better’ card. I wrapped it up neatly and then waited for an opportunity to give it to Dad. Now that he was back on the pills he was more stable, but still things were not good between us. We had hardly spoken to each other all summer. While there had been no mention of Bigmouth or the fight over her, the issue was always there, hanging in the background.
Eventually I plucked up enough courage to give him the gift after dinner one night.
He looked at me strangely for a while and then smiled. ‘Thank you Ben. This is a great idea. I’ll get the pills and we’ll fill it up now.’ As he passed my chair, he gave my hair a quick rub. It was only a small thing, but it meant a lot to me: it was the first sign of affection in two years. Before the illness he was always messing up my hair and giving me hugs.Soon after he got ill, I had once tried to hug him only to be pushed away. I hadn’t tried it again since.
During the summer, Bigmouth changed from an ugly, black-pimpled blob into a graceful, shiny-green beauty. Some parts of the change caught me by surprise. The growth of feathers had been so gradual that I was unprepared for her first flight. By then she was eating ten or so worms each meal and I was supplementing her diet with other insects. I found that she liked crickets and cicadas, so long as I pulled the wings off first.
One day I was trying her on moths. She showed very little interest until one escaped. Then she jumped into the air after it. Instead of falling back to my desk she continued flying across the room and out through the ranchslider. By the time I got to her, she had crashed into a concrete retaining wall. I quickly scooped her up and returned her to the safety of my room.
She flew every day after that. At first I made sure the windows and doors were shut. I was reluctant to let her out, as I might never see her again. Still, it had to happen sometime, so in preparation for the big day I made a metal leg band.
The message on the band was simple:
[email protected]
This was my email address, punched into the metal with a hammer and nail. If something happened to her, then maybe I would hear about it.
I need not have worried about her flying away, as she was too much of a greedy-guts to go long without food. I had a bird table outside my room where I fed birds in winter. Bigmouth would sit on this table, flapping her wings and crying as ifshe was about to die. Feeding her didn’t shut her up for long, though—she seemed to have a bottomless crop.
One day, I was working on my computer trying to ignore her, when her crying changed from demanding to feeding. I swivelled around and saw her being fed by a cock sparrow. She gulped down what he had to offer and then started screaming for more. The sparrow took off and a while later returned with a beakful of spiders. This was repeated three more times before she was satisfied and the sparrow flew away, presumably to start feeding his own chicks.
It happened several times after that. I thought I was observing something new until I did some research and found that it was common, and not just with sparrows: waxeyes, warblers, fantails and even tui will feed young cuckoo. It seems that the cry of the shining cuckoo is just the right sound to get the sympathy of other birds. That’s something I will look at when I become a scientist, as it could be useful in rearing endangered birds.
She was also incredibly inquisitive. Anything new in the garden would set her off—a pile of weeds or just a new flower. She’d do a dancing sort of flight and give a high-pitched call that was difficult to ignore. The only way to shut her up was to go and look at what she had discovered. Then she was quite happy and the noise would stop.
Over that time she began to feed herself, moving away from the house to look for food. Still, each evening she would return to my room to sleep. Then, one night, she didn’t return. I waited outside until it was so dark I couldn’t see. I
Eventually I plucked up enough courage to give him the gift after dinner one night.
He looked at me strangely for a while and then smiled. ‘Thank you Ben. This is a great idea. I’ll get the pills and we’ll fill it up now.’ As he passed my chair, he gave my hair a quick rub. It was only a small thing, but it meant a lot to me: it was the first sign of affection in two years. Before the illness he was always messing up my hair and giving me hugs.Soon after he got ill, I had once tried to hug him only to be pushed away. I hadn’t tried it again since.
During the summer, Bigmouth changed from an ugly, black-pimpled blob into a graceful, shiny-green beauty. Some parts of the change caught me by surprise. The growth of feathers had been so gradual that I was unprepared for her first flight. By then she was eating ten or so worms each meal and I was supplementing her diet with other insects. I found that she liked crickets and cicadas, so long as I pulled the wings off first.
One day I was trying her on moths. She showed very little interest until one escaped. Then she jumped into the air after it. Instead of falling back to my desk she continued flying across the room and out through the ranchslider. By the time I got to her, she had crashed into a concrete retaining wall. I quickly scooped her up and returned her to the safety of my room.
She flew every day after that. At first I made sure the windows and doors were shut. I was reluctant to let her out, as I might never see her again. Still, it had to happen sometime, so in preparation for the big day I made a metal leg band.
The message on the band was simple:
[email protected]
This was my email address, punched into the metal with a hammer and nail. If something happened to her, then maybe I would hear about it.
I need not have worried about her flying away, as she was too much of a greedy-guts to go long without food. I had a bird table outside my room where I fed birds in winter. Bigmouth would sit on this table, flapping her wings and crying as ifshe was about to die. Feeding her didn’t shut her up for long, though—she seemed to have a bottomless crop.
One day, I was working on my computer trying to ignore her, when her crying changed from demanding to feeding. I swivelled around and saw her being fed by a cock sparrow. She gulped down what he had to offer and then started screaming for more. The sparrow took off and a while later returned with a beakful of spiders. This was repeated three more times before she was satisfied and the sparrow flew away, presumably to start feeding his own chicks.
It happened several times after that. I thought I was observing something new until I did some research and found that it was common, and not just with sparrows: waxeyes, warblers, fantails and even tui will feed young cuckoo. It seems that the cry of the shining cuckoo is just the right sound to get the sympathy of other birds. That’s something I will look at when I become a scientist, as it could be useful in rearing endangered birds.
She was also incredibly inquisitive. Anything new in the garden would set her off—a pile of weeds or just a new flower. She’d do a dancing sort of flight and give a high-pitched call that was difficult to ignore. The only way to shut her up was to go and look at what she had discovered. Then she was quite happy and the noise would stop.
Over that time she began to feed herself, moving away from the house to look for food. Still, each evening she would return to my room to sleep. Then, one night, she didn’t return. I waited outside until it was so dark I couldn’t see. I
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