Rebeca is the story I thought about the most before writing it; I wanted to find the ideal moment to tell everything she or he (we never knew the sex) meant to us.
Rebeca arrived on a sunny Sunday at the house, one of those Sundays when you think the biggest event is a wonderful breakfast with your family. It was around 11 in the morning when my brother called me in distress because a funny little parrot had shown up at his door, walking. He had been with her for over an hour, perched on a stick, waiting to see if someone would come looking for her, but nothing happened. The little parrot was beginning to get impatient, and he didn’t know what to do with her.
He then called me and gave me an ultimatum: either I took in the parrot and we figured out what to do with her, or he would give her to a stranger who wanted her. At that time, little was known about the DAGMA rescue program, where they receive wild animals of all kinds to give them a dignified future and, in many cases, return them to freedom.
One of my sons screamed with happiness: “Yes! Let him bring her!” And so, half an hour later, Rebeca was at the house. She arrived in a cardboard box improvised to make the transport safe for her and my brother. Rebeca allowed herself to be placed on the stick to be put into the box, so there was no risk.
Rebeca? Why Rebeca? Because that’s how she introduced herself, as if appearing before an audience and saying “Rebeca.” It was a very tender and majestic image at the same time; she had a few damaged feathers and was a bit underweight, but overall she looked well.
Right away we found out, through a bird book, that she was a yellow-crowned Amazon parrot (Amazona ochrocephala), a very sociable and lively species. Without knowing anything about how to care for parrots, we immediately started reading so we could take care of Rebeca as best as possible.
At first, Rebeca became very attached to me; she liked to perch on my shoulder, and when someone approached me, she would get angry. This possessive trait of Rebeca would cause problems in the future. That same day, after a few hours, Rebeca showed me how strong her beak was, because my husband approached me and, since Rebeca didn’t like it, she bit my shoulder—perhaps thinking she was biting him.
In any case, Rebeca was here, and it was our responsibility to care for and protect her as best we could. That same day we bought her seeds, fruit, etc. Shortly after, we built a special “tree” in the garden made from a vertical pine log with guava branches, a spot for water and food, topped with a shade umbrella. Living in a country house allowed us to let Rebeca roam free during the day; she liked flying and climbing an avocado tree, a chiminango, and particularly a guásimo tree from which she ate its aromatic seeds.
Rebeca remained very friendly with me and with a very special lady who worked with us; she looked at everyone else with suspicion. She and I were the ones in charge of carrying Rebeca to her tree outside during the day, and in the evening bringing her in and placing her safely in a very large cage we bought so she could sleep securely, away from owls, cats, foxes, or other predators.
My son Tomás, who has always loved animals, began—very patiently and without any fear, despite already knowing how strong a bite from Rebeca could be—to win her affection. One day, Tomás showed up with Rebeca on his shoulder, very content. From that day on, one of the best friendships I’ve ever seen was born: Rebeca and Tomás became best friends, partners in crime, companions, and more.
Tomás and Rebeca had breakfast together: with her beak, she would lower his cup of hot chocolate to take a taste, eat from his egg, steal pieces of bread—which she carried in her beak—and perch on the back of an empty chair to eat them. When Tomás returned from school, Rebeca would get very excited and start singing choruses of joy, celebrating their reunion. Tomás was the only one in the house who had managed to hold Rebeca like a baby, upside down, and she even enjoyed it. When Tomás slept in late, Rebeca would walk to his room and scratch the wooden door with her beak for him to let her in.
When Tomás, a very talented musician, played guitar or piano, Rebeca would join in by singing “AAA AEO AEO,” and she wouldn’t stop until he finished. One time I tried to have Rebeca accompany me while I played the piano, but nothing happened; she remained silent, totally indifferent to my song.
Rebeca and Tomás had a more-than-special friendship: she did everything for him, missed him every moment he was away, and whenever she climbed a very tall tree, Tomás’s voice was the only thing that could bring her back home.
On one occasion Tomás went abroad for a few months on a student exchange, and for several days, Rebeca would climb onto his bed and emit a lament, a sad, melancholic song… she cried. It was very sad to see her suffer because they weren’t together. After a few days, she finally accepted that he wasn’t coming. Her love for him had taken over everything: Rebeca only wanted to be with him. I still remember how her voice changed every time Tomás arrived—it was like that of a girl in love.
Around that time, Rebeca developed a dislike for my husband without any reason, even though he always took care of her feeding schedule, made sure she had food and water, etc. Her dislike was so intense that when he came home from work, Rebeca would be waiting… but not to greet him, rather to give him a good bite. It was really stressful. Sometimes Rebeca would fly after him to peck at him; she ruined many of his shirts and, sadly, even bit him on the body.
In these encounters, he would end up injured because, being unable to hurt Rebeca, he wouldn’t defend himself at all—he could only run. At first, the situation was funny, because Rebeca, with her sharp hearing, could hear the car minutes before it arrived and would get ready to “welcome” him. But over time, these “welcomes” became more hostile.
After several months, Tomás returned, and you could say their reunion was like a mother who hadn’t seen her son in a long time or two lovers reuniting. Upon seeing him, Rebeca began screaming in joy, making a big fuss—it was as if she were shouting, “Welcome, I missed you, I’m so happy you’re here.” That day, we recorded a video and shared it with our family: it was truly astonishing. To this day, I’ve never seen another animal act like that.
Several years went by, and our interest in birds grew; we started birdwatching and became more aware of the ideal life wild animals should have.
We took Rebeca several times to visit other parrots to see how she reacted. Most of the time, she was very happy to be in the company of her kind. On one occasion, even though Tomás called her, Rebeca didn’t want to leave her “parrot meeting”; she was very comfortable. But we noticed that Rebeca didn’t know how to “speak parrot”: she made sounds imitating humans, but not the calls of wild parrots, like the blue-headed parrots that occasionally visited and shared a tree with her.
This situation started making us reflect on what would be best for Rebeca. On the other hand, we’ve always disagreed with having wild animals caged or in any form of captivity. Animals deserve to be in their habitat, free, and happy. Rebeca was free to fly; she was never caged, but she wasn’t in her natural habitat…
After about five years, we decided to take Rebeca to DAGMA so she could enter a process of reintroduction to the wild (as they explained to us there), which—we understood—could take several years but would give her the chance to fly free again and be with her kind, start a family, and help preserve her species.
This decision was very hard for all of us: Rebeca was part of our world; she brightened our days with her charm, said “hello, good day” when the phone rang, livened up family gatherings, always ate with us, wandered through the house, scared our dogs, pecked at the avocados on the trees, bathed in the rain, screamed, laughed, etc. But deep down, we knew that wasn’t the purpose of parrots or any other living being—and that she could be happier elsewhere. She had already shown us how much she liked being among parrots.
The day Rebeca left, Tomás spent several hours with her, walking her, talking to her, petting her with so much love it brought us to tears. Tomás was still a child, but that day he showed how much he loved Rebeca by being the one most in agreement with giving her a chance to truly be a parrot. It was a tremendous act of love: letting go of what you love if it’s for the best.
We took Rebeca to DAGMA together; they made a delivery report and assured us—both the veterinarians and zoologists—that we were making the best decision. Rebeca was still very young; she had many years ahead of her and a great opportunity to be reintroduced to the wild.
We would never be able to see Rebeca again; if she heard a familiar voice or had contact with us, it would be a setback in her process. After a few days, Rebeca would have no human contact until, one day, she would be ready for her life as an Amazona ochrocephala—a life she always had a right to but was denied by a human being, either out of greed or need.
Wherever Rebeca is, we hope she’s doing very well and that we made the best decision. Having a wild animal—in this case, a parrot—is not easy. A parrot can seriously injure people and damage household items with its beak; its behavior is unpredictable, and while they can be sweet and gentle with one family member, they can be aggressive with others. A parrot often makes very loud sounds, disturbing for owners and neighbors. Birds belong to the skies, the trees, the forests, the seas, and the mountains: that’s where they should be and where they should never have to leave.