Birdy

the first time, Alfonso gives us a real going over. He’s trying to find out what the hell we actually are. After five minutes of this, he flies up on a near perch and scans us from a new angle. We don’t move. Finally, he gives a rusty peep. It sounds like a voice hailing a ship after spending twenty years on a desert island. It’s the most reluctant peep I’ve ever heard. You feel he wishes he could put it back into his beak almost as soon as he’s made it. Birdie and I peep back enthusiastically. We peep back and forth a few times but he gets tired of that, too. He flies over onto the top of his cage, hops down onto the sill, then hops into the cage. We wait. I knowhe’s testing me to see if I’ll jump up to close the door while he’s in there. I can’t see into the cage from where I am but I’m sure he’s in the back, waiting to spring out if I make a move toward the cage.
    He comes out again. I think about letting go of Birdie but I’m afraid. Mr Lincoln’s probably right. I don’t want to take any chances with Birdie. I wait until Alfonso’s on a perch away from the cage, then I carefully get up and put Birdie into the little cage. She gives me every kind of nasty peep she can muster but I turn around and go out of the aviary. I want to watch what Alfonso does when he thinks I’m not there.
    At first, all he does is enjoy the size of the aviary. He flies from one end to the other, twisting in mid-flight and catching himself at the end of each run. He flies straight up, trying to catch himself a high place under the bed springs. He does quite a few of his straight drops. He can really fly. He’s like a test pilot checking to see if all the mechanisms are still in order after a plane’s been grounded for a while.
    He goes down and splashes more seed around and eats a few. He washes his face off in the water cup but he doesn’t take a bath. He ruffles out his feathers and combs them down again; fast, nothing like the leisured preening of Birdie.
    Birdie in the meanwhile is practically hanging out of her cage trying to see him. I think she’s gotten the idea of my strategy. At least this way we can watch him do things.
    After a few more gymnastics and some more exploration he lands on top of Birdie’s cage. She queeps madly. He hops around and shits so he just misses her head. Then he jumps over the edge and slides down the bars on the front of the cage till he can look into the empty treat cup on her perch. Birdie hops near him and gives him a gracious peep; he gives her a half-hearted growl. She stands her ground and they stay like that, next to each other; Birdie queeping and he looking at her as if she’s in a zoo. He scrambles around the side of the cage to the regular food dish and Birdie hops down to join him. Just to be sociable she dips her head into the dish for a seed. Alfonso flies into a regular rage. He lets go, makes a flurry of wings, and screeches. He attacks the side of the cage.Birdie jumps away. She recovers and cowers at the other end of the cage. Stupid Alfonso keeps attacking for about five minutes. He flies back to the floor of the aviary, then attacks again. He hangs onto the door as if he’s trying to pull it open. I begin to think there, just for a minute, he might manage it. It’s a snap-swing hinge and I’m getting to the point where I’ll believe anything. I’m also beginning to think maybe I’ve made a mistake. He seems hopeless.
    Things go on the same way for a week. Birdie trying to be nice and Alfonso being a bastard. To give Birdie some exercise, I take her out of the aviary at night while I’m doing my home-work or working on my models, to let her fly around. She keeps flying to the wire of the aviary, trying to attract Alfonso’s attention. I’m coming along fine with my flying model. This one flies, but in a long down glide. The rubber-band motor doesn’t give enough flapping power for lift. I don’t know how much weight it could carry, not much. I have to get some calculations on the weight and density of birds.
    In the evenings, when I let her out to fly, I turn the light on in the aviary. Birdie keeps flying over and hanging onto the wire. She peeps and queeps until it’s embarrassing but Alfonso just ignores her. You’d think he didn’t like birds. He doesn’t seem to know what it is to be lonely, or even care.
    I’ve about decided to give up and take him back to Mr Lincoln when something happens. It’s a Friday night. I’m in bed