The Story of the Urn: For Squid

Some urn stories are about long lives, deep connections, and decades of memories. Others are smaller, shorter—but no less meaningful. This is the story of Squid.
​
Squid was a budgerigar. Not just any budgie—he was dazzling. His feathers shimmered with turquoise, deep indigos, navy, aqua, and warm greens, all crowned with a golden head and wings that seemed to glow in the sun. A living jewel with a sparkle in his eye.

---

​He was brought into a vet clinic in Sydney after being attacked by a gang of noisy miners. A compassionate stranger had rescued him, and his next chapter began with the family of the Vetinarian who treated him.
The vet’s youngest son, took to calm, gentle Squid straight away. And Squid? Well, he simply won them all over. He sat quietly in their hands, nestled into necks, and let himself be kissed like he’d been doing it his whole life. He was missing feathers at the tail and neck from the attack, but as they started to regrow, he seemed to relish every head scratch and cuddle. He’d nuzzle in, eyes soft, and fall asleep on warm chests and bellies like he’d finally found home.

During the day he took great pleasure in chirping at the wild birds while he sat on the kitchen window sil. Every night after dinner, Squid would join the family on the couch. A proper part of the crew. He’d perch quietly for their evening TV series, soaking up the cuddles.

No one really remembers how he got his name. “Squid” doesn’t make much sense on paper, but it suited him—cheeky, curious, and utterly unique. It just suited him.

And then things changed.

They noticed a lump in his crop and it quickly became clear something wasn’t right. Still, no one was willing to give up on him. They called in a bird specialist, hoping it might be something operable. Maybe a blockage, maybe a fixable little thing. They tried.

But it wasn’t fixable.
​
The mass was a tumour. Inoperable. Kind hands and hopeful hearts had done everything they could. So they made the hardest choice—the kind that comes from love. They let him go gently, wrapped in warmth and care, surrounded by the people who had come to love him so deeply in just 11 short days.

And that’s where I came in.

I was asked to make a tiny urn. A resting place for a tiny creature who’d left behind an enormous hole in everyone’s heart. We chose a photo of him showing his cheeky side and designed the urn around that with the picture adorning the lid.

Sometimes, the urns I make are for beloved dogs, wise old cats, or cherished humans with long stories. And sometimes, they’re for a little bird named Squid who, in less than two weeks, managed to wiggle his way into the hearts of an entire family.

It’s not about how long you have. It’s about how loved you are.
And Squid? He was deeply, impossibly loved.
​
Fly high, sweet boy.

---

​Author
Rae Delai is an Australian small business owner of White Lily Urns and specializes in custom artisan ceramic funerary art. She has 30 plus years experience as a critical care and palliative care nurse which means she is very comfortable discussing all aspects of death, dying and grief.