature just happens and we can’t change the ultimate outcome, so why spend any amount of time being sad or angry about it? And this tough act worked for a while–I mean, I did believe the whole it is what it is spiel I had given myself, over and over for the next few hours. But then I realized that being humanely euthanized doesn’t really mean anything when the moments leading up to the euthanization were filled with nothing but fear. I chased the tiny bird for twenty minutes, put her in a dark box, drove her in a car for 35 minutes, and then took her to a sterile, artificial place where several massive creatures poked and prodded her until she was gone. 

They told me I did the right thing–that if I had left her she would have lived in terrible pain until she inevitably became easy prey for local wildlife and died an even more painful death. And yes, that does sound awful; but isn't that just nature? How many birds in this world, at this very moment, have a broken wing and will feed a predator that needs a meal? It breaks my heart to think of a scared bird being attacked in the wild, but it also breaks my heart to think of a scared bird being euthanized under fluorescent lights while being held by massive, scary creatures. 

My compassion is my nature, but in this situation, maybe it was the wrong choice. 

Either way I am grateful that this bird led me to bird watch, officially, for the very first time. I’m grateful that I met new folks because of my intention to save her. I’ve learned that maybe I shouldn’t tell a story before it’s complete. And I’ve learned that as much as I may try tell myself not to be emotionally affected by certain things, I may be able to split myself in two, but I will never be able to silence my big, childish, loving heart. And really, there’s no reason I ever should. 

Maybe the only wrong choice we ever make is in the moment we attempt to detach our hearts from our minds.