The Fledgling

“I call out, ‘Dog, Dog,” for I had no other name for him.

I ran toward the house, calling it. He was inside. He was just getting to his feet, stretching himself and yawning. He looked first at the fish I carried and then at me and moved his tail.

That night I stayed in the house. Before I fell asleep I thought of a name for him, for I could not call him Dog. The name I thought of was Rontu, which means in our language Fox Eyes.”

–Island of the Blue Dolphins, Scott O’Dell

---

A low squawking sound was coming from the wooden steps leading up to one of the bungalows next to the playing field. Diana was on her way back inside in after a sudden spring downpour brought P.E. to an abrupt end. Everyone else was busy covering their hair and running for the locker rooms but she hung back and listened again for the sound she had heard earlier.

The sound was coming from a grey and black fledgling pidgeon.  The bird was soaking wet and scared and made a feeble attempt to get away but she captured it easily with her gym towel and wrapped it up safely, talking to it to calm it down. She ventured a peek to be sure it was okay and then carried it off in the towel. School was almost over for the day with just one class left to go so she popped the towel-wrapped bird into her backpack with the top unzipped just a tad. She quickly changed from her gym shorts and shirt back into her regular clothes, gathered up her backpack and headed out into the busy hallway and up the stairs to the classroom.

She took a seat way in the back and put the backpack on her lap and held it there. Math was always fucking boring and the instructor was pretty oblivious to anything besides the chalkboard in front of him. She didn’t even bother to open her textbook…she just sat there daydreaming and thinking about what she was going to do with the bird as she watched the chalk dust float and drift in the rays of the afternoon sun coming through the venetian blinds behind her.

At one point the bird stirred a bit and let out a couple little sounds.  Its head was out of the towel and the backpack was unzipped enough for it to get air, it seemed to be warming up and coming out of it’s initial shock. She managed to calm it down a bit by pulling the towel up a little to shield it’s eyes and carefully glanced around but was not really surprised that nobody had even noticed.

The bird was not the only thing stirring after warming up… She had to stifle a small scream when she looked down at one point and saw that the bird had a crop of large bird lice…a pretty thick infestation, and they were crawling around poking in and out of the feathers on its head. She shivered in revulsion but got control of herself so she didn’t give away the prohibited contraband she had with her. She really didn’t want to have to deal with the school officials questioning her at this point. So she bit her tongue and “soldiered on” and shifted her attention from the drifting chalk dust to the minute hand on the clock.

Even watching the clock like she was, she jumped slightly when bell rang. She zipped up her backpack, strapped it on, bolted out the door, down the stairs and headed down the hill towards home. After she got a few blocks safely away from everyone she took off the backpack and unzipped it slightly, again and carried it in her arms the rest of the walk home. It was a straight shot from school to her home, down the steep hill, past the lushly manicured, terraced yards, mature trees and well-maintained, mission-style homes. The rain had stopped and the afternoon sky was clear and blue behind the bushy date palms and scrawny, tall, Mexican fan palms dotting the landscape.

As soon as she arrived home she unlatched the tall wood side gate and headed into the big back yard’s upper level. She had an aviary for some quail she’d raised from eggs so she brought the fledgling into the aviary and let him settle in for the night with the smaller birds. There was already feed and water out so she encouraged the bird to drink, and it did, so she went inside to discuss the bird’s care with her father over dinner.

The bird turned out to be a homing pigeon and it settled into the aviary contentedly with no problem, besides occasionally pestering some of the quail. And a liberal dusting with some lice powder for pet parakeets took care of the unwelcome insect hitchhikers squirming around in the bird’s feathers…she sighed with relief after that was finished.

She decided “it” was a “he” and named him “Rontu” after Karana’s dog in “Island of the Blue Dolphins”.

That weekend her father helped her modify the aviary for Rontu.  They build a high perching area with a small separate door that could be left open for him. “He will ‘home’, that’s what homing pigeons do, now that he knows that there is food and water and shelter here.” She was worried that the bird would just fly away and never come back but he reassured her that even though that could happen it probably would not happen.

Some days later she decided it was time to let Rontu fly, so she carried the bird, perched on her forearm, out the aviary door and into the yard next to the big loquat tree. It took the bird a few moments to realize he was outside, free to fly, and he looked around and flapped his wings a few times and rose up into the blue sky. She thought, “Now I’ve done it…I’ll never see him again”.

Rontu circled a few times and then did the most amazing thing…he tumbled dramatically, lost about one third of his altitude and then flew up higher and did it again. He did this for a while, circling, tumbling, flying back up to gain altitude.

Then he flew back down and landed on her arm.

She was not sure what she’d just witnessed but stood there stroking the pigeon in awe as if it was the most magical creature in the world. As she admired the green and fuchsia iridescence of his neck feathers in the sun she dreamt of having a falcon or other raptor as a pet someday (like Sam and his hawk in “My Side Of The Mountain”) … but this tumbling pigeon was certainly a good start, for now!

Later, her father confirmed that the tumbling and the unusual feathers on Rontu’s feet meant that he was not just a homing pigeon, he was a species called a “tumbler pigeon”.

Rontu was with them for quite some time, happy to live in the aviary with the quail, especially after he learned that he could come and go as he pleased during the day, in and out of his specially built pigeon-sized gate. He’d perch on her arm and let her pet and scratch him and then fly off and entertain her with his tricks and she never tired of watching his special show.

One day, he flew up, circled three times, tumbled a few times and instead of circling back he flew off to the north and never returned. A long time passed and she accepted the fact that he must have found a mate or a flock to be with.

She missed him but wanted him to be free and silently wished him well.

About a year later when she was out in the back yard picking apricots and loquats and she looked up and saw a small flock of pigeons flying south.  The pigeons circled overhead twice and before they disappeared one of them tumbled twice.

Then they were gone.