Birdy

I’m beginning to like it myself, jumping, not falling, but free falling as far as possible. I can already jump from eight feet without hurting myself.
    The first male to make the flight out of the nest definitely decides to do it. It’s the yellow one. He’s too careful to let himself fall and he’s almost too careful to fly. He spends a lot of time on the edge of the nest tottering. He flaps his wings madly there, standing high,and nothing happening. It doesn’t look as if he’s getting any more lift than I do with my arms. It’s like somebody thrashing their arms and legs about in the water when they don’t know how to swim. You have to feel that air has substance and can hold you up. It’s mostly a matter of confidence. This yellow male can’t seem to work up enough confidence in the air to shove off. I watch him for hours, days. I become that bird. I know I can feel what he’s thinking, when he almost gets himself to do it, when he backs off.
    By now, each of them looks almost like a real canary. Their tails are still short and the soft flesh around the corners of their beaks hasn’t hardened; they still have little fluff y antenna-like hairs sticking out over their eyes. Other than that they look like canaries, only half-size.
    This yellow male finally makes the decision. Still, after he’s committed, he tries to go back, but it’s too late, he flutters down in a half glide to the far corner of the breeding cage. He slips and has a hard time standing on the slippery newspaper and gravel in the bottom of the cage. He starts hopping after Alfonso for something to eat.
    Now, sometimes a male won’t feed the babies unless they’re in the nest, but Alfonso seems prepared to accept the inevitable. For the next while, he’ll be the prime parent for the baby birds. He feeds both of the escapees, the new yellow male and the yellow female who’s been out for a day. It’s while he’s feeding these two that the dark male, out of pure greed, having nothing to do with flight or wanting to escape from the nest, comes flying down with a bump near Alfonso and starts begging to be fed. Here he’s made one of the most important moves of his life, his first flight, and all he can think of is food. He couldn’t stand to be up there in the nest while feeding was going on down on the floor. It’s easy to miss the important things in life.
    The last one, the spotted one, jumps later the same day. He’s a really timid one. He climbs out of the nest onto the perch and only winds up on the bottom because he can’t balance himself.
    They all huddle on the floor in a corner, trying to recapture the warmth and security of the nest. Whenever Alfonso comes intothe cage, they chase after him and practically hound him to death with a continuous feed-me pleading. Alfonso’s very good with them and ferries food back and forth. I feel sorry for him and put a good supply of egg food in the bottom of the breeding cage.
    Now is the time I’ve been waiting for. I want to watch carefully to see how the babies learn to fly. At this point, they haven’t flown much more than I have.
    I watch them do all kinds of feather cleaning and wing stretching. They’re still so unsure of their footing they’ll almost fall over when they try to stretch a wing with a foot. They still can’t sleep on one foot.
    They’ve been getting a good deal of wing exercise during the feeding process. Probably without realizing it, this flapping of wings while being fed is flight preparation. I can’t see any other function for it except to attract the attention of the mother or father bird. They’re flapping those stumps long before there are any feathers on them. I determine to flap my arms at least an hour every day. It seems as good a place to start as any. It’s where birds start. I flap for ten minutes that first night when the babies are out of the nest and I can’t go on. In the morning my shoulder muscles are so stiff I can barely lift my arms. My chest muscles are so sore I can’t touch them.
    The first flights they make are up onto the lowest perch by the feed dish and water cup. It’s about the same kind of jump if I were to jump up onto a table. These baby birds are already trying to separate themselves from the ground. They seem to know that their place is in the air. At night, they struggle to get up onto that first little perch and somehow balance themselves. When you see their courage and determination, it’s easy to know why