Flying Lessons

At thirteen days into his recovery, Friend made a circuit of the bedroom in three stages, the greatest of which took him from the bed to a handmade wooden music stand which was stored atop the crafts cupboards. The peak of the music stand was within inches of the ceiling, the distance of the flight approximately six feet. If I had been afraid that I couldn't recapture him, I need not have worried. Too high for me to reach without standing on a chair, I simply offered him his familiar branch. He stepped onto it like a parrot would step onto a stick and allowed me to lower him into the box. He let the wing hang at his side, but not as deeply as before. His first real physical therapy had begun.

It was at this point that I saw what I had not seen before. Because he was now perched above me, I could observe the underside of his elbow. Although the skin was regrowing nicely over them, the shattered ends of bones were visible. I found it hard to believe that he was capable of flight, but there he was, going through his paces like a trooper, flexing the joint, stretching tendons and ligaments which had been unused for almost two weeks.

And every day was now filled with the sound of his chirps, especially when he was perched somewhere in the room. He'd dance his dance, talking all the while as if calling to his flock, waiting for their reply. He needed to rejoin them as soon as he was able.