August
1994
Ingrid’s
Flight: The Power of Prayer
By Claudia Rose Emerson
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The weekend was coming to a close and I was taking a comfortable bus
home to Manhattan from New Jersey. I had just attended The Rutgers Animal
Rights Conference for three days — an experience which had been
very uplifting and had filled me with a store of new knowledge and information
that would help me help the animals. I leafed through a copy of The
Animal'os Agenda magazine and Farm Sanctuary’s newsletter.
I knew the animals needed us and I wanted to do my part to end their
suffering. But, although I was ready to speak out for the animals I
was not quite ready for what would happen next.
Once I reached Port Authority, I called my husband to tell him I was
nearly home. He said he had some bad news about my parakeet Ingrid.
She had escaped that morning and had flown out of the window. I asked
him to check the apartment again thoroughly for her and I grabbed a
cab home: the ride seemed to last forever.
As soon as I arrived home, I raced up the stairs to my apartment and
hurried to see if my other parakeet Bridget was safe: she was. I went
over to the window to call Ingrid, but she was nowhere to be found.
I insisted to my husband that we go where there were some trees. I called
for her again, but it was already too dark. I felt devastated and very
guilty because I had recently built the birds a new cage, but had never
taken the few seconds needed to repair a small hole in the corner of
it. It was my fault that Ingrid had flown away.
It was a long night. Every few hours I would wake up filled with worry
and sadness for Ingrid, and then I would cry myself back to sleep.
My birds were very special to me because of how I had gotten them. A
neighbor had posted a sign in the hallway, advertising free parakeets.
I was curious and went to look at them. When we approached the birds,
they jumped to the back of their cage, their hearts beating rapidly,
and their eyes bulging from their little heads. There wasn’t much
food or water for them.
I didn’t know much about birds but it was obvious they had been
neglected and were frightened of us. I decided then and there to take
them and at the least get them away from that environment. The cage
didn’t have a bottom so I had to tape a piece of foam core under
it in order to carry them to my apartment.
First thing the next day I went to see Nona. Nona had the gift of caring
for injured and rescued birds she either found on the streets or others
had given her. You couldn’t help but feel cheerful and alive once
you stepped into her apartment and heard her birds chirping and singing.
I had told Nona about my newly-acquired birds and how the white parakeet
seemed to have a nervous twitch which caused her to hit the side of
her beak repeatedly against the cage. Nona thought they were probably
under stress and that they should get plenty of sleep. I took her advice
and the birds slowly calmed down and became familiar with my voice.
Then I went to see my artist friend Koho who had taken in an injured
baby dove whom someone had left in front of her studio. Assisi could
only see from one eye, but he was a happy little bird. Koho said she
would keep Ingrid in her prayers.
I had no trouble naming the birds. The white parakeet was named Ingrid
after Ingrid Newkirk, founder of People for the Ethical Treatment of
Animals, because I admired her work for the animals. I named the yellow
parakeet Bridget, or B.B., after Bridget Bardot, not for her acting
but for her animal rights foundation in France. It didn’t take
long for me to grow to love and care for these birds. I would whistle
"Amazing Grace" before I let them sleep. They fluttered their
eyelashes, closed their eyes, and seemed to enjoy my whistling.
After I had had them a couple of months, Ingrid’s nervous twitch
vanished. Both of the birds seemed to be less shy, and I decided then
to build them a large bird cage. It took all weekend to build it, but
Ingrid and Bridget loved their new home. They chirped and played more
and seemed to be trusting me even more. I hoped that one day they would
trust me enough to rest on my hand. They had come a long way. But now
my Ingrid was gone and all I could do was hope for her safety.
The next day I began serving jury duty. It was so hard to concentrate
in the courtroom because I was so depressed over Ingrid’s disappearance.
It was then that I met Marlene. Madeline had many cats, and she had
rescued many of them from the streets. It was Madeline who suggested
I post a flyer in the neighborhood; this I did during my lunchbreak,
posting flyers near the courthouse and in the Chinatown area close by.
A woman stopped to talk to me and asked me if I had whistled for Ingrid.
She suggested I call and whistle out of my window for her often, and
then wished me much luck. I called Petfinders and also thought of placing
an advertisement in the newspaper, but it wouldn’t have come out
for another week. When I got home, I whistled "Amazing Grace"
from my window and called for Ingrid several times; but all I heard
was the sparrows chirping and the doves cooing.
I called my friend Marianne to cancel dinner plans with her and my prayer
group since I was too depressed. We would meet weekly at St. Anthony’s
Chapel for songs and prayers, and tonight it was Charlie’s treat.
I told Marianne I didn’t want to spoil their fun. Marianne suggested
we pray for Ingrid over the phone and it was then I realized that I
had to let Ingrid go. While I prayed for her to come back, I also prayed
for someone to find her, keep her safe, and love her. Marianne had by
then talked me into going for dinner. Even my husband joined us for
dinner. It was the first time he had participated in any event with
my prayer group. I was pleased and we all had a wonderful time. During
dinner we prayed for Ingrid’s return and I passed out flyers among
the group to post in their neighborhood, because Ingrid could have flown
anywhere in the City.
It had now been four days since Ingrid had left. After jury duty I stopped
by St. Anthony’s Feast on Sullivan Street, where people were enjoying
the rides, games, and good food. I passed out more flyers to a few local
neighbors, but most of them told me that my parakeet was long gone.
Nevertheless, I went to St. Anthony’s rectory to pray to St. Francis,
the patron saint of animals. Instead I was given a little prayer book
to St. Anthony, the patron saint of lost articles.
I knew then I had to pray that night and this little book felt so good
in my hands. When I got home I first whistled "Amazing Grace"
out of the window and called out to Ingrid. After this I started to
pray with the little book. I thought I’d pray for about thirty
minutes or so and then make dinner, but the first half hour turned into
an hour and then even longer. I then said a few prayers with little
Bridget, who had been very quiet ever since Ingrid had left. I then
prayed to my twin cousin Ellen — a beautiful, intelligent, young
woman who had been murdered for her car about nine months earlier. I
was already a vegetarian; but it was after Ellen’s death that
I looked more clearly at my choices and lifestyle and became a vegan.
I wanted to practice non-violence in every way I could, and also speak
up to end the victimization of animals. I stopped wearing leather, wool,
or silk. I asked Ellen to help return Ingrid to her sister Bridget because
like her own sister Martha, Bridget was very lonely without her Ingrid.
I then prayed to my grandmother whom I remembered had loved her yellow
canaries.
It was now about 8.30 pm and the room was growing very dark. I had long
forgotten about dinner. I felt much stronger and less depressed about
praying. I wasn’t interested in eating — so, even though
this would be the third time that day, I called my voice mail to see
if I had any messages. Unbelievably, there was one message. A woman
had said she had found a white parakeet and asked me to call her right
away. I began to cry and called my mother to tell her the news. My mother
said she would pray for it to be Ingrid and told me to call her back
with any news. I immediately called the woman who left the message and
she told me she had gotten the parakeet from the doorman early Sunday
afternoon. The doorman had seen a little bird walking around the lobby
and had called her because he knew she loved animals. I quickly got
dressed, grabbed the birdcage, and ran the few blocks to her apartment.
I was very anxious when I got there, but the woman and her friend who
lived with her were so pleasant that I felt more at ease. I was puzzled
to see a very large birdcage sitting in the middle of the living room.
The women told me they were about to give the parakeet to a friend when
another of their friends had told them about the flyer. I was told she
had been kept in a cat carrier to be safe from their cats.
I was reluctant to peer into the cat carrier, for fear I’d be
disappointed. But I was anxious to find out. As soon as I saw the little
bird’s eyes, I knew it was Ingrid. I started crying from joy and
all I could say to the women was that it was a miracle. They wondered
about that for a bit, but I told them how I had just been praying for
a long time to St. Anthony and my cousin. After they heard this, they
too agreed it was a miracle. I could not thank them enough and asked
them to please accept a reward. The women told me that my face had shown
the love I had for this bird and that was reward enough. Being an artist,
I offered to draw them a picture of Ingrid and Bridget and they accepted
with glee. As I walked Ingrid back home, all I could think of was that
during Ingrid’s flight she had not been alone. She had flown with
St. Anthony and the prayers from the many people who cared for her.
Over the next few days I thought of how Ingrid’s loss and return
had affected my life. I knew I would never be the same. My faith had
grown with God, and I believed more than ever in the power of prayer.
Because I had never lost hope for Ingrid, I was able to keep the strength
not to give up, post all those flyers, ask friends and strangers for
their help and their prayers. I learned that there are many compassionate
people in the world who really care about animals. It was the doorman
who first saved Ingrid. He could have thought of her as a pest and thrown
her back out of the lobby window where she flew in. Then there were
the two women who took her to safety and even found a home for her in
those few days that they had her. I learned there are many people who
do respect the lives of animals no matter how small or large. Soon thereafter
I started tabling around the city for vegetarianism, for cruelty-free
products and against fur. I felt strongly about speaking out for the
animals because I knew there were many other kind and caring people
out there like the ones I had recently met. There was hope for change
and I knew I had to reach out to them for the animals.
Long ago, a flyer such as the one I give out now changed my respect
for the animals. Now I think often that it could happen again and change
another person’s life for the better. We owe it to the animals
to be their voice and stop the victimization that goes on every day,
no matter if it’s called a cat, or a dog, or bird. I believe most
people are ready for that change and can live an unselfish, non-violent
lifestyle. If we can begin to do that, we’ll realize how desperately
the animals need us and how desperately we need them to live a peaceful
and harmonious life. As long as we have hope and believe in the power
of prayer, then miracles, as I found out, will happen.
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