When Olive first came into our lives, she wasn’t meant to stay. My son had rescued her and her bird companion, Jade, but asked me to house and feed them until he could find them a permanent home. At the time, Olive was far from the kind of bird that would make an easy pet. She was terrified of hands, refused to leave her cage, and would bite if anyone came too close. Her head bore a bald patch, her feathers ragged, and her spirit seemed frayed from fear.

But something about her caught me. Maybe it was the sadness in her eyes, or maybe it was the small spark of curiosity she showed even through her fear. Whatever it was, I decided I wasn’t just going to “hold on” to her. I was going to try to win her heart.

It wasn’t easy. If I so much as put my hand inside her cage, she’d panic, scurrying to the bottom, pressed against the bars as though I were the danger she had to escape. Her cage was large enough that if she retreated, I couldn’t reach her. For many people, that might have been the end. But for me, it was the beginning of a journey built on patience and quiet persistence.

So, every night, I sat by her cage and sang to her in a soft, lullaby voice. I used her name often, sometimes speaking it gently, sometimes weaving it into little melodies. At first, she just tilted her head and stared, interested but hesitant. I didn’t push. I didn’t even look directly at her most of the time. I just sat there, presence without pressure.

Weeks went by this way. Then one day, I left her cage door open as I sang. Slowly, cautiously, Olive began to come out. She climbed to the top of her cage, looking down at me from her safe perch. She’d inch closer, testing the space between us, then dart back up as soon as I showed the slightest acknowledgment. So I learned to pretend I didn’t notice, letting her make the first moves.

And then, the miracle happened. One day, as I was feeding her, Olive came out and climbed onto my shoulder. Just like that, she decided I was safe enough. From then on, it became a habit. She’d perch on my shoulder for hours, nestled close, her warmth pressed against me. She didn’t like being petted at first, but eventually, on her terms, she began to accept head scratches. She would even nudge her head against my finger, scratching herself while pretending I wasn’t the one doing it.

Bit by bit, Olive changed. She began to greet me whenever I came near her cage, giving little kisses and screeches if I ignored her or left the house. Her personality blossomed. She became playful, mischievous even—once stealing a cracker right out of my daughter’s pack before I could stop her. We laughed, even as we took it away. Her favorite “game” now is sneaking frozen fruit bites that look like Dippin’ Dots. She thinks she’s stealing them, but the truth is, we buy them just for her. Watching her delight in her little “victories” has become part of the joy of having her.

With better food, patience, and love, Olive has transformed. Her feathers have grown back thick and beautiful. She eats pellets now, though sunflower seeds remain her guilty pleasure. She steps up willingly instead of scrambling onto my shoulder, and she even ventures to the kids when curiosity pulls her. She’s still a biter at times, and she makes it very clear when she’s had enough attention—like a cat with wings—but that’s part of who she is.

One day, my son told me he had found her a potential home. I thought I’d be relieved. Instead, I cried. The truth was plain: Olive wasn’t just a rescue anymore. She was family. I could live without her in the house, maybe, but not without knowing she’d be cared for with the same love she’s found here.

Olive’s story isn’t one of perfection—it’s one of progress. She may never be fully “tame,” but she is living proof of how patience can mend trust, how love can heal what fear has broken. She came to us as a bird hiding in the bottom of her cage, afraid of everything. Now, she’s a companion who greets us, cuddles on her terms, and fills our home with laughter.

She was supposed to be temporary. But Olive stole more than just crackers and fruit bites—she stole our hearts.