My mother used to keep a ton of finches. She started with two zebra finches, but there was one day they flew out of their cage while we were changing their water, and they both smacked into a mirror. One ended up passing from stress after a few days, but the other one, Ducky, made it even though he was traumatized from hitting the mirror.
Because he was lonely after losing his partner, my mom got a spice finch to keep him company. A few nights after getting the spice finch, she flew out when I went to change the water (again) and she perched on my hand. Then Ducky twittered a few warning chirps, and the spice finch zipped right back in the cage and never tried to escape again.
Ducky remembered the mirror incident, and what happened to his last partner. He was a survivor. He was determined to keep this one alive.
My mom eventually collected more finches. The flock grew into about twelve or fifteen different types of finches.
Ducky was their chief and wise elder. He kept them all in check and made sure they all knew to never leave the huge cage, even when the door was wide open when we went to change their baths. They stayed away. He trained them well.
One by one, we lost the finches to various things: older lifespan, water wasn't refilled in time, etc... one winter, we lost eight all at once to a gruesomely cold winter night.
But somehow, someway, the last finch standing after almost a decade of ruling was the original zebra finch, Ducky.
He was a survivor to the very end. RIP, Ducky.
