In Loving Memory of Vicious: A Small Bird Who Left a Very Big Hole In Our Hearts
2010 - Sept. 5th, 2026
There are some animals who come into our lives quietly. Vicious was not one of them. He came into our family in 2010 after a friend gave him to us. She had found him in a cage with several other birds who had been abandoned. We never knew exactly how old he was or what his life had been like before he found his way to us. What we did know was that he was wild and mean. Very, very mean – that is how a beautiful little peach-faced lovebird ended up with the somewhat intimidating name Vicious. Believe me, he earned the name.
He drew blood more times than I could possibly count. Taming him wasn’t something that happened in a few days or even a few weeks. It took me about a year to finally earn his trust. But I did and somewhere along the way, that angry little abandoned bird decided that maybe people weren’t so bad after all. More specifically, he decided that we were his people.
From Vicious To Our Sweet Boy
Once Vicious trusted me, and then learned to trust the rest of the family, we developed our own little routines. He would get free time in the bathroom whenever one of us was taking a shower. The bathroom became a safe place where we could close the door, keep the other animals out, and let him play without worrying about anything getting to him. He loved water. He would play and splash and enjoy himself, and those ordinary little moments became some of my favorite memories of him.
He also holds another distinction that I suspect no other living creature will ever claim: Vicious actually liked my singing. Not only did he tolerate it — he had a favorite song: The Ants Go Marching In. Of all the songs in the world, that was apparently the musical masterpiece Vicious had been waiting for. So I sang it to him. Out of tune and painful to anyone else’s ears, but he loved it.
The Friends He Found Along The Way
Over the years, Vicious had other little birds in his life. There was Ernie, his peach-faced friend who preceded him in death. Then there was Elsa, a female lovebird we attempted to introduce him to, that didn’t go so well. Let’s just say that relationship did not work out. Apparently Vicious was picky about his relationships. For a while after that, he was alone but had a mirror in his pen and us to keep him company.
Then this May, I brought home another little lovebird. I named him Trouble because that’s exactly what I got into when I brought him home unexpectedly. I hoped Vicious might accept him. I wasn’t prepared for how quickly they would become friends, but I was so glad it worked out. They cuddled together. They talked to each other. They played together. They spent their days side by side and slept snuggled together at night. Watching my old boy have a companion again made me so happy.
And now, seeing Trouble without him absolutely breaks my heart. He doesn’t understand why his old friend hasn’t come back and my heart hasn’t accepted that he is not coming back either.
The Great Escape Wasn't What He Wanted
There was one day when Vicious decided to give us the scare of our lives. This was before we had cats, so I often let him hang out on my shoulder while I walked around the house. One day, David came through the side door and left it open just a little too long. That little opening was all Vicious needed.
He took off. Before we could stop him, he was outside and flying away from the house. David and I immediately went into a panic and chased after him, but there wasn’t much we could do. Vicious flew around the house, across a huge drainage ditch, and all the way into some trees in the neighboring subdivision. The trees were so far away that we could barely see them.
I was devastated. I thought that was it. After everything it had taken to earn his trust and tame him, I thought my little bird was gone forever. But then I had a crazy idea: I ran into the backyard, climbed onto our daughter’s trampoline, and started jumping up and down, trying to get high enough to see toward the trees where he’d disappeared.
Then I started singing. Not just singing — belting out The Ants Go Marching In at the top of my lungs. Over and over and over again. I’m sure anyone who could hear or see me wondered what in the world this crazy woman was doing, bouncing on a trampoline while loudly singing a children’s song toward some distant trees, but I didn’t care. I just wanted my bird back. God must have heard my pain, because somehow…it worked. To this day, I’m still amazed.
Vicious flew all the way back from those trees and landed on our fence. There he sat, watching me and chirping at me while I continued singing his song. I slowly climbed off the trampoline and walked toward him, still singing. When I reached the fence, I held out my finger. Vicious stepped onto it and this time I wasn’t taking any chances. I immediately grabbed him with my other hand, held onto him snuggly, and carried my little escape artist back into the house.
Once Vicious was safely inside his cage, the adrenaline wore off. I started crying. Part of it was pure relief and joy because somehow I had gotten him back. Part of it was fear, because I couldn’t stop thinking about what would have happened if that ridiculous plan hadn’t worked. But it did.
My little bird heard me singing his favorite song from across that drainage ditch and came home. Looking back now, that memory means even more to me. For sixteen years, The Ants Go Marching In wasn’t just some silly song I sang to a bird. It was our special song and once upon a time, when Vicious was lost and I didn’t know how to bring him home, I stood in our backyard and sang it until he found his way back to me.
I only wish I could sing it one more time and have him come flying home again.
One Last Time Playing In The Water
Friday night (September 4th, 2026), I noticed Vicious sitting on the bottom of his cage. He wasn’t moving very much, and I knew something wasn’t right. I picked him up and took him into the bathroom and just like we’d done so many times before, we played in the water. He perked up, for a little while, he seemed like Vicious again.
I knew he wasn’t feeling well, but I didn’t understand that I was being given one last time to do something with him that we had enjoyed together for so many years. Had I known, maybe I would have stayed in there longer, but that’s the thing about “last times.” Most of the time, we don’t know they’re the last while they’re happening.
Saturday Morning
Saturday morning, David woke me up. Vicious was back on the bottom of his cage, and he didn’t look good. The moment I picked him up, I knew. My little bird wasn’t going to make it through the day.
He tried to perch on my finger, but he was too weak. He could barely hold his head up, so I brought him into our bedroom and I put him against my neck, tucked underneath my chin, and held him.
I stroked his little head and softly sang our song to him. Vicious started making a clicking sound with his tongue. I could hear the little clicks, and I could feel his tiny body breathing against me. So I just held him for what seemed like minutes but could have been hours. I lost track of time – because my entire focus was on spending these last moments with him.
The clicking stopped. His breathing stopped. Then I felt his little body shudder once, just ever so slight of a shudder and I knew he was gone. My heart screamed in silence and my tears streamed the hurt down my cheeks. He was gone, really gone. My wild, mean, biting little bird — the one it took me a year to convince that I could be trusted — spent his final moments tucked safely underneath my chin. He left this world knowing he was loved and as painful as that moment was, I am incredibly grateful that I was able to hold him through this last moment of ours.
Sixteen Years
Vicious was part of our lives for 16 years. When you say “lovebird,” it sounds like such a small thing. A tiny animal that fits in the palm of your hand. But there was nothing small about the place Vicious occupied in this family.
After he died, David went outside to mow. When he came back inside, his eyes were puffy and his face was red. He had been crying, too. That’s what this little bird did. He worked his way into both of our hearts so completely that two grown adults are now walking around our house heartbroken over a few ounces of green feathers and one beautiful peach-colored face.
Trouble is still there, missing his friend. The cage feels different. The house feels different. We feel different.
The Tiny Footprints They Leave Behind
I have been thinking about how strange grief can be. We know when we bring animals into our lives that chances are we will someday have to say goodbye to them. We do it anyway.
Because all the years between hello and goodbye are worth it. Vicious came to us because somewhere along the way, someone had abandoned him. He was frightened, defensive, wild, and willing to bite anyone foolish enough to get close.
But that wasn’t the end of his story. His story became our story. He learned to trust. He learned to play. He had bird friends. He splashed in the water. He cuddled and kissed. He listened to terrible singing. He apparently developed an inexplicable appreciation for The Ants Go Marching In. He found another little friend named Trouble during the final months of his life, and most importantly, he was never abandoned again.
He had a home. He had a family. He was loved for sixteen years, and when it was time for him to leave, he wasn’t alone. He was exactly where I hope he knew he belonged – safe in my arms.
Rest easy, my sweet Vicious. Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for the bites, the blood, the showers, the songs, the silliness, the cuddles, the kisses, and sixteen years of memories. Thank you for proving that sometimes the smallest creatures leave the biggest footprints on our hearts.
I hope wherever you are on the other side of the rainbow bridge, there is plenty of water to splash in, Ernie has already found you, and somebody is singing your favorite song (sounding more angelic than I ever could). Until we meet again, sweet boy.
We love you, Vicious.
2010 – September 5, 2026
Forever part of the Koutz Farm family.
