Vale

Wheaties' mum died yesterday. She'd been acting unusually the past month, staying on the porch later and later, almost to last light. Her beautiful plumage had been looking a bit ruffled and her sonorous call was muted.
There had been a kookaburra hanging around in the morning and i wonder if Wheaties' mum had taken on too much. I found her in the garden, eyes closed, claws clenched tight, lying on her side, convulsing. I held her in my hands and there was a yellow teardrop shaped streak on the left side of her head. No blood. Just before she died, one eye half opened and she looked at me as if to say goodbye.
She is buried in the garden with a simple headstone.

I will miss her.