The Complete Collection. William Wharton

they’re inside I give them treat food. I do this several times.

      Next, instead of taking them out the usual door and carrying them on my fingers, I pull back the dangling wires so the opening is free, then stand outside the aviary where they can see me, put my finger on the landing board, and whistle. They quickly learn to fly out the door onto my finger. As they come out I give each of them a toss into the air. We practice this several times until it’s automatic. After that I can stand outside the door, whistle, and they come out. It isn’t long before they come out when I pull aside the wires on the door. They can now go outside of the cage to fly on their own whenever I make it possible by clearing the opening.

      I regularly reinforce their coming to me with the whistle and then throwing them up again. I try changing the whistle for each bird, so I’ll have a way to call in a particular bird, but they’re spoiled with the one whistle. You can’t ask too much of a canary. Once, I cut one of the dead birds open in biology class and saw how little the brain is; in fact, the eyes of a canary weigh more than its brain. I can’t ask them to learn too many complicated things.

      It takes a long time for the birds to get used to flying into the aviary on their own. First, I put treat food inside the door and whistle them in. I also put them on the landing board, but they don’t want to push aside the wires. I think canaries are more sensitive to touch than pigeons. I begin leaving the wires pulled back and then they go in for the treat food. Finally, one at a time, they get the courage to push aside the wires to go in on their own. It’s done. They can practically live the life of a free-flying pigeon. They’ve become amazingly quick and agile fliers so that, even after three hundred generations living in cages, I’m not much worried about cats or hawks.

      In my dream one night, I look up and see the opening; the wires are pulled back. I fly onto the edge of the opening and hop out onto the landing platform. The dream of my dream is coming true. I’m going to fly free.

      I fly up onto the top of the aviary. I hop along the roof edge, look down at the ground, then across the yard to the roof of our house. It’s a beautiful day, the spring leaves are open, there are huge, soft, white clouds drifting in the sky. I spring. I loopswing through the air, feeling the fullness of the wind in the pits of my wings. I look down and the yard gets smaller. I circle once, then land on the rain gutter. The world is bigger and smaller at the same time. Bigger because I can see farther, and smaller because I’m looking down on it and know it’s mine, more than ever before.

      I fly from the roof almost straight up; straight as I can, not flying to anywhere, just feeling the sky. Then, I fold my wings and let myself drop until my feathers begin to flutter in the wind. I open my wings, catch myself, and fly straight up again, stalling, looping a long lingering loop. I look down.

      Below is my yard, all in one piece. I can see all of it without turning my head. I can see the whole baseball field and out along Church Lane to the cemetery. I’m directly over the tree in the corner of our yard. I come down in slow circles looking for a branch on which to land. I find one just on the yard side of the top of the tree. I land and fluff out my feathers. I feel all together. I feel like me to the very tips of myself.

      I look over to the aviary. Perta is coming out, standing on the landing board. On top of the aviary are two of my sons and one of my daughters. I think of peeping to tell them where I am but decide to sing. I start to sing in the sunshine and my song goes out into the blue air. I have a sense of drifting into the sky with my notes. I feel I’m a part of everything my song touches. While I’m singing, Perta flies up, and joins me on the branch. She feels what I’m feeling and asks me to feed her. I feed her and sing some more, then feed her again. I fly up over her and in. It’s more than it ever was before. I spring away and fly small circles over Perta. I sing while I’m flying. I’m forgetting I’m Birdy; I’m a real bird and it isn’t a dream.

      I fly all through the night and can go everywhere my birds have gone in the day. There are other places I want to fly to, like over the gas tank or to the mill pond, or down where we used to have the pigeon coop in the tree, but I can’t do it.

      In the days, I think about flying all the time. It’s all so real in the dream that the things I do in the day are harder and harder to believe.

      It’s time to start breeding for the new year. I clean out all the cages and get them in shape. I’ve already decided who the breeding pairs will be and I’ve been giving them egg food and dandelion to get them in breeding condition. When I put the breeding birds in the cage, I’ll take out the dividing floor and use the whole flight cage for my family.

      Early in April, I put the breeding pairs together. In the dream that night, Perta and I fly to the edges of the places we can go. We chase each other in the air and sometimes brush wings as we come close. I’m tempted to turn over in the air like a tumbler pigeon, but a canary can’t do that.

      Perta says she doesn’t want to build our nest in the aviary; she wants to build it in the tree. It’s my dream so I thought this up, but I’m surprised in the dream. If Perta builds her nest in the tree in the dream, will it be there in the daytime, too?

      The next day I’m busy feeding and watering the birds in the breeding cages and watching to see how the mating is proceeding. More than half the pairs have mated before, so they should get started quickly enough.

      I’ve already opened the door to my flying family and they’re out flying in the open. After I’m finished with the breeding cages, and before I go in for dinner, I whistle for them to come back into the cage. Everybody comes in but Perta. I’d trained her later than the others so I whistle again. She comes to the landing board and when I put out my finger she comes onto it. She has something in her mouth; it’s a piece of dry grass.

      That night, Perta and I search all over the tree for a right meeting of branches where we can build our nest. I think about climbing the tree in the day and putting a nest holder up there for us, but decide against it.

      The next afternoon, Perta doesn’t come when I call. I know she’s building a nest outside somewhere. This is another thing that began in the dream and now is happening in the day. I put some seed and water on the roof of the aviary where she’ll be safe from cats, and hope for the best.

      Perta and I spend many hours building the nest. It’s much harder without a container and without shredded burlap. We gather pieces of dried grass and bits of wood from every direction. There’s an old straw chair in the garage my father made years ago, before I was born. We tear out pieces and shred it to line the nest. It’s a beautiful construction. I can only do what Perta tells me and her instincts are coming on strong. We get it finished two days before the first egg comes.

      It’s a terrific nest. I fly to different branches so I can look down on it. The place we chose can’t be seen from the air, or from the ground either. No hawk or cat would ever even know it’s there. Perta lays her usual four eggs and she’s very happy. I sing to her from different parts of the tree and go down to the seed and water on top of the aviary to get food for her.

      In the daytime I find immediately where Perta has built her nest. It’s exactly where we’ve built our nest in the dream. Perta could have fertile eggs this time, fertilized by one of the young from her last year’s nest. I hope Perta’s eggs will be fertile. Some of the other fliers are beginning to build nests, too. Most of them, like pigeons, are building in the security of the flight cage. One, like Perta, is building outside. It’s the little yellow one, the one I first took out. She’s building in the tree overhanging the roof of our house. Because of cats, this worries me. I don’t know whether I should try to move the nest or not. I decide to leave it alone and hope for the best.

      – I’ve got to learn to live with myself the way I am. The trouble is there are whole parts of me I don’t know. All my life, I’ve been building a personal picture of myself like body building in Strength and Health. Only I didn’t build from the inside, I built from the outside, to protect myself against things.

      Now, a big part of this crazy structure is torn apart. I have to start all over, looking inside to find what’s really there. I don’t know if I can do it. I’ll probably wind up putting together the old Al with some pieces missing