Carlitos: Wings of Freedom

For as long as I can remember, birds have been an essential part of my life. My mother (may she rest in peace) kept thrushes, orioles, and parrots, and I inherited from her that deep love for these noble, wise creatures. So when Carlitos arrived in my home, I felt that his coming was a thread connecting me not only to nature, but to my family's story.

Carlitos appeared as a very special gift a year after I lost Rebecca, another bird who had filled my days with joy. The mother of my brother-in-law had rescued him — a big-hearted woman who found him crossing a highway in Bucaramanga. She cared for him for two decades, but as time passed and her age advanced, she could no longer look after him. Knowing how much I love birds and nature, she decided to entrust him to me. It was a huge surprise for her children, who could not believe that, after all those years, my brother-in-law's mother had decided to give Carlitos to someone else.

At first, Carlitos was guarded. He had spent much of his life with the woman who rescued him, and he watched me with suspicion — reluctant to offer me his foot, to want to be near me, to "talk" to me. Yet within less than a week, something shifted. Talking to him, showing him through small gestures that I was there to care for him and give him love, ended up opening his little heart. The connection between us was almost immediate and deep. I became his inseparable companion: every time I came home from work, the excitement he showed at seeing me reminded me of what truly matters. He would get worked up, cry out with joy, and stretch out his little foot toward me — those moments, after closing the laptop, were the most precious part of my day.

Carlitos was with me through my adult years, on ordinary days and on important milestones alike. He loved bathing in the rain on the terrace, among my plants, as if each drop was teaching him how to be renewed. We took small trips together; he kept company with my other birds — some Fischer's lovebirds — played with my family, and every December we celebrated together with tamal and hot chocolate. He had a mischievous, sweet nature: he loved trying to steal little pieces of tamal or snatch a chunk of chocolate bread from me, even though he knew perfectly well he shouldn't. He was a red-lored parrot (Amazona autumnalis) of surprising intelligence — he would get jealous when my boyfriend hugged me, and on one occasion he bit him, hahaha. His strong personality taught me the true value of honest companionship. Through him I understood that happiness lives in simple things: a roof, a shared meal, and genuine affection.

One of the hardest and most moving experiences with Carlitos came in his old age, when I had to be away for a few days. He stayed in the care of his former owner, and when I returned I noticed something was wrong: he was beating his wings hard, clinging to his perch without letting go, and then he began to show signs of paralysis on one side of his body. With a heavy heart, I called the vet and, following the instructions to the letter, cared for him with complete dedication: I fed him directly from my hand, kept him somewhere safe, and whispered words of encouragement close to him. Day by day, he began to regain movement. It was a terrible scare, but also a moment of deep connection. I understood then that his body was aging and that, even though parrots can live many years, his time with me would not last forever.

Two years later, during another trip away, his former owner called to tell me he had gone. Carlitos died peacefully, after eating fruit that very morning. I was not with him in that moment, but I said goodbye with all the love I could, knowing that in life we had shared far more than words could explain. I cried a great deal, of course. I remember him every 8th of May — it will soon be two years without him — but watching his videos, hearing him in recordings, brings me joy. His call touches my soul, and I know that Carlitos is now somewhere better, flying free among trees and other parrots, exactly as he deserved.

I always knew that his nature was to fly and live alongside others of his kind. I never kept him in a cage or clipped his wings. Carlitos had his own free space at home and lived in harmony there, though I was also aware that, given his age and the years in captivity, it was unlikely he could fully return to the wild. Even so, I cared for him with respect and with the certainty that he deserved more than my company: he deserved to feel the sky on his feathers and the wind on his beak.

During the pandemic, Carlitos was my constant companion, and that presence made all the difference. He taught me to see life differently: every time I came home from work, just seeing me was enough to fill him with enthusiasm. It was like daily therapy. He helped me reorder my priorities, to value time at home and connection with the people we love. Through him I learned that love needs no words — only presence and care.

Imagining Carlitos flying free means everything to me. Even though he is no longer here in body, thinking that his spirit soars high and free, among trees and other parrots, fills my heart. It makes me happy to know that his essence reached beyond the walls of my home and that his story can inspire others not to keep birds in captivity. Today I understand even more clearly the importance of fighting for the freedom of those who, like Carlitos, deserve to fly in nature.

That is why I admire the work of Fundación Loros so deeply. I dream of meeting you, of learning from you, and perhaps of helping more people understand that keeping a parrot at home is not a privilege — it is a responsibility we must transform. The film Río left a deep mark on me: I saw myself in Linda, Blu's caretaker, and I understood that loving a parrot also means learning to let go.

Writing this story is, for me, a tribute to Carlitos, to my mami — who, as it happens, would have turned 77 yesterday, April 20th; seeing her in videos always surrounded by parrots and birds in the background was almost a ritual — and to all the parrots who deserve to return to their sky. Carlitos, my companion for nearly fifteen years, was never simply my "pet" to me; he was my teacher of freedom, my unconditional friend. Now his memory flies free in my heart, and every time I picture him lifting into flight, I feel that connection reach across time and space.

Analysis and reflections from Fundación Loros

Carlitos teaches us that real care comes from respecting another being's nature: giving him space without clipping his wings showed that genuine love doesn't cage. His baths in the rain and his little "wave with his foot" show how happiness lives in the everyday — presence and real affection.

Watching how he was cared for in old age, you start to wonder: what if authorities strengthened support processes for older birds, helping the people who look after them? How could we work with institutions so that every rescue feels truly safe — without fear that the animal will end up back in the wrong environment? Carlitos inspires us to ask questions without pointing fingers: how can we support clear policies on release and rehabilitation, so that more people trust the system and its mission to protect animals' freedom?