Daddy picked Lori up and gave her a huge hug. “Mommy and Daddy love you very much. You know that, right?”

She nodded. Her blonde pigtails bobbed, and her soft blue eyes shone in the bright fluorescent light. “I love you too.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Please don’t go, Daddy.”

He stroked her chubby cheeks. “We’ll be back. There’s no need to get upset. You have lots of food and water and toys.” He chucked her under the chin, gave her a kiss on the forehead, and set her on the floor. “Bye, bye. See you in a few hours.”

The door to the downstairs bathroom closed with a heartrending click, and Lori listened, rivulets streaming down her cheeks, as the barrel bolt slid into locked position.

The thump of Daddy’s feet climbing the stairs met Mommy’s clickety-clackety heels at the back door, which slammed closed as Lori’s parents left for work.

Lori did what she had done every day for as long as she could remember. She played with her teddy bear, ate all the food before an hour had passed, then tried to open the medicine cabinet and cupboards.

Everything was tamper-proofed.

Her little hands slipped on the bottle of water, and it dropped to the floor. Before she could pick it up, most of the water had spilled out. Her chin quivered as she began to sob. The sobbing escalated to crying.

But nobody heard.

She listened for the sound of Mommy and Daddy’s car in the driveway. Several times she thought she heard them. She smiled, and her heart beat faster. But each disappointment grew deeper as she realized the noise was only a neighbor or a delivery person or a passing car.

She tugged the elastics out of her pigtails and pulled at her hair. Soon she had handfuls of it spread about the room. Some of the ends were red with tiny bits of blood where she had pulled them out by the roots.

She cried. She yelled. She screamed.

But nobody came.

#

That night, Mommy and Daddy cuddled her and put stuff on her head that made it feel better. They scolded her for “mutilating” herself, and put her to bed.

But the next day, nothing changed. Lori was trapped in the bathroom while the only people she had ever loved left her all by herself.

Again.

Lori banged on the door. She beat on the mirror. She screeched. The screech escalated into a wail that finally alerted neighbors.

That night, she was put into the custody of Child Protective Services, while Mommy and Daddy were scolded by some nice policemen for being so naughty. The last Lori saw of her parents, they were being led away with shiny metal bracelets around their wrists.

—

This story is fiction, but sadly, it’s based on fact.

You wouldn’t treat your child like this, would you?

Think about how the majority of parrots are handled. Does their treatment vary much from Lori’s? Did you know that most species have the intelligence and emotional needs of a young child?

Millions of parrots worldwide suffer in similar circumstances. Please reconsider if you plan to purchase a companion parrot. And if you can offer an excellent environment, don’t buy a bird from a pet store or breeder. Rescue foundations and sanctuaries require foster parents and stewards for a burgeoning number of birds in their care.

Some rescue organizations don’t need volunteers, but they are desperate for financial and moral support. Or they might have other wishes such as specific cage types or toys.

Be responsible. Be a solution—not a part of the problem.