When I was about four years old, my parents bought me Crispin, my very first pet. He was a handsome yellow canary with a terrible temper and an alpha male attitude. He spent hours preening himself, and I found him utterly enchanting.
A Canary Family
Soon after, a gentle female canary named Mariflor arrived. She became Crispin's partner and the mother of their chicks, Maribel and Quintin. Having a canary family made up for my lack of siblings and extended relatives. It gave me a sense of responsibility and filled my life with joy.
Every day, I would let the canaries out of their cage to roam freely around the flat. Crispin's favourite spot was the globe in my bedroom. Standing imposingly, he would regularly give his opinion on global affairs by pooping on countries whose governments he disapproved of. At least, that is how it seemed to me as a child. It was the 1980s, the time of the Cold War, and my parents, political exiles from Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet, had settled temporarily in Venezuela.
Diet and Transformations
My canaries' diet included seeds, mango, papaya, red pepper, lettuce, and spinach. After eating red pepper, Crispin's plumage would strangely turn orange. These magical transformations amazed me.
An Exceptional Singer
Crispin was an exceptional singer, often singing perched above a ceiling light. He excelled at karaoke to classical music. Mozart's flute concertos and Camille Saint-Saëns' The Carnival of the Animals were among his favourite pieces. Impressively, Crispin could recognise the final notes and stop singing exactly when the music ended.
Crispin would take singing requests from me. Telling him he was the world's most talented, intelligent, and gracious canary almost always resulted in delightful serenades. But it was not so delightful when I needed to practise my violin. As a little bird with a big ego, he did not accept another musician at home and would work hard to be louder than me, even if I was playing in another room.
Family Diminishes
Crispin's family gradually diminished. When Quintin became an adult, we had to find him new owners because father and son had started becoming aggressive with each other. Mariflor and Maribel died of old age several years after we all moved to Chile. Crispin stopped singing and developed arthritis. He died peacefully when he was 20, a remarkable age for a canary.
Were Crispin alive today, he would probably still be pooping on my old globe, spoiled for choice about where to aim his disapproval given the state of world affairs. I will always be thankful for Crispin – he showed me the value of being bold and colourful.
