MR. BERT... A TRUE STORY continued...
By Angie Christie
Then, on about the third day, I heard a voice saying, "Shout at him". I was hearing things, but no, again I heard "Shout at him". So, I obeyed the voice.
"Bert," I shouted. "Come on, get up, you are not going to die, you are going to live" at the top of my voice. I repeated those words when I saw a miracle happen. Suddenly, my gallant little Budgie lifted up his head. So I shouted, "Come on! Where is Wobbly Man? Where is Football?" Then, he shakily rose off the floor of the cage and weakly batted his Wobbly Man toy. By evening, when the children came home, I told them to go see him. Well, the jubilation! There he was, chattering away in his budgie language, hopping about the cage and for all the world as if the stroke he suffered had never been.
In those days, healing was unknown to me although I had heard voices and gotten messages through me like the one I heard for Bert. All I, and the rest of the family knew, was that it was like a miracle.
Our son, Peter, who was about 18 at the time, loved the music of the 1950's and 60's and would stand outside the cage of Mr. Bert as Peter now called him bee bopping, and inside the cage, this scruffy little bird would be copying him. He went mad in the evening when Peter came home as it became a ritual for them to have this few minutes of madness.
I tried so hard to teach this wonderful little bird to talk. It was hilarious watching him. He would sit on his perch looking into his mirror and he would say, "Georgie Porgy pudding and" but could never get the 'pie' out. Instead, he would say what he remembered and would repeat 'pudding and' a number of times until he got fed up, then the mirror suffered. He would get a hold of the bell and knock seven shades of hell out of it.
Then, not long after this, he developed a wheezing, especially at night. Without any training or knowing why, I used to hold him and he would get respite from the wheezing. It was similar to asthma.
One day, we had to take him to the vets for a check up. We were told that his beak was misshapen and had to be trimmed every week or so or he could not eat. On the way home, he cheekily wolf whistled a lady next to the car and did we get a glare! I could not tell her it was the budgie as we were at the traffic lights!!!
Now, cutting a budgie's beak is not easy as they have been known to die of fright. Not Mr. Bert! I was the one who did this 'operation' and gallant as ever, he allowed me to do this. Apart from wheezing, a Cyrano De Bergerac beak, and scruffy feathers, Bert survived for 11 more years.
During a thunderstorm in the night, I knew what time he passed to Spirit when a very, very loud thunderclap happened which woke us up. |
We were very upset at losing this gallant little bird who, in his life, had outlived our other budgies, been so sick, played football on the dining room table, and sat on my shoulder whilst I walked around the home. I thank Spirit and especially the way they introduced me to healing.
But, that is not the end of the story. We placed his little body in a special box and Wally said that when he came home from work, he would bury him for me in the 'pets plot' down at the bottom of the garden. I happened to be walking from our bedroom to the bathroom when I heard the very distinctive call Mr. Bert would make when left on his own and wanted attention. So loud from the lounge. I called out, "It's okay, Mr. Bert" when I remembered he was now in Spirit. I only heard him once, but that was enough. Mr. Bert, our all singing, all dancing, scruffy wonderful little bird, aged 12 years, came back that one time to tell us he was still around. No budgie could ever replace him in our hearts and, although many years have passed, it's as if it was yesterday and, as I write this, memories of our gallant trooper are as fresh today as they were then.
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