I was perched on the boy’s shoulder as he walked down what he called a hallway when his mom stepped out of a doorway ahead of us. The house has a three-bedroom plan with one and one-half baths, living room, kitchen, dining room, and a small laundry room. The boy’s room is across from the kitchen, which is where his mom came from.
Not noticing me at first, she asked the boy to take out the trash. “Hey, Fred!” she exclaimed. “What in the world is that on your shoulder?”
“Oh! This is Birdie.”
“Birdie? Where did it come from?”
“I caught him in the backyard,” Fred replied. “He’s like no other bird I’ve ever seen; smart, understanding, and knowledgeable.”
I chirped ever so softly my approval of what Fred had said about me and preened with delight because he was coming to understand me more.
“Well. You just make sure you clean up behind—Birdie—or I will make you release him,” his mom replied, her eyes narrowing with scepticism.
I clapped my winds and flared my tail, offended by the implication that I would be anything less than a perfect bird.
Mom didn’t believe in knowledgable birds. But she was about to be proven wrong. Later that evening, she sat at the kitchen table, huffing in frustration over a stack of bills and a calculator that seemed to be giving her bad news. Fred was busy doing his homework across from her, and I was perched on the back of his chair watching the numbers over his shoulder.
Mom was trying to balance her checkbook. She kept rubbing her temples. “Fred! I can’t find where the twenty dollars went,” she sighed. “I added this up like four times.” I saw the problem instantly. She had kept the receipt under her coffee mug. I hopped onto the table, skittering across the surface. “Birdie! Get back!” she exclaimed. I didn’t budge. Instead I used my beak to tug at the corner of the hidden receipt until it slid out. Then I tapped my beak three times on it. The kitchen went silent. Mom looked at the receipt, then her calculator, then at me. “Fred!” she whispered. “Did Birdie just—find my mis—take?” her voice trailed off.
Fred grinned, not looking up from his notebook. “I told you, Mom. He’s not just a bird.”
Mom looked at me for a long time. Finally she reached out with a finger and gently stroked the top of my head. It felt good. “Well then. I suppose a bird of your intellect doesn’t need to worry about being released. But you still aren’t allowed on the stove,” she said with a smile.
Rayh! I gave a sharp, dignified chirp to that while nodding my head. As the moment settled, I turned my head toward the back door, gazing at the sun and imagining the euphoric feeling of it hitting my wings. A shadow moved outside. It was low, slow, and familiar. That mean ole cat, Mister! With eyes locked on mine through the glass, unblinking, patient, and waiting. I didn’t flinch, didn’t chirp. Fred noticed and followed my gaze. “Don’t worry, he’s not allowed in while you are out of the cage.”
Good. Wrant! I gave a slow, low and controlled chirp. Mister flicked his tail and adjusted his stance, studying us. I had bigger things to do than worry about that mean ole cat. Fred wasn’t fully trained yet to let me outside. And my hometree was still waiting. I didn’t just need a student, I needed an ally. That way, getting back to my hometree wouldn’t be an escape; it would be a return, having an ally to boot.
