That's it. I’m horrible. I killed my own birds.

I walked into our homeschool classroom last week to find a pile of feathers. A pile of gray and white feathers right beside our little black terrier, Lucky, sat staring up at me with his puppy dog eyes that seemed to say, “Oh, you’re back! Look what I did!”

Had the feathers been those from some random outside bird, I would have been totally fine. A little unnerved, perhaps, but other than that, fairly okay. They weren’t. They were white and gray feathers from our two beloved pet cockatiels. Somehow they must have escaped from their cage to become chew toys for our rescue mutt.

It’s hard to lose a pet. It’s especially hard if you feel responsible for that loss. Sweeping up the mess of blood and feathers, I couldn’t help but blame myself. Had I only secured the lock on the cage… Had I simply prevented Lucky from access to the classroom…

Soon the thoughts spiraled. What are people going to think of me? What are they going to say when they find out? Who does that??? Am I a horrible person? That’s it. I’m horrible. I killed my own birds.

Tapes. The tapes of insecurity and fear played over and over in my head. I tried to remind myself that things happen . . . accidents happen.  I had to somehow stop the tapes of guilt and shame that were on repeat in my brain.

In raising our daughters, I have reminded them that we don’t live in a black-and-white world. ‘Good’ coexists with the ‘bad.’ Yes, it was ‘bad’ that the cockatiels died at the mouth of our ferocious terrier. But there could be good in it. My eldest was the first to find it. “Well, Mama, the birds always hated us kids. They’d go to you but they’d bite everyone else. I wish I could cry for them, but I can’t really. Now that they’re in birdy heaven, maybe we could look for a bird that likes us all.”

I had to chuckle. She was right.

With the mess cleaned up, we set about finding a replacement birdie. It wasn’t long before we found a cute little parrotlet for sale at a local bird store. We brought him home and set him up in a new cage in the homeschool classroom. He became the good in the midst of a bad situation. Little Rio, as we’ve named him, is a pure joy as he sits on his play stand during the homeschool day. The only bummer... he bites me more than the girls. My youngest’s response to this: “Now you know how it feels, Mama.” I guess I do.