He was two months shy of sixty years of age and suddenly he was gone.  My jubilant feathered friend, Marteen, an Orange-winged Amazon, died in my arms of old age yesterday.

The week seemed ordinary enough. Marteen serenaded me each morning as the sun came up. And he lowered his head at every opportunity so that I could scratch those little crevices between the layers of feathers on the back of his neck. He even got a warm, drenching bath in the kitchen sink with outstretched wings; and the usual assortment of greens and fruits and other taste treats from our gourmet kitchen.

But small, telltale signs were there – decreased appetite and fewer agility displays over the last some days; and to my eyes he looked a bit rugged suddenly. And he was also now showing signs of labored breathing which troubled me. I was able to get an appointment with an Avian specialist but not until the next day, so I spent the day monitoring Marteen and interacting as much as I could with him.

By dinner time that evening he had a burst of energy. He hung by one leg from the top of his big cage and whistled and played with me like always, and even said his usual ‘Hello, Ellen’ as I clapped at his antics. Then I did what I always did before I covered him for the evening, I sang his favorite song to him.

‘Michael Row Your Boat Ashore’ will forever be associated in my mind with this little bundle of Amazon feathers. It was a nightly routine for us. He always sang along with me and he always threw in his usual arpeggios and tra la las between choruses…and sometimes he was so spirited about it that we sang all three verses twice!

On this night, however, it was breathy and obviously a struggle for him to sing. It was as though he was doing it just for me. If, as my friend Gloria says, he meant to leave his best impression for me to remember – well, he did.

The burst of energy was short-lived…in a matter of minutes his legs gave out and he no longer was able to support himself on his perch. He was still communicating but his body was in emergency mode now and I sensed that the end was near.

The twenty-minute ride to the University of Tennessee’s Veterinary Teaching Hospital in Knoxville seemed to take forever. Marteen was bundled in warm towels as I talked to him and held him and gently reassured him as Lesley expertly maneuvered us through traffic.

But the moment we pulled up to the emergency entrance Marteen’s heart stopped. The doctor was waiting for us and rushed him inside but it was to no avail. My little friend was gone and all I had left were a few brightly colored feathers that I had snipped from him.

He definitely saw me as his friend and I am happy that I was there at the end for him. I left his aged body to science in the hope that he will advance veterinary knowledge as much as he enriched my life.

I already miss Marteen’s spirited songs and cat calls and I will miss his throaty HELLOS whenever the telephone rings. I will also sorely miss hearing that familiar Amazonian “Hello, Ellen” and the chance to scratch his neck in those places that he just couldn’t reach.

MARTEEN AND FRIENDS