She sits on my chest, nuzzling into my neck as I type.  I give her tiny besitos and she looks up at me inquisitively.  I sing her a sweet tune and she replies.  I am her person.  She is my Luna. People who grew up with dogs and cats don’t always understand.  Birds can be associated with horror films or creepy poems.  They’re known to take a dump on your windshield and eat the green, crunchy french fry you just tossed.  I know birds in a different capacity.

Growing up there was Bart, a sweet yellow-faced cockatiel who was a part of our family.  He would sing to soda cans like they were his true love.  He didn’t like to be petted much, but he would live on a shoulder if he could.

Later on came Maui, almost identical to Bart except their drastic difference in personality.  Maui was cuddly, sweet, and easily spooked.  He’d thrash around the cage at the startling sound of the phone ringing, but also let me pet his neck for hours like a dog.

Luna Kailani came into my life a little over a year ago, and I named her after her moon-like white face and blue feathers.  She is a typical lovebird–bold, defiant, and loyal.  She buries herself in my hair, or sleeve, or pockets.  She loves taking showers and exploring the kitchen as I cook.

I put Luna to sleep, as I have all my birds.  I close the cage door, place a blanket softly over it, and whisper goodnight.  She sweetly coos back to me as she puffs up and nestles into her hut to sleep.

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