Eight years ago today, my beloved first pet, Captain Holly, died. He was a blue parakeet and a gift from my first boyfriend in high school. (Which was only one of the reasons for the love-hate relationship he shared with Rob.) He slept at the foot of our bed when Rob and I first got married. He sat on the mascara wand when I got ready in the morning. He even had his own stocking on the hearth at Christmas. Although I never convinced him to say anything other than his beautiful bird songs, he was a big part of my life for 12 years. Sometimes Grayson and I will go into pet stores and look at the parakeets to see if we can find the one that looks most like Captain. None of them ever capture his essence; they all know they are birds. Captain, I think, felt blessed to be the only flying member of the family.