We'd like to extend a very special thank you to Moki's family for their permission to publish his story.
Our hearts go out to them.

Moki was a young, male Umbrella Cockatoo, who was sweet, interactive, well-mannered and in perfect feather. His species originated on the Moluccan Islands of Indonesia, but he was domestically bred and hand raised. He came to live with us, when he was 18 months old, because he failed to integrate into his previous owner's home, that included small children. His noise level and aggression towards the wife, made his stay there, limited. After visiting Moki at his home, several times, we not only made friends, but fell in love with this beautiful, gentle bird. I had raised and kept smaller birds, cockatiels and parakeets, for years. Even a Mynah Bird. But Moki was my first large parrot (psitticine).

We took things slow with our new feathered kid, and eventually learned his needs, and he learned our routine. Gentle nurturing and guidance helped to develope a wonderful companion. He taught us how to play Cockatoo Catch and we learned to tolerate and then to yell along with his "I'm happy to be alive" screams. The most fun though, was to sit and cuddle with this big white powder puff.

Everything was wonderful for several months, until we decided to take a trip. We were only to be gone for two days, and I believed he would be fine with a full supply of food and extra water. Upon our return, and rushing into the house to check on our birds, I instantly realized something was obviously different in the way he was acting. Gone was the spark, the attitude, the exuberance. The bird in the cage was subdued, quiet and still. That was my first sign that something wasn't right. It was like a depression had settled in and you could see it in his eyes.

The next day I noticed he was not eating and his water was untouched. Even before I became educated about the terrible disease I was to come to know, I knew that a bird's high metabolism cannot stand going for over 24 hours without eating, without losing a drastic amount of weight. The next day Moki saw the vet, and at first I was worried that he might be exposed to something contagious at his office. The cruel irony was that, after a battery of tests, the vet gently broke the news to us, that he had contracted PDD, an avian virus known as Proventricular Dillitation Disease, (or Syndrome), which was almost, always fatal. There is no test for this on a living bird, but he had all the classic signs. After countless conversations with the vet and searching out any and all information, we believe that Moki came to us carrying the dormant virus, and that the stress of relocating forced the virus to become active. He could have been exposed to the virus as a chick, and it had laid dormant in his body. We found out that young birds are especially at risk to exposure.

Together with the vet, my family and I formed a supportive ring around Moki. As he became thinner and weaker, I syringe fed him 5 times a day, even though he regurgitated most of it. When it became really bad, we would make trips to the vet, and he would spend days in the heated brooder and receive shots of antibiotics to help boost him up. Then he would come home and our supportive care would begin again. I kept thinking in the back of my mind that he would get better, and the vet offered encouragement when he rallied. I never even thought of putting him down, and in retrospect, maybe that would have been kinder.

There were many times when he would cry, and I would just hold and rock him. I came to know every inch of his little body, and understand every peep and chirp. One Saturday morning, after Moki had been at the vet for several days, I called from the grocery store to check on him. The vet gently told me that he had died at 2:00 a.m. that morning, and the vet had held him in his arms as he died. He said he just didn't have any more fight left in him. I hung up the phone and sat down on the floor and cried, oblivious to the looks I got. We have since brought other birds into our home, and have bonded and learned and loved them all. But I will never forget Moki, all the love he gave us and all he taught us.