Birds of a Feather: A Finch Update

We were just a few months into the pandemic when our younger son talked us into getting a pet bird. He got his big brother on board with the idea, and soon we were masking up and heading to the pet store to acquire two zebra finches. If you’ve been following along here for a while, you might remember the story.

A less-preoccupied mother wouldn’t have trusted her 10-year-old with all the bird research. But I did trust him—and I also trusted the salesperson who told me you couldn’t tell the gender to look at them (prospective finch owners—this is not true!), and we found ourselves with a male and female bird.

A few months later, our finch pair gave us two beautiful baby birds—another boy and girl—before we separated them by gender into two cages. The hatching and rearing of the babies made for a magical saga, and we were hungry for just that kind of experience during our days of solitude and online learning.

Two cages for four birds seemed like a comfortable place to be for novice finch owners. But zebra finches are a feisty bunch. Feathers fly, and sometimes I find myself speaking sternly to the birds and pleading with them to get along. They don’t listen, of course, but I continue to ask.

Over the past few months, we noticed that Hermione, the mother of the babies, was losing feathers on the back of her neck and on her head. Obviously, her daughter, Lisa, had to be the guilty party because Hermione couldn’t be plucking those feathers herself. We monitored them for a while, hoping the problem would cease. We changed items in their cage, hoping they were just bored and needed more stimulation. But the plucking got worse and worse.

I did not want to separate the finches, who are very social and like to be in pairs. But we couldn’t bear for Hermione to suffer. And we couldn’t move her back into a cage with Ron unless we wanted many more baby finches. Baby finches are sheer delight, but we can only house so many finches.

Fortunately, we had an empty third cage, purchased for us by our ever-helpful neighbor Kathy last spring when Ron, the patriarch, had to have his foot amputated. But that’s another story. Two weeks ago, our 16-year-old skillfully scooped Hermione out of the cage the girl birds have been sharing and moved her to her own space.

I worried that Hermione would be sad. The cage is smaller, and she is alone—though her cage is next to Lisa’s. Still, Hermione seems content, and I’m relieved to see her feathers are starting to fill in again. She takes long afternoon naps in the peace of her cage. I’ve always had a soft spot for Hermione, my fellow mother in the house, and I’m happy that she seems to be doing fine.

This week we marked four years as finch owners, and I am struck by how much has changed for our family over that time. Back when we brought our first two birds home, our younger son was only in elementary school. Now he’s taller than I am, and he’s heading to high school. We are all older and maybe a bit wiser—or at least we have learned a bit about bird care.

Today, we have three cages for four little finches, who leap around their cages and lose their minds—either with joy or fear—whenever the phone rings. They react to Zoom calls almost as much as they do to the soundtrack to Stranger Things.

I never thought I would be a bird owner. I certainly never imagined that we would have three birdcages in the house. But here we are, flapping along as you do, trying to find a little beauty and wonder in each new chapter as it comes.

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