Free Flyaway by Suzie Gilbert

are little men,” she said to her wide-eyed audience. “They’re thousands of years old. Usually they live in lochs in Scotland, but we have one in our pond and his name is Donal MacLeod. If you make friends with him, he’ll tell you all the secrets of the universe. But he keeps his pearls at the bottom of the pond, and if you try to steal them he’ll appear as a giant black horse who is so beautiful you have to climb onto his back, and the second you do, WHAM! He’ll rear up into the air, screaming his rage, and then he’ll drag you down deeper and deeper into the pond until your lungs fill up with water and you drown! And then your hair will turn to seaweed and the crabs will eat out your eyes!”
    Skye was delighted, the kids were awestruck, but the mothers’ frozen smiles indicated that my Parent-o-Meter had once again fallen to zero.
    â€œAre you ready for the worms?” I said to the kids. “Mac, you get the fish tank and Skye, you get the food.”
    Mealworms need a healthy diet or they won’t do the birds any good, so they are fed a basic mixture of puppy chow, avian vitamins, and several other ingredients that vary according to each rehabilitator. Waxworms are kept refrigerated in the containers in which they arrive; they can go for so long without food that by the time they require it, they have normally already become a food source themselves. We set everything up on the table on the deck, then went to work.
    After the fish tank received two inches of mixed worm food, I opened a mealworm bag and slid the crumpled newspapers into the tank. Each time I unfolded a section hundreds of mealworms slid downward, coming to rest in a wiggling, squirming heap.
    â€œAaaaaggghhhhh!” shrieked the kids, shuddering gleefully and taking turns holding overflowing handfuls of worms.
    We opened a container of waxworms so we could scrutinize them, then picked up a few individuals and held them in our hands. Softer and more delicate than mealworms, the waxworms elicited a more restrained response: gentle pokes, followed by long, drawn-out hisses and violently contorted expressions.
    â€œWhat if Daddy eats them by mistake?” asked Skye, watching as I tucked the four light blue containers into the back of the refrigerator.
    â€œWe’ll have to warn him when he gets home,” I replied, chopping up a carrot and an apple and tossing the pieces into the fish tank. “Meanwhile, where should we put the mealworms?”
    â€œThey can stay in my room,” offered Mac.
    The doorbell rang. “That’s a friend of Maggie’s named Jen,” I said. “She’s bringing us two common grackles. Come on, we’ll just stick the tank in the dining room for the time being, and deal with it later.”
    Soon the three of us were walking out to the flight cage with our newest arrivals. I carried two cardboard boxes, while Mac and Skye toted food and water.
    â€œNow remember what we talked about,” I said when we were all inside. “Even though these guys are imprinted, they’re still wild birds.”
    â€œWild birds think of us as huge predators,” said Mac.
    â€œWe have to move very slowly and not stare at them,” said Skye.
    â€œThey’ll probably be awfully scared,” said Mac.
    â€œExactly,” I said, and opened the boxes. Two dark birds hopped out, surveyed the situation with startling yellow eyes, then one flew onto my arm and the other onto my head. I looked up to see the kids staring at me reproachfully.
    â€œThey don’t look very scared to me,” said Skye.
    The grackles were about two weeks apart in age, still dressed in the brownish black plumage of juveniles. They were clearly surprised to see each other,and equally surprised to find themselves in a 200-square-foot enclosure filled with trees and leafy branches. Within a few moments they were exploring their new surrounding, all the while keeping a