Lucky Sandhill Cranes, Lucky Me

“Wake up, Squeaks! It’s snowing outside!”

Momanita flung off my blue rolly nest cover. Snow made it brighter. Brighter woke me up. I didn’t like too much awake. I liked sleep.

“Isn’t the first snow exciting, Squeaks?” said Momanita.

“Millet is exciting!”

To other hootmans this sounded like squeals and whistles, but not to Momanita. She MOSTLY understood cockatiel speak. I MOSTLY understood hootman talk.

“Isn’t the first fire in the fireplace exciting, Squeakers? “

“Cheerio snacks are exciting!”

“Then finding the tiny junco tracks in the snow is exciting!”

“Finding a Wheat Chex treat at the bottom of my cage is exciting!”

Fighting Tooth (Or Beak) And Nail

Yesterday, I heard the sandhill cranes flying overhead, Squeaky Pie,” said Momanita. “I hope they reached a warmer place in time.”

Momanita really liked sandhill cranes. We stopped to watch them when we drove home from the vet. He clipped my nails. I didn’t like my nails clipped. Sandhill cranes stood 3 ½ feet tall. That’s higher than my rolly nest. I didn’t think the vet would clip their nails. They’d hiss, strike with their sharp beaks, and kick at him if he tried. Then the doctor would stop.

Lucky sandhill cranes.

Wintering Over

“I wonder where our sandhill cranes go for the winter,” said Momanita. 

When Momanita wonders, she thinks of questions.

When she thinks of questions, she looks for answers.

When she looks for answers, she needs my help.

“Let’s find out. I’ll research while you eat your Wheat Chex treat,” said Momanita.

I climbed out of my rolly cage into my writing nest. Momanita climbed the stairs to HER writing nest. She scooted her chair to the computer and tapped the keyboard. I pecked at the crispy squares of deliciousness.

“The eastern population of sandhill cranes migrate through Illinois south to Florida and Texas. One hundred or so cranes migrate together in V groups. Flocks of cranes are called sedges,” reported Momanita.

The family of sandhills that nested in the marsh near here probably joined a sedge. They will be warm this winter in Florida or Texas. It snowed in Illinois.

Lucky sandhill cranes.

Running (Or Flying) Like The Wind

“Sandhill cranes fly 50 miles an hour,” said Momanita. “With the help of their six-foot wingspan and the lift from thermal winds, they will travel hundreds of miles a day.”

My puny wings don’t even carry me up to my rolly nest. When Momanita found me, my broken wing healed wrong and now they don’t work. Momanita said I’m “flying challenged.” The cranes weren’t “flying challenged.”

Lucky sandhill cranes.

“You’re quiet, Squeakers,” said Momanita. “Are you worried about our sandhill cranes?”

Momanita knew my thoughts troubled me, but she didn’t know what thoughts. 

I wished I was a crane flying to Texas.

Momanita petted my neck. I curled it so she reached my favorite place.

“I’m worried about our cranes, too,” said Momanita. “Will they find enough food along the way? How will they escape predators when they rest? Are the young ones strong enough to fly all those miles? Will they return in the spring?”

I thought about my safe rolly nest, the Wheat Chex treats, and Momanita cuddling me. 

“Should we write about our sandhill cranes, Squeaks?” asked Momanita. 

“I think we should write about not comparing ourselves to others.”

I climbed up Momanita’s arm, to her shoulder, and dictated.

To other hootmans this sounded like squeals and whistles, but not to Momanita. She MOSTLY understood cockatiel speak. I MOSTLY understood hootman talk.

Check out Momanita’s book, OPERATION HOPPER!

Read more about sandhill cranes.