Dear You,
Hello again, and welcome to the second installment of The Velociraptor Diaries! Like any good writer, I am already veering off the original topic. BUT. Isaac and Hayes are still relevant, and I will tell you why, of course. Just not yet. I’ll tell you when it makes sense to the story. So here we go.
Monday, August 2, 2021
Something thoroughly and completely magical happened to me on Friday, and it just got more and more magical throughout the entire weekend, which is also, conveniently, how long it took me to write the entire story out. I am very excited to share this with you! Buckle up, though, because this is a long one. I think it’s worth the read, but I am certainly biased.
On Friday, after I left the sanctuary, I took a detour to drop off a trumpet I had borrowed from a former musical director (that is another fun story, but very irrelevant, so I won’t get into it.) As I turned onto his street, I noticed a monarch butterfly in the middle of the road (it was a very busy road with one of those center turning lanes in it…the butterfly was in the middle of the center turning lane, right in front of where I needed to turn.) The butterfly was flapping its wings very slowly, and that didn’t seem normal to me, so I was concerned. I seem to have a knack for noticing these things from my car, no matter how small they are. I was two minutes away from my destination, and I kept going, which I immediately felt guilty about, but I promised myself that I would come back and grab it if it was still there. I quickly dropped off the trumpet and said I had to run, and promptly rushed back to the end of the street, where I stopped the car. Sure enough, the butterfly was still there, in the middle of the hot road, flapping its wings, and generally in distress. I thought, “well that definitely doesn’t look right.”
I waited for a couple of cars to go by, rushed out into the middle of the road, and offered the butterfly my hand, saying, “hey, friend, let’s get you out of the street, OK? This isn’t a safe place for you to be.” It quickly climbed onto my fingers, as if it had said, “yes, thank you, this is very unsafe,” and I blocked the wind with my other hand and ran back to my car. I heard a quick honk from behind me, and when I turned around to look, someone in another car who had seen me do this gave me a thumbs up. That was refreshing, as I have had the cops called on me for checking an abandoned pet crate in the meridian of the highway before. (There was no pet inside of it, thank goodness, but people get very upset with me for doing things like running across the highway to pick up raptors or check an an abandoned pet carrier. That one was fun because, having done nothing wrong, and finding no animal in need of assistance, I drove away before the cops arrived, and called my mom and said, “Mom, I’m on the lam!” For the record, I have never stopped or blocked traffic or done anything illegal. People are just funny about that stuff, I guess. I don’t know.) Anyway, I was trying to take a look at this butterfly, but the wind was strong and it kept trying to fly, but was having some serious trouble, so I brought it into my car to take a closer look. It turned out that the very end of its abdomen looked slightly squished. Its exoskeleton was cracked and its inside bits were definitely visible in a way they shouldn’t have been. Its back wing also kept sticking to the injury, which left residue on the wing and threw off its balance, making it impossible for it to fly. However, this injury didn’t appear to be fatal on its own somehow, in that the butterfly was in good shape aside from being, uh…gutsy. It was crawling all over me in the car, so I found an empty cardboard fruit carton to put it in for the car ride (perfect!) and covered it with my watercolor pad, promising that I would take it out as soon as we got home, which I did.
I gave her (I learned that she is a she — her name is Clementine) a more thorough assessment when I got home, and wanted so badly to find a way to wrap up her back end, but experts all say it is better not to mess with them when they are injured, as painful as it may be to see them like that. There was no way I could release her outside, as I don’t have any flowers blooming, and she definitely cannot fly. She was very eager to step onto my hand, but then would try to flap, and would flutter to the floor with a tiny, butterfly-sized “thunk,” which I couldn’t bear to see. No way I was leaving this little creature outside. But I knew absolutely nothing about taking care of butterflies. I posted on Facebook asking for some help, and who should message me but a very beloved sanctuary volunteer and dear friend of mine, who of course has a friend who hatches, cares for, and releases butterflies! They offered to get in touch with their friend for me, an offer which I happily took them up on. They passed a great deal of very valuable advice to me from said friend (thank you again, you know who you are!) and I was able to gather enough information to set Clementine up nicely for the night. I put her little cardboard fruit carton inside a bird carrier. (I have a “Wingabago” — a very nice, acrylic parrot carrier — that was generously given to me to use as a makeshift oxygen tank if I ever need one for Isaac, so Clementine was set up nice and proper.)
While this happened, another friend of mine messaged me with some info from their experience hatching butterflies, and recommended grape Gatorade as a nectar drink. Grape is apparently the sweetest. I went to the corner store, but they only had “low sugar” grape, which was the opposite of what I wanted! So I drove to the pharmacy/grocery store, and on my way, I passed a house I have passed perhaps thousands of times before. It’s a magical looking house with an absolutely MAGNIFICENT garden. Just bursting with flowers, but it also has some fun little additions that make it just Fae enough for you to tell that it’s magic. There is a perfectly crooked “Black Lives Matter” sign hanging on the porch, and one of those, “in this house, we believe…” signs in the garden, partially hidden by the flowers. Throughout the garden were sprinkled these very tall, spiral wooden stakes that added an air of whimsy that I was personally very drawn to. I impulsively turned the car around and stopped in front of the house. I decided that it couldn’t hurt to knock on the door, so that’s what I did. I had never met the owner(s) of the house or the cultivator(s) of the garden. The door opened to reveal a small-framed, older woman with shiny, silver-blond hair swept back into a wispy bun, pink-rimmed glasses, a small, fluffy, white dog behind her, and a smile on her face that was shining like the very stars themselves. She was just dripping with magical energy. It was flowing off of her like waves of moonlight. She was so beautiful, and she had such an incredible presence. Even her little dog had a magical glow. This is the kind of person I want to be like when I grow up. Yes, I’m 30. I know what I said. “This…makes so much sense,” I thought to myself. Awestruck, I said hello, explained that I had an injured butterfly but no flowers in my yard, and I was wondering if I could take a few flowers and some milkweed leaves from her beautiful garden. Before I even finished asking, she was nodding, smiling. She said, “of course, yes. Thank you for saving the butterfly.” She even asked if I needed something to cut them with. I also thanked her for her magical garden and asked if she was a fairy. Eh…I’m not sorry for asking that because she laughed a magical, jingling laugh that sounded like little bells (my favorite sound!) As I was talking to her, a man walked by and said, “excuse me, I just want to thank whoever is responsible for this. *gestures to the garden* It is so beautiful, and I love walking by, especially at this time of night.” She thanked him, laughed again, and said, “well, this is…heartening.” Her starlight smile was so lovely. I asked if she recommended any flowers in particular, and she said she thought everything blooming right now was something that butterflies like. I told her I would be sure to bring by something as a thank you, and she countered by saying, “let me know how the butterfly does.” I said I would. I want to have tea with her. What a wonderfully magical encounter. This whole thing has been magical. And there is MORE magic in this story!
Fast forward to when I got home. I arranged the flowers in a little vase of water, and they smelled wonderful. Clementine was perched on the top corner of her fruit carton, ignoring the piece of juicy plum I left out for her, and generally looking very sad. I carefully put the container of fresh-cut flowers in the center of the carton, and WHOA. She came ALIVE! Not that she wasn’t alive, but she was still and sad, and I have never seen anything like this before. It was as if the scent of the flowers uplifted her in a magical way (I said this story was full of magic!) She turned, opened her wings, and practically hurled herself upon the little bouquet, proboscis out, and dove head-first into some pink phlox. I didn’t know that butterflies were capable of expressing emotion so vividly, but this butterfly was undeniably delighted, which made ME undeniably delighted! I was enthralled watching her gleefully move from flower to flower, and then she finally came to rest on the flower stalk of some sweet-smelling mint, where she stayed for the night. I put a shallow dish of water in the carrier with some rocks in it for her to rest on, and wished her sweet dreams.
I gave Clementine some watermelon before I left for a meeting at the theatre the next afternoon, where I planned to stay for the show that evening. The friends of mine who came to see me in the previous show will remember the beautiful garden surrounding the patio, which doubles as an outdoor stage. Of course, after the show, I asked the owner of the theatre if I could take a few fresh flowers for Clementine. He said of course. (This is when I learned that the pink and purple cluster flowers are called phlox.) When I came back, I discovered that she hadn’t moved from where she was when I left earlier that day. Growing concerned that she hadn’t had anything to eat or drink, I took her out of the carrier, along with the water dish, and put together a sugar water concoction. I was told by my friend that I could teach her how to drink it by using a toothpick to gently unroll her proboscis, but as soon as I put her on the water dish, she started to drink, and when I put the homemade “nectar” in front of her, she immediately switched to that, and I was glad I didn’t have to get so close to her with something pointy. Cue the scary part of the story:
As I was moving her off of the water dish to put it and her back in the carrier, I think I got her foot stuck in between one of the rocks and the edge of the dish. Her foot and the bottom of her leg were suddenly useless! (Don’t worry, this part has a happy ending.) I was absolutely devastated. I had been so grateful that I was able to retrieve this poor little butterfly, and I was amazed that she survived having a cracked exoskeleton, but knowing that she couldn’t fly, I was absolutely beside myself that I had taken away her ability to walk properly. I tested her foot, and it was unresponsive. The other feet worked fine, but her back left foot/leg was dragging, and she wasn’t hooking her little prongs (did you know butterfly feet are like little two-pronged forks? I didn’t until Clementine!) She wasn’t moving much anymore, and I was frantically messaging my THIRD butterfly expert friend, worried that my sweet girl wouldn’t make it through the night because I had taken away her remaining ability to get around. I couldn’t stop crying. There was nothing I could do for her physically, so I put her on the water dish with the nectar solution in front of her. I cried and cried, and I apologized profusely, and I told her how much I loved her. I am not a religious person, but when I am dealing with animals and insects, I feel most closely connected with the Fae. I begged the fairies over and over to please help, to take away any pain she might be experiencing, to heal her foot and leg, that she didn’t deserve this, she was so strong, and this was my fault, but I didn’t mean to, etc. I did my best to give her some reiki before turning off the lights and dragging myself to bed, weeping. I couldn’t fall asleep until after 4am. When I woke up, I went downstairs to check on her. Prepared for the worst, I was astonished to see that not only was she still very much alive, she had climbed up the side of the wall (I put some big leaves up the sides) to the top of a leaf, and her leg was as good as new! I was amazed! It was like that fairy tale where the cobbler goes to bed and discovers in the morning that the elves have made him all these amazing shoes to sell overnight. I don’t know the details of butterfly physiology and how well they heal from injuries, but this was pretty incredible to see.
Yesterday (Sunday, August 1), on my way to the sanctuary, I stopped at a plant nursery and got her a wide variety of potted flowers (including phlox!) so that she can enjoy the normal ways of being a butterfly. I also ordered her a special butterfly enclosure made of mesh so she can climb up the walls, which also arrived yesterday. I haven’t had a chance to set up/transfer her to the new habitat, but was hoping to do that today. She’s a lovely little darling. I have found that she won’t really eat or drink unless I take her out and put her on the dish outside the enclosure, but I think she enjoys the company and the interaction (as do I!) She becomes very active when she sees me and hears me say hello to her. When I reach my hand in, she eagerly climbs onto my fingers, and she really likes sitting on my hand! (How silly is it that I now have a butterfly that will “step up” and two birds that will do nothing of the sort? 
) Bonus: every time I open the enclosure, I am greeted with a wave of sweet smells as the fragrance of the flowers fills the air around me. I think that must be nice for her to be surrounded by.
I am so grateful that this story turned out to have a happy ending. Well, mostly. As all creatures eventually die, and butterflies have a short lifespan, after writing the previous paragraph, I came downstairs to discover the inevitable. Unfortunately, my sweet Clementine died sometime between last night and this morning. I am, of course, heartbroken, and I miss her like crazy, but I am heartened by the fact that I was able to give her a few extra precious days, and I know that she died a happy little butterfly. I don’t know how long she was supposed to live, but I know she lived longer than she would have if she had stayed in the middle of that hot and busy road. Plus, I have experienced people show some real loving kindness towards a well-meaning gal and her little butterfly friend. That is truly invaluable.
Clementine insisted on spending as much time on my hand as possible before bed last night. Perhaps she knew her time was coming and wanted to enjoy as much as she possibly could before she left this plane. I do genuinely believe she was having a grand time…I have never seen a butterfly do what she did before, but I think “happy” and “having fun” are certainly accurate ways to describe some of what I watched her experience.
If a butterfly joins you, know that it is a blessing. If a monarch pays you a visit, I hope you think of my special little lady. Whoever says you can’t make a butterfly strong never had the pleasure and privilege of meeting my sweet, magical little Clementine. 
Some words of Love for Clementine:
Rest peacefully knowing you are loved, sweet darling. I love you so much. Thank you for bringing so much extra joy and knowledge to my life in the short but meaningful time you shared your existence with mine, and thank you for letting me bring you into my home. Sweet dreams, precious one. Fly free and enjoy your wings again. I know some sassy birds that I’m sure would LOVE to meet you!
I loved to sing to her, of course, so I will share with you the updated lyrics of the classic “Clementine” song that I adapted to better fit our particular situation, and sang to her as often as I could, and will sing to her to send her off:
Oh my darling, oh my darling,
Oh my darling Clementine,
You are here, so safe forever,
Glad I found you, Clementine!
Here is a short video of her drinking happily (I’m sorry it’s an external link, I can’t upload it directly to this page as of right now, but I promise the link is safe.):
https://photos.app.goo.gl/Tkfeng1aCFuCBjjaA
I did promise you that Isaac and Hayes were relevant. Here is where they come into play. You may be surprised to learn that aggressive, untouchable macaws can be incredible emotional support companions. Surprised or not, believe it. Isaac and Hayes have a very special ability. Like most parrots, they can sense when a human is feeling “off.” They know me very well now. After I found Clementine, I went back upstairs to grab their food and water dishes to change them. I sang them their usual morning songs, and in the middle of “I Love You, a Bushel and a Peck,” I broke down and started to cry. They have seen me do this before. It is interesting, because they mimic my laughter when I laugh, and when I cry, they sort of do the same, briefly, as if it helps them register what’s happening. As is their usual behavior when they see me cry, they stopped what they were doing and rushed to the edge of the frame to where I was. They must have been a little confused, as I don’t think I have ever broken down in the middle of a song before, but they didn’t seem too fazed by it. They cocked their heads to the side, made their little “what’s wrong?” noises, and switched places with each other a few times. This is their support routine. Then I tell them what’s going on and they listen. This time, I sat down on the floor in front of the frame and sobbed for a moment. They just waited patiently, occasionally mimicking the sounds I made, this time as if to express that they were present with me, that they were still there. Every time they hold space for me to cry, it makes me cry harder for a little while, because I am so overwhelmed by their capacity for emotion and love. Then they listened as I told them why I was so upset. They deserved to know. If they are able to understand that I am in distress, they deserve to know why, and I fully believe that, to a degree, they absolutely understand when I tell them. Why else would they listen so carefully? These “little monsters,” as I jokingly call them, aren’t monsters at all. I joke that they are, mainly because they are feisty little rascals and can be jerks sometimes, but they are really two of the most incredible, magical creatures I have ever had the privilege of knowing. They are people. They just also happen to be parrots. Well, dragons. Well, velociraptors. You know what I mean. I love them, and I couldn’t have asked for better support for a broken heart today, especially after losing a friend that I couldn’t really touch, but loved all the same.
If you’re still reading, thank you for sticking it out to read the whole story! There is a podcast version of this blog, also brand new, and also called The Velociraptor Diaries. You can find it on Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts! Episodes will follow blog posts, and will be pretty similar, if you prefer to listen to your blogs on your music app or podcatcher. There will be things in the podcast that won’t be here, though, just like the audio and writing here includes things that the podcast won’t. 😉 And of course…
Don’t forget to eat meals, drink water, take your medications and/or vitamins, stretch and move your bodies, and get plenty of good rest!
I love you all so very, very much.
Love,
Julian, Isaac, Hayes, and Clementine
The Velociraptor Diaries 