Birdy

noises. The book says sudden noises or shocks can stop the development of the embryo, or frighten the female so she’ll abandon the nest. I put little rubber bumpers on the door to my room so there’s no danger of it slamming. I make a sign and put it on my door saying QUIET PLEASE . My mother is working up a mad and is about to explode. Luckily I bring home a good report card just then, good for me, that is; still she mumbles away about smells and mice. I’m afraid she’ll walk in and open the window or the aviary door, or both. I don’t know why she’s like that.
    Alfonso gets to sitting right beside Birdie on the nest. He feeds her and she feeds him. It’s hard to believe he’s the same bird. He’s almost friendly with me, just so long as I don’t get too close to the nest.
    I go see Mr Lincoln one Saturday to visit his family and get some ideas about what to do next. I tell Mr Lincoln about Alfonso and he shakes his head and says I must have a way with birds. He says to watch out Birdie doesn’t sit too tightly and get the sweats. Sometimes a young hen will get so nervous and anxious about her eggs she’ll generate too much heat in her brooding and start sweating. This uses up her energy and makes her nervous and she’s liable to accidentally spike an egg with a claw or even abandon the nest. He says I should stop feeding them egg food or treat food or any kind of greens, especially no dandelion. I shouldn’t give any more until the day the eggs are to hatch. This way they won’t get their blood all enrichened up. Mr Lincoln should write his own book about birds. He’s better than any book.
    On the twelfth day, Birdie comes off the nest and takes a bath in the drinking dish. It seems like such a crazy thing to do, I’m sure she’s abandoning the nest at the last minute. Even though it’s a school night, I pedal over to Mr Lincoln’s. He laughs and says Birdie is a smart bird. He says sometimes a female is like that, and either by counting or feeling the little ones moving inside the egg, she knows they’re about ready to hatch and she’ll come out to bathe and then go back on the nest while she’s still damp. The water softens the shells so the babies can work themselves out easier.
    I don’t get back home till after seven o’clock, and I’ve missed dinner. My mother’s mad and my father’s quiet. My parents are strict about my not being out in the dark on school days. I say I’ve gone to ask Mr Lincoln about the birds. It would be a sad scene if they ever find out Mr Lincoln is black. My parents are peculiar that way.
    The fourteenth morning is a Saturday, so I can listen and watch all day. I’m still in bed and just awake when I hear the tiny peep-peep of the first bird being born. I already have egg and pablum in the cage. I get down from the bed carefully and look in the aviary. Alfonso is getting some egg food. Birdie is sitting tight on the nest. I can see into the floor of the cage and there’s an eggshell. In about an hour, a second bird is born. I watch Birdie reach under her breast and help it. She pulls the shell out and drops it on the floor. I can’t tell if she’s feeding the babies or not. I have to go down to breakfast, and when I get back, another one is hatched. I can’t tell if it’s one or two more. The tiny peep-peep-peep-peeps overlap so I can’t be sure.
    I watch all day and Birdie isn’t feeding. I begin to worry. As I said, canaries are like human beings; they’re not in a natural state so they do some stupid things. Besides eating the eggs, sometimes they won’t sit on them or won’t feed the babies when they’re born. Sometimes the babies will be born and the female will be so frightened she’ll jump off the nest and won’t go near it. Nice smooth eggs are all right but wiggling baby birds are too much. It isn’t because a bird like that is mean or anything, it just doesn’t know or remember what to do. Some human mothers and fathers abandon the nest, too, for the same kinds of reasons.
    At about three o’clock in the afternoon, Birdie gets off the nest and flies down to eat. Alfonso flies up. He stands over the nest looking in, then reaches his head into the nest. I’m afraid he might be going to throw the babies out; this happens sometimes, too. Then I see him lift up his head to bring more food from his craw and I know he’s feeding them. I’m so excited I want to run around the room. When Birdie comes back, he’s still doing it. I