My daughter loves to visit various pet shops. We go in and she marvels at not just the different animals but also all of their gear. Sometimes she even wants to take a puppy toy home much more than a puppy itself—but usually it’s the canine that she’s crying for when we finally leave.

I’m not much of a fan of pet shops. They always have a sad vibe to them for me. But I figure it’s cheaper and closer than the zoo, she gets to see a few critters, and I can keep a wary eye open for anything worth reporting.

But it’s when we go back to where the birds are kept that I start to really get sick to my stomach. It’s gotten to the point to where my husband will walk around the birds with my daughter, and she always asks, “Is mommy coming too?”

“No, sweetie, mommy’s not coming,” he always tells her. “Mommy doesn’t like to see birds in cages.”

I sure don’t. Like the grief that stifles my throat when I see elephants or bears at the zoo acting agitated and unnatural, I can’t stand to see birds caged. No matter how many times friends and family members have tried to tell me that it’s all good, that the birds can fly around your home (which, they say, is good enough), that they’re generally good, happy pets… I can’t accept caging one for my own personal pleasure.

I know if I had wings, I’d want to use them. I’d want to do that every single day! There’s no way I’d want to be confined to a cage, let out at some person’s random pleasure only to be forced back in, given a false sense of day and night, living without the wind ruffling my feathers.

My husband has gotten over the fact that we’ll never have a pet bird in our home (so far). He grew up with them in his house and, though they were smelly, messy and not that well cared for by his parents, I can see how he’d miss them. I miss having a dog sometimes, too, but we’ve compromised with our family cats, animals that we both love and enjoy.

I would never clip my cat’s claws for my own benefit (though we had one wild feline that needed that after he killed another pet in a rare circumstance) when he’s meant to pounce and catch things; why would I clip a bird’s wings—or even muzzle him with a birdcage—when he’s meant to fly?

Are there any bird lovers out there who feel differently? Do you own a bird? Why or why not?