The Rescue of Lorenzo and Margarita”

Since I can remember, I had always wanted a parrot as a companion. I asked in many places that sold birds in different cities, until in 2024, in the municipality of Circasia, the opportunity presented itself. A neighbor had Lorenzo and Margarita in her backyard—two Amazon parrots whose whistles and cries reached my house every morning. One morning, as I was leaving for work, I stopped by her window and asked about them. We talked for a few minutes; I told her about my wish to bring a parrot home, and she promised to let me know if she heard of someone who could help.

Weeks passed until, on February 2, 2024, the lady called me: she wanted to sell one of the parrots. She invited me to her dark and cold patio, where Lorenzo and Margarita lived on a metal perch barely 30 cm long, above a cage that looked more like a prison than a refuge. The owner, unaware of their needs, would clip their feathers and feed them a diet of sugared water and bread. They lived in fear, distrustful and aggressive, as only pain and neglect can make an animal.

Something in their eyes spoke to me of hope.

The lady asked for 500,000 COP for Margarita. With the help of my husband, we gathered the money and rescued her, although Lorenzo remained behind—a prized gift from one of her sons. On May 17, 2024, she called us again: she was selling Lorenzo for 550,000 COP. Again, with my husband’s effort, we made a partial payment to take him home that same day, with the rest due eight days later.

At first, it wasn’t easy. Every attempt to approach them was met with fear, nervous pecking, and desperate flapping. But I didn’t give up. Day by day, with patience, love, and respect, I earned their trust. My hands weren’t meant to hurt them but to heal, care for, and protect them. At home, I got rid of cages and metal perches. I placed branches and logs at different heights so they could fly and rest without getting hurt.

At first, it wasn’t easy. Every attempt to approach them was met with fear, nervous pecking, and desperate flapping. But I didn’t give up. Day by day, with patience, love, and respect, I earned their trust. I gave them space, good food and vitamins, gentle loving words, and time. At home, there were no cages or metal perches that could hurt their feet. The entire house had perches of different sizes and heights, allowing them to move freely in the spacious area I had set up for them. Margarita was unstable and spent hours in one place due to the long confinement she had endured. She had little balance and couldn’t fly. Lorenzo tried, but his feathers had been cut so much that flying was impossible. He was very fearful—scared of loud noises or sudden movements—but little by little, they both began to trust. Margarita was the first to perch on my shoulder, timid at first. Then Lorenzo, just as timid but needing affection. Within a few weeks, they began to call me “papa,” and interacting with them became easier. They loved head scratches. I had conversations with Lorenzo, the chattier of the two. They no longer wanted to be away from me. They regained their joy and trust, and I learned what it means to heal, to care, to love, and to be loved in return.

From the moment I first saw them, I felt like our souls already knew each other. Lorenzo and Margarita, my two royal parrots, weren’t just birds. They were my babies, my children, my companions, and feathered teachers life had given me. Our bond grew so strong that soon, without anyone teaching them, they called me papa, papito, papi—with sweet and joyful voices that filled our home with love. They followed me around the house with those determined little feet. If they didn’t find me in the kitchen, they went to the bedroom; if I wasn’t there, they checked the living room—“Pa’, come here!” There was no greater joy for us. They loved being on my shoulder while I walked around the house or being with me in bed while we watched TV. Lorenzo also liked to be shown out the window or door to greet people or see dogs—he loved dogs. “Hello, how are you?” he’d say sweetly to people passing by. In those moments we shared, life became magical. Lorenzo and Margarita filled silences with funny phrases and coherent, flowing conversations. Each had their own personality: Lorenzo was calm, preferred talking over moving, while Margarita was an unstoppable explorer, always curious and ready to discover every corner of the house. Each with their unique traits, they shared the same essence—pure love. They loved me unconditionally, as only pure beings can, and I loved them with all my soul.

Over time, I understood that even though there were no wire cages anymore, confinement doesn’t always have visible bars. Sometimes, it disguises itself as affection, protection, routine, or love. But their eyes told me something else—that true freedom wasn’t staying with me, but reuniting with their kind, with tall trees, with the open sky. And I understood I had to return the freedom we had taken from them.

I contacted several foundations, including Fundación Loros, and finally, on December 13, coordinated with DAGMA Cali the voluntary surrender of Lorenzo and Margarita. That day, I cried. Not because I lost them, but because I understood that loving them also meant letting them go. Lorenzo and Margarita now fly alongside other parrots, rehabilitating and learning to be birds again. Every email I receive from their temporary home confirms they are eating well and their flying has improved significantly.

The greatest lesson Lorenzo and Margarita left me was to love without possessing. These two parrots, who came into my life with sweetness in their eyes and joy in their songs and words, taught me that true love doesn’t come from possession but from respect. Respecting their freedom meant understanding they weren’t mine—they belonged to the trees, to the open skies, and to a natural instinct that no cage or concrete wall, no matter how comfortable, could ever replace.

Sharing that time with them also meant learning to love their species, understanding the vital role parrots play in the ecosystem—as seed dispersers and guardians of native species. They’re not just beautiful, they are essential to nature. Having them made me realize that domesticating a wild animal, even if it seems harmless and fills you with love, is a form of selfishness. No matter how tame they were with me, their place was not within concrete walls but outside, where their instincts call them. Lorenzo and Margarita were not just birds in my life—they were two teachers who showed me that loving also means letting go, and that preserving wildlife is a profound act of love that goes beyond thinking of ourselves.