05/27/2026
I want to tell Skittles’ story—not only in hopes it brings more attention to her situation, but because I think it highlights an important conversation rescue needs to have about placement, support, and the weight of the decisions we make.
Skittles came to us from Nevada.
Her owner, despite having good intentions and trying his best, ultimately could not safely manage her. By the time we arrived, his roommate had to help coax her into the crate because he was too afraid to try himself.
I was worried about her trip home. Transport can be stressful for birds, and while we typically take a fear-free approach to travel, Skittles had very strong opinions about how she planned to do things. I worried the transition might be hard on her emotionally and physically.
I could not have been more wrong.
When she arrived, she flourished.
She danced. She sang. She greeted me when I got home. She talked to me and wanted so badly to connect.
She wasn’t an easy bird, and she certainly made that known. We had wins and setbacks. At one point I made the mistake of reaching into her cage for a bowl and nearly paid for it with my eyeball—but we kept working through it together.
And slowly, we bonded.
She wasn’t fully comfortable with handling, but she was trying. She wanted interaction. She wanted connection. She was learning to trust.
And this is where I made a mistake.
Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself she might be happier elsewhere. I don’t know why exactly. I’m not usually quick to give up on birds, but I thought perhaps she deserved a quieter environment—one where she didn’t have to share my attention with twenty other birds.
So I reached out to someone I considered a friend.
This was someone whose home I had visited before, someone I had trusted and genuinely thought highly of. They agreed to foster and eventually adopt her. When Skittles settled in, I was told she bonded quickly with the man in the home and that he was able to handle her comfortably.
I was relieved.
It felt like exactly what I had hoped for.
Until it wasn’t.
Because of financial limitations, I made the decision to allow a payment arrangement and, trusting our existing relationship, I did not repeat the home check process.
Those are mistakes I will never make again.
After an initial payment, communication became inconsistent and financial hardship was expressed. Wanting to help—not only as a rescue, but as someone who believed this was a friend—I offered support, supplies, flexibility, and solutions.
Eventually communication stopped.
When I expressed concern and attempted to arrange a welfare visit for both the birds and the people involved, those efforts were not received positively. Communication deteriorated further, and attempts to resolve the situation privately were unsuccessful.
At that point, I had no choice but to pursue legal action under the terms of our foster and placement agreements.
Today, we are waiting for the next steps in that process.
And honestly?
It’s exhausting.
It’s heartbreaking.
The hardest part of rescue is knowing that your decisions carry real consequences for living creatures you love deeply. Knowing that sometimes the lessons you learn come at the expense of peace, sleep, and the wellbeing of animals you feel responsible for protecting.
I carry a lot of guilt over where I fell short.
I wish I had trusted my own process more than personal familiarity. I wish I had repeated the checks and safeguards we rely on for a reason.
But accountability matters.
And if there is one thing I know for certain, it’s this:
I will keep fighting for Skittles and the others until they are home.
That much, I owe them.
