I don’t remember the specifics, but my family came to be in possession of a lovebird, which we named Kiwi. He was trained to eat out of your hand and sit on your shoulder, and he was basically the best bird in the world.
One night, my mother had gotten up to walk to the kitchen. She didn’t turn the hallway light on, because it would have woken everyone up. Anyway, while walking down the dark hallway, she felt something under her foot and heard a sickening crunch. Poor Kiwi had gotten out of his cage.
Soon after, we got a new lovebird and named it Kiwi II. It was the worst and meanest bird in the world.