Birdy

way.
     
    All the free flying, so far, has depended on me, Birdy, the boy. I’m the one who takes the birds out on my finger to fly. However, in my dream, it’s impossible to contact myself as boy. I can see myself, but I can’t get my attention and so I don’t exist. Therefore, there’s no way for me to be whistled to or be taken out. In my dream there’s no other way to get out of the aviary. I can’t just wish myself out; it isn’t enough.
    I work out a new idea. I design a pigeon-type outside door entry to the cage. I do this with thin wires hanging freely from the top of an outside opening, overlapping the inside of the cage. I build a landing board just outside the opening. This way a bird can land on the board outside and go into the aviary by pushing aside the wires. He then can’t go outside again because the dangling wires will have fallen back into place. The question is, can I train my birds to use this kind of an entrance?
    When I get it finished I take the birds out of the aviary the same as usual, throwing them up to fly. When I want them back in the aviary, I stick my hand through their cage and out the opening so it rests on the landing board. I whistle. One at a time the birds come and land on my finger. I pull them through the door into the cage. When they’re inside I give them treat food. I do this several times.
    Next, instead of taking them out the usual door and carrying them on my fingers, I pull back the dangling wires so the opening is free, then stand outside the aviary where they can see me, put my finger on the landing board, and whistle. They quickly learn to fly out the door onto my finger. As they come out I give each ofthem a toss into the air. We practice this several times until it’s automatic. After that I can stand outside the door, whistle, and they come out. It isn’t long before they come out when I pull aside the wires on the door. They can now go outside of the cage to fly on their own whenever I make it possible by clearing the opening.
    I regularly reinforce their coming to me with the whistle and then throwing them up again. I try changing the whistle for each bird, so I’ll have a way to call in a particular bird, but they’re spoiled with the one whistle. You can’t ask too much of a canary. Once, I cut one of the dead birds open in biology class and saw how little the brain is; in fact, the eyes of a canary weigh more than its brain. I can’t ask them to learn too many complicated things.
    It takes a long time for the birds to get used to flying into the aviary on their own. First, I put treat food inside the door and whistle them in. I also put them on the landing board, but they don’t want to push aside the wires. I think canaries are more sensitive to touch than pigeons. I begin leaving the wires pulled back and then they go in for the treat food. Finally, one at a time, they get the courage to push aside the wires to go in on their own. It’s done. They can practically live the life of a free-flying pigeon. They’ve become amazingly quick and agile fliers so that, even after three hundred generations living in cages, I’m not much worried about cats or hawks.
    In my dream one night, I look up and see the opening; the wires are pulled back. I fly onto the edge of the opening and hop out onto the landing platform. The dream of my dream is coming true. I’m going to fly free.
    I fly up onto the top of the aviary. I hop along the roof edge, look down at the ground, then across the yard to the roof of our house. It’s a beautiful day, the spring leaves are open, there are huge, soft, white clouds drifting in the sky. I spring. I loopswing through the air, feeling the fullness of the wind in the pits of my wings. I look down and the yard gets smaller. I circle once, then land on the rain gutter. The world is bigger and smaller at the same time. Bigger because I can see farther, and smaller because I’m looking down on it and know it’s mine, more than ever before.
    I fly from the roof almost straight up; straight as I can, not flyingto anywhere, just feeling the sky. Then, I fold my wings and let myself drop until my feathers begin to flutter in the wind. I open my wings, catch myself, and fly straight up again, stalling, looping a long lingering loop. I look down.
    Below is my yard, all in one piece. I can see all of it without turning my head. I can see the whole baseball field and out along Church Lane to the cemetery. I’m directly over the