We went to the emergency vet immediately. He didn't have a broken wing or anything, but I was horrified to discover that he was tremendously underweight. Then I remembered checking his food dish Sunday night to see if it needed refilling and, for maybe the first time in four years, not adding anything to it because it still had plenty in it. This meant he had been sick for a while but had been doing a good job of hiding it. The vet said they would give him injections to try to get him a little nourishment and hydration, and that they would put him in a heated cage. She agreed that the prognosis was bleak. She also didn't know what was wrong with him.
I woke up around four AM, realized what time it was, and thought, well, this is pretty good, if he made it through the night he might pull through. And the phone, sitting on the nightstand next to the bed, rang immediately after that thought ran through my mind.
I am planning on giving the cage and food away to the woman across the street, who has been thinking about buying a cockatiel for her little boy. I don't think I'm ever going to own a bird again. I have wanted a blue crown conure and I've wanted a bare-eyed cockatoo, but I don't think I'm a fit bird parent anymore. I wish I'd given Bibo away to someone a year or so ago, to someone who would have made him the center of their lives, but I didn't because my husband was too attached to him. Bibo loved him and he loved him right back. The dogs distracted us from Bibo too much and even though I think we provided a good home it's clear that we failed.