Apollo was my first bird, a little blue and yellow budgie peering at me through the cage bars of the store. She was the most active--and darn it, she was cute. It was mid-July, and I took her home. She had a little pink cage with her own toy, but she was a screamer. I tried to get her to be more settled by leaving the TV on, playing music, using mirrors, anything I could think of. Nothing. So, in mid-August, I got her a pal--Jasmine. Jasmine is a blue and white budgie, who I now know is a male. They instantly bonded. The screaming didn't stop, but Apollo was still much happier. I kept trying to tame the two of them. Jasmine was willing to comply and very sweet, but Apollo...was another story. She'd scream and bite and fly away, anything to get away from me. She bit hard enough to draw blood, every time. I kept trying to tame her, and eventually I could get her to eat out of my hand, although she would still bite if I got too close. Jasmine got sick in November with an upper respiratory infection, and I immediately separated them to avoid spread to Apollo. Jasmine went through a course of antibiotics, seemed fine, and I put them back together. About a week later, on December 14, 2003, at approximately 9 PM, I noticed Apollo was on the bottom of the cage. She had shown no signs of illness, so I was shocked. I looked closer at her, and one leg was stiff. I picked her up and she didn't even protest. She could barely move, although she tried. I moved her from side to side and she just rolled along. She wanted to move, but she couldn't. As soon as I realized that Apollo would not "get better" as I had foolishly hoped at first, I rushed her down to my father for a second opinion. Perhaps he'll say she has a chance, I thought. He also knew that she wouldn't make it. So, with tears in my eyes, I slowly went back into my room, grabbed the warmest, most comfortable sweater I owned, wrapped her in it, and prayed for some miracle. I would ocassionally pet her, just to keep her conscious. I didn't want her to leave me. I loved my pit bull of a budgie. She barely breathed and barely kept her eyes open, and I knew she needed me close, so I wrapped her in my hand. She died in my hand moments later. I will never forget the heartwrenching pain of watching her take her last breath. I buried her the next afternoon, when the ground had thawed. I have not let Apollo's death make me abandon bird keeping. I believe Apollo would want me to take the same care with other deserving birds that I had done for her. I can imagine every once in a while that she's on the other side of the bridge, completely happy and missing me too. Apollo, I'll meet with you again. I'll never forget you, my pit budgie.