20 Years of Love: Help Honor Oliver's Final Journey

Our baby's first night in the hospital, ever.

I am SO sorry, I'll never forgive myself that this happened to you.

Dear Friends and Animal Lovers,

I am Robbie Blankenship. Together, Jesse Cruz and I have been proud dads to Oliver, our beautiful Cherry-headed Conure who graced our lives for 20 incredible years until tragedy struck.

Yesterday, our world came crashing down as we said goodbye to our baby. He has been our constant companion, and the pain of his loss is overwhelming.

On October 29th, while I went to help my 89-year-old dad with his voting ballot and run an errand, Jesse stepped outside to chat with our neighbors for just a few minutes. In that brief window, Oliver was attacked by a dog we have been fostering.

Jesse came inside to find Oliver ripped to shreds, limp on the floor with feathers scattered everywhere. He called me in a panic, screaming that the dogs had killed Oliver. I drove home frantically, terrified of what I would find.

When I arrived, I rushed inside, wrapped Oliver in a soft cloth, and took him to the nearest emergency veterinary hospital that has an Avian ER. Thankfully, he was still alive but seemed near death. We begged him to hold on as we made our way there.

At the hospital, they immediately took him back, cleaned him up, and started fluids and treatments, placing him in a heated oxygen tank.

We were devastated when the doctor informed us he might not make it. As they performed X-rays, we couldn't help but cry, fearing the worst.

Fortunately, they found no broken bones, which was a miracle given how badly he had been hurt. That evening, just before midnight, I received a call from the hospital to let me know Oliver was responding to treatments and becoming a bit more alert, though still not out of the woods.

The next morning, we visited him in the Intensive Care Unit. He looked so fragile—every tail feather gone, his wings nearly ripped off, and bruises covering his tiny body. The doctor assured us he was heavily medicated for pain, which gave us some comfort.

I couldn't stop thinking about his struggle to escape and no one was there to protect him.

We had never had any issues before this.

Later that day, the doctor proposed surgery to put one of his legs back in his hip socket, which had been completely dislocated. Though we knew the risks, we agreed.

Oliver made it through the surgery and it was initially successful, but the doctor warned that he would never regain full functionality of that leg. Although she was able to put his leg back in place, it immediately became dislocated. She wrapped his leg in a splint with the hope that it'd stay in place to heal. If that didn't work, he would need to have an 'IM' Pin implanted to secure it. It was a wait and see.

Moreover, he had a little blood in his urine, indicating potential kidney injury, with the doctor unsure of its severity.

The uncertainty of his condition was overwhelming, weighing so heavily on our hearts.

In just the first two days, the bills were already over two thousand dollars, but after 20 years of Oliver giving us so much love, asking for and giving kisses every day and never allowing a day to go by without it being filled with "I love yous," we couldn't give up on him.

The thought of allowing him to leave this world with his last memories being ones filled with terror and pain just wasn't an option.

We owed it to him to make every effort to make sure it didn't turn out that way.

As long as he had a chance to recover, we planned to bring Oliver home to be loved, pampered, and nursed back to health so he could live many more years, only to leave this world when it was his time, and peacefully.

On October 31st, we visited Oliver for the first time outside of the Intensive Care Unit.

We were able to visit him in a visiting room for an hour.

The nurse brought him into the room, still hooked up to fluids, and as soon as he saw us, his eyes lit up, he lifted his head high, and joyfully shouted, "I love you, I love you, I love you a whole lot," "Gimme a kiss," and "Apple, apple!" his favorite treat. Seeing him so happy gave us so much hope.

The veterinarian assured us that Oliver was "out of the woods" and set to be discharged the next day, Friday, November 1st.

She said she had not seen any more blood in his urine and that he appeared to be recovering well.

However, he would need the surgical pin to secure his leg, but he'd be just fine at home until Monday, the day she scheduled his surgery.

On Friday, November 1st, we arrived at 3:15 p.m., eager to bring Oliver home. They placed us in the same room we had just visited with him the day prior.

A medical tech came into the room and discussed his medications with us, how to dispense them, and how to care for him at home and went over the details of his surgery scheduled for Monday to place a pin that would hold his leg into the hip socket due to the initial surgery failing. Everything seemed great and we were ecstatic to be bringing Oliver home.

After finishing, the medical technician left the room to get Oliver for us, but returned to the room quickly to say, "our friend is having a seizure."

Turns out, as they prepared Oliver for discharge he had a seizure.

We were informed he had been given medication to try to prevent another seizure from occurring and that the doctor would be in to discuss everything with us.

We were crushed, crying and distraught to say the least. I begged to please let me see him, but the staff was adamant that I couldn't.

Just a couple of minutes later, the doctor came into the room to talk to us, but before she could finish her first sentence, she was rushed out of the room only to return to say, "he passed, I'm sorry."

In total shock, we asked what happened and were told he went into kidney failure.

That made no sense to us at all. When we arrived to pick him up less than an hour from this moment, the staff spoke glowingly of how far Oliver had come, sharing how he had been chatting non-stop and had a great appetite that very day.

How could it all change in under 30 minutes? I am doing everything I can to find answers, including requesting his complete medical records. I need to understand how this is possible. It just doesn't make sense.

Oliver was more than a pet; he was a huge part of our family for the last 20 years, a joyful spirit who told us every day "I love you" with the sincerest affection, always wanting kisses saying "gimme a kiss" and giving them in return. He brought so much joy and laughter into our home, we will never be the same without him.

Oliver's passing is a tragedy we will carry forever in our hearts.

Today, we humbly ask for your support. The medical expenses for Oliver's emergency care and surgery totaled $4,838.69, and the cost of giving him a respectful cremation and memorial is an additional $200. Your generosity would mean the world to us and would help ease the financial burden of these unforeseen expenses. Any contribution, no matter how small, would honor the beautiful spirit of our baby who gave us two decades of unconditional love and precious memories.

With heavy hearts and immense gratitude,

Robbie and Jesse