I walked up to the counter at the vet where I boarded Philip.  The place had a good vibe.  They had a Timnah Grey named Wilbur who lived in the waiting area, and of course, I had to practice my bird whisperer on him.  The staff always seemed happy about what they were doing, and most importantly, they loved the animals.  This was the place I found on my first scouting trip to South Carolina. Philip had already stayed there a couple of times and was quite the entertainer.  One of the technicians sent me a text of Philip and her having a barking contest.

I was there to pick him up from the first of two closely scheduled trips.  He would be home for a couple of days and then back again.  I chatted with the receptionist as we did the necessary paperwork and payment, and within a few minutes another technician brought Philip out in his travel cage.  She commented that he did well, ate most of his food, splattered the rest around the room, and they all loved him, especially a young man named Sam (for this blog). 

It didn’t really register until I got out to the car that someone who works at a vet clinic also really likes Philip.   

I had already begun the challenging process of figuring out how to find him a new home.  It’s not easy with a parrot.  At a foundational level, I believe that all pets deserve someone who will take good care of them; even a lizard who doesn’t care who on earth gives him crickets, as long as someone does.  But with many of our pets, the nature of the owner and whether they care about that particular animal also matters.  Those variables are multiplied ten times over with a parrot.  So far, the best option was an organization that takes your parrot and then puts prospective owners through a variety of tests to see if they are well suited for that bird.  The organization had a good reputation, but it was hard to imagine not knowing who would have Philip in the end.  I had toyed with the idea of putting out an ad to see if I could screen a prospective owner myself. 

In the meantime, I went on my second trip and Philip went back to the vet for another couple of days of boarding. 

This time, when I returned to pick up Philip, it was Sam who brought him out in his travel cage.  His face was all happy and he commented that he had gotten Philip to step on to his hand. Not only did I get to see who Sam was, I got to see the joy on his face. 

This time it sunk in before I got to the car. 

Someone who works at a vet, who obviously loves animals because you don’t get rich doing that, is clearly comfortable with birds and has access to all kinds of wisdom and resources, also loves Philip.  And Philip was responding.    

That weekend, I wrote an e-mail to the clinic.  I shared that I couldn’t keep Philip and I wondered if they knew anyone … and more specifically, would Sam be interested in adopting Philip? 

I was in the Target parking lot a couple of days later when my cell phone rang.  It was a local number that I didn’t recognize, but I answered it.  I had expected to get an e-mail from the vet, so I was taken off guard when the voice said it was Sam. 

He said they would be happy to adopt Philip. 

He said that between himself, his Mom, and his sister, who because of some physical challenges was at home most of the time, Philip would have lots of company.  They were quite flexible in terms of timing, and had the space to take everything that I could send with him.  I did ask a few other important questions, too.  But the overarching emotional reaction was how right it felt.  There was excitement in his voice and I could tell that he cared about Philip.    

I hung up the phone and sat in the car for a few minutes.  There are moments that are best described as bittersweet.  That was one of them. 

As I pondered it more and saw how exquisitely God had prepared for this transition, how He led me to that vet, and positioned Sam there before I ever knew I would need him, and had him working on the days when Philip was boarding, the overwhelming emotion was wonderment.  And I don’t mean the light and airy wonderment, I mean more like that heavy, sobbing, “how is it that You care this much about what happens to my bird?” kind of wonderment.  For reasons that He only knows because He made me, this is a point of vulnerability where His caring about something so seemingly insignificant in the grand scheme of things does a very tidy job of wrecking me. 

Well, things were moving forward and I had a lot of work to do.  Self-imposed, of course.  I was going to finish well.  Super well.  Ok, fine.  Obsessively well.  I admit it.  I bought stock in his favorite toys and foods and put together lists that were complete with links so Sam could easily find the stuff that Philip liked, and even one that showed how he liked his boingy swing hung up.  Yes, and all the things he said and what they meant.  I also had Philip go to board two more times before the final hand-off, so that he could get to know Sam even better.    

I had planned it out about a month and a half from the time that we talked.  Part of that was to give more boarding opportunities, and part of it was to coordinate with my Mom.  I decided that it would be wise to have someone to distract me for a few days and since she had already walked through the process with me, she was the perfect choice.

Finally, the day came. Mom and I spent the morning cleaning and packing up Philip’s things.  Over that month and a half I had many conversations with Philip about what was going on and how he could respond, and we had a final one that day.   

We arrived at Sam’s place to be greeted by him, his sister, his Mom and their two dogs.  I figured that Philip would have the dogs whipped into shape in no time.  His Mom immediately asked me to come over to the counter where she had a few fresh things already purchased and wanted to know if he would like it.  They were all so excited. 

I have developed a pretty decent poker face.  I can keep my mind in task mode and not think about what is going on inside.  I did pretty well until right at the end when my Mom asked if she could pray.  That was more than I could take.  Mom and I were both leaking at that point, so we got ourselves out the door and back into the truck as quickly as possible.

Over the next few days, I communicated with Sam a couple of times.  I asked how Philip was doing and the reports came back good.  I wanted to know that he was making the transition, but I also knew I needed to let him go.

But one day, several weeks later, I was struggling.  I really wanted to know that Philip was ok.  I missed him, but if he was ok, then I could at least know that.  Of course, there was always the chance that he wasn’t ok … but I decided I would write Sam one last time. 

His text came back immediately.  Philip was doing great.  He was out of his cage most of the time.  They were taking him on outings to the park and PetSmart, IN HIS HARNESS.  Ok, I bought that harness with good intentions and never even tried it.  I looked at it, then at Philip, and then my fingers, and decided to throw it back in the box.  Sam got it on him?!  And that wasn’t all.  Sam was also (relatively) successfully giving Philip baths, something else I had never achieved.  He would endure a misting, but that was about it. 

He was more than ok.  He was thriving.   

And in that moment, I felt the almost crushing sense of intimacy as God reminded me that He had taken care of Philip.  Undone again. 

Was that whole experience about a new depth of intimacy with God? 

The story wasn’t over yet.