When I took her to the avian vet on August 1, she had what looked like a large growth at the base of her tail, between her wingtips, and we thought it was cancer. But there was a chance it was merely an infected preen gland, which is in that location, so he sent me home with antibiotics and anti-inflammatory. Trust me, getting medicine down a pugnacious parakeet's throat isn't the easiest task. But the area just kept getting bigger and redder, so we thought it was the end and there wasn't anything else we could do.
Then I caught the little hellion chewing on it.
Yep, it's an infected preen gland. But she self-mutilated until it's a big, raw, open wound. And nothing I tried seemed to keep her from it. I even tried the Fooey! spray, supposedly the most bitter herb on the planet, and within an hour of spraying her wet, she was chewing again.
Yesterday I saw blood for the first time. I lost it. It would be irresponsible, at best, to allow a parakeet to kill herself in such a horrifying manner. So I took her, not to the avian vet, but to our local vet, the one who helped care for our two dogs and who saw them each live to be sixteen years old. I asked Dr. Sharon Kiker-Henderson of Atascazoo to either help me prevent Tweetie from destroying herself, or to put her down.
I cannot thank Dr. Kiker and the Atascazoo staff enough for their professional sympathy and kindness.
Just wish Tweet thought the same. But nope, she's pissed off at having to wear an unwanted fashion statement. The e-collar is tiny and light, but it's enough to throw off her balance, and she's been staggering around like a drunkard, falling backward off her perch and banging into things. I will. Not. Laugh. Not at Tweet; her vengeance is gonna be nasty, as it is.
But now, there's some hope. Thanks again, Dr. Kiker and Maria.