Birdy

to pretend we’re men and trying not to vomit all over the place. The stink, the flies,and now grinding up the dogs; we’re earning our dollar an hour. Joe motions us to help him put the dogs in; he steps back and rubs his hands together.
    We grab hold of the dogs. The best way is to lower them in by the tail. The sound of the grinding is grisly. We get it done somehow. Birdy and I are glad to climb into the front seat of the wagon while Joe talks with some of the men standing around. We’re never going to make it as men in this world. The seats are plastic and hot. Birdy says if we can get used to this we can get used to anything. That’s after I tell him we’ll get used to it.
    We’re just about getting our stomachs settled when Joe comes over and invites us into the shed to watch how it’s all done. He sees our faces and starts laughing. He slides into the wagon; we climb out onto the back, and take off.
    While we’re cleaning the wagon that afternoon, I ask Joe what they do with all the meat they grind up in the grinder. Joe says they make dog food with it.

The days pass; Birdie and I try everything. I sit for hours with treat food in the dish. So long as I stay near it, Alfonso hovers in the back of his cage raising the front edges of his wings and opening his beak in a threatening growl. As soon as I go away he comes over and eats. It’s hard to believe he’s the same species as Birdie. Birdie becomes more and more fascinated by him as he remains hostile to us. She lands on top of his cage to watch him and queeps, peeps, trills; everything she can come up with. The only answer is a sudden lunge when he thinks she’s not paying attention.
    I decide that maybe if I try starving him for a day, then offer him food, he’ll be more cooperative. No; he just acts meaner than usual. I try two days without food. Nothing. You just can’t keep food away from a canary for three days. I try giving him special tidbits like bits of apple or celery top or a dandelion leaf but it doesn’t matter. He’ll eat it only when I’ve removed myself to a distance. He’ll eat it, keeping an eye on me every minute, as if he expects me to charge up and take it back. He most definitely is the mad bird.
    St Valentine’s Day comes. It’s the traditional day for beginning to breed birds if they’re going to be kept inside, but Alfonso stays mean, and keeps apart from us. I give both Birdie and Alfonso a big leaf of dandelion that day. It’s supposed to get them all hot for breeding. Mr Lincoln told me that. He also told me it’s French and means ‘lion’s tooth’. That’s the kind of thing I like to know. He told me not to eat any dandelion leaves or flowers myself or I’d get all hot and bothered and maybe wet the bed. He said the French alsocall dandelion ‘pissenlit’, which means ‘piss in the bed’. Urinate is the way Mr Lincoln said it. He must be the smartest man I’ve ever met.
    I’m dying to get Alfonso out so I can watch him fly. One afternoon, I can’t wait any longer. I open the door to his cage, then go back to my corner in the aviary. It doesn’t take him long to figure out the door is open. In about five seconds he’s on the door sill looking around. He’s awfully suspicious and looks over to where I am. Just to be safe, I hold Birdie in my hand. Finally, he decides to take a chance, and shoots out like a dart for the highest perch across the aviary. He wipes his beak all over the perch; showing it’s his and maybe smelling Birdie out. He looks down at me. The way he looks down, with his pointed head, thin body, and long legs he makes me tense up a bit. Then he pulls one of his wings-folded sky-dives down to the food dish and water cup. He stomps all around, looking for traps I guess, then eats and drinks. He’s an incredibly messy slob; scattering seeds over the floor before he finds a seed he’ll accept. After he’s eaten, he starts hopping over in our direction, like he’s preparing to charge. Birdie makes a few queeps and I make some myself. He cocks his head from side to side trying to get a good look at us. Up till now, he’s usually looked at us straight on, more or less just to see if we were going to make any fast moves or try to get behind him. He doesn’t care about us individually; we’re just a vague danger he wants to be ready for. That’s the way it is. If you only look out for yourself you’re a lot safer. You’re vulnerable when you let yourself go out.
    So, for