One of my all-time favorite Disney movie characters is Nana, the “nursemaid” from Peter Pan. Nana was a big shaggy Newfoundland that fantastically and frantically followed the Darling children around, picking up after them, protecting them from hidden house dangers, and trying to make sure they took their medicine at bedtime.
As a child, I thought that having a dog for a nursemaid was a wonderfully, whimsical idea. But growing up, my family’s little dog, Misty, was hardly nursemaid material. She was a sweet, meek creature who never barked and was so naturally shy, she preferred to slink away unnoticed if we kids got too rambunctious and loud. She only worried us once when we left for church and inadvertently left a whole holiday fruitcake on the coffee table. At first, no one believed that skinny, little Misty could be responsible for the disappearance of the entire fruitcake because she was such a picky eater, she was barely interested in her own food bowl. But the evidence was clear: Misty ate her weight in fruitcake that morning and, to our surprise, did not keel over from the shock to her system.
Years later, I did have a highly unusual and unexpected “nursemaid.” It wasn’t a dog, though. It was Stickhead, a little gray cockatiel with bright orange cheeks. I had just moved out of my parents’ home into my own apartment with Stickhead – a gift from my Uncle Pat. The bird and I were just getting to know each other and fall into a routine when I came down with the flu and was bedridden for a week. Not only was I still adjusting to living on my own for the first time, but this was the first time I had ever been sick without my mother close by. I missed her. I wanted her there to bring me orange juice and tea. I wanted her to comfort me. I didn’t have my mother, but I had Stickhead.
Usually, I opened Stickhead’s wire cage every morning to let him out and he would spend the day on top of his cage, chirping and singing happily, occasionally popping back into his cage to eat or drink. Then at night, I would put him back in his cage and cover it with a light cloth for the night. But for several days, I was so sick, I could barely get out of bed. I couldn’t even get up to let him in or out of his cage, so I just left the cage open.
As I lay in bed feeling miserable, shivering and crying, Stickhead hopped off his cage and waddled across the room, climbed up the side of the bed and perched on my shoulder. He didn’t sing or whistle like usual. He just sat on my shoulder and kept me company. When I was able to pull myself up to go the bathroom or make a cup of tea, he quickly hopped back over to his cage to eat and drink, but came right back as soon as I crawled back in bed.
Stickhead stayed with me constantly for almost three days. As soon as I was well enough to sit up, walk around a little and started to feel a little better, Stickhead waddled back to the top of his cage and continued his usual routine, chirping and singing all day.
There’s a lot of talk about animal sensitivity. Experts believe animals can sense an impending earthquake. Dogs are so sensitive to human pain and emotion, they are specially trained to assist people who suffer from seizures, anxiety, autism, post- traumatic stress and many disabilities. According to a National Geographic story, elephants help each other in distress and even grieve for their dead.
It’s hard to know exactly what was going through Stickhead’s mysterious bird brain while he stayed with me when I was sick. All I know is that I felt tremendously touched and comforted by that little creature’s presence.
Stickhead lived a long and happy life. Whenever I get the sniffles, I miss him.
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One Comment
Miss ann: i used to have a cat who would touch my face gently when i was crying. Keep up the good posts!