This afternoon, my cockatiel, Walter, passed away. He’d gotten weak to the point I found him lying on his stomach in his cage, unable to stand, but still breathing. I lay him on a towel so he would be more comfortable, and shortly after, he died.
He was with me for exactly half of my entire life, at 17 years. Despite his muted plumage, he had a colorful personality—always vocal, always active, always never wanting me out of his sight.
Couldn’t have asked for a better friend.
Rest in peace, little guy.
