My symptoms were getting worse. I had this ominous feeling that there was something seriously wrong and wondered how long I could dodge the proverbial bullet. I dug in my heels and decided once more that the doctors didn't know any better than I; after all, all that separated them from me was four years of medical school. Alright, an undergraduate degree, too, if you insist on being a stickler for details. In the World Acccording to Me, there was no correlation between my birds and my breathing woes. So, naturally, just to prove them wrong I did the only logical thing: I got another bird. 
I was looking for a birdcage on Craig's List when I found someone on Long Island selling one complete with bird! They wanted 50 bucks for an almost new cage with a lineolated parakeet included. The bird alone is usually a few hundred dollars. C'mon, how could I refuse? They had bought him for their snotnosed little three year old (come on...who buys a bird for a three year old?) who was thrilled with him for about 3 minutes. I almost felt an obligation to buy him. Anyway, they had named him Forrest and I took him home and was sorry I did almost immediately. I don't know what that toddler terror did to this poor bird, but suffice it to say he was not at all interested in human contact. I couldn't get anywhere near him. He didn't bite; all he did was run to the other end of his cage and cower when I'd put my hand in, or even when I just approached. He was, in a word, petrified. So I now had 4 birds in a studio apartment. That woulda been enough to make anyone sick.
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