“Good morning, Squeaks,” said Momanita as she tugged the blue cover from my rolly cage. “It’s a beautiful day outside. Later today I’ll go for a long walk.”
“Maybe you could have walked BEFORE you woke me.”
Actually, Cardinal’s birdsong woke me. We birds were noisy in the spring. I wanted to be outside, too, and sing with Cardinal.
To other hootmans this sounded like squeals and whistles, but not to Momanita. She MOSTLY understood cockatiel speak. I MOSTLY understood hootman talk.
“I bet you would like to walk with me,” said Momanita, “but your steps are so small. Then there are hawks to beware.”
“Terror birds!”
I flipped up my crest to show danger. I couldn’t outrun a terror bird and I didn’t fly. My crooked wings didn’t lift me.
“I know uninjured cockatiels fly, but there are birds that always walk,” said Momanita. “I wonder how flightless birds became flightless.”
When Momanita wondered, she thought of questions.
When she thought of questions, she looked for answers.
When she looked for answers, she needed my help.
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 climbed to the top of the writing nest. If I were an ordinary cockatiel, I would have flown.
Out With The Old, In With The New
“Squeaks, when I don’t use something for a long time, I get rid of it,” said Momanita. “That’s what happened to the rail that lives on the island of Aldabra.”
Momanita donated bags of clothes because she didn’t wear them anymore. What did that have to do with a rail? A rail was a bird that lived in wetlands. I learned that from the nature show that Momanita watched.
“Many years ago, rails flew to the Aldabra islands near Africa,” said Momanita. “They found all the food they needed close to the ground and no predators.”
“Sometimes you drop Cheerios and I find them when I’m on the floor.”
There weren’t any Cheerios on Momanita’s office floor. I looked.
“Rail chicks are born with long legs. Their wings grow last. Since there were no enemies and lots of food, they didn’t need to fly. So, their wings didn’t grow and they became flightless. This took a long time – 20,000 years.”
“Were some of your old clothes that old?”
“Ostriches are flightless, too,” said Momanita. “They’re flightless because of the dinosaurs.”
“Did the dinosaurs do something to the ostriches’ wings?”
“When the dinosaurs died off, some birds took their place on earth,” said Momanita. “These birds foraged on the ground and became larger and larger. Eventually, they became SO large that their wings couldn’t lift them. Luckily, they became fast runners. So, they could outrun danger.”
“One time I outran a ping pong ball.”
Ping pong balls were scary.
A Walking Disaster
“Some birds can’t walk very well,” said Momanita.
“Walking is easy. Put one foot in front of the other.”
“Loons don’t walk well, but they’re great swimmers,” said Momanita. “Their legs are far back on their body and can speed through the water. This helps them catch fish. Their legs aren’t in the right position to walk.”
I heard loons on the lake this spring. I can’t swim at all. I’m glad my legs were in the right position.
“Swifts are birds that spend most of their lives in the air. Since they don’t use their legs, they are undeveloped. If a swift falls to the ground by accident, they use their wings to scoot along the ground.”
“That’s like the rail and ostrich not using their wings.”
Tree Trotters And Lilypad Leapers
“The white-breasted nuthatch is a champion walker,” said Momanita. “They walk up and down trees easily.”
“Our backyard nuthatch picks bugs off the tree trunks.”
I didn’t think bugs were as tasty as Cheerios.
“The African jacana doesn’t walk up trees, but it walks on lily pads,” said Momanita. “The Jacana has long toes and claws so when it steps on a lily pad, it doesn’t sink. It eats the insects that live on and in the water.”
“The jacana eats insects, too? Maybe I should try insects.”
Momanita rubbed my neck and I leaned into it.
“I learned so much today, Squeaks. I don’t know where to start,” said Momanita. “Should we write about why some birds fly and others don’t? Or about evolution? Or the jacana walking on lily pads?”
I climbed down the side of my cage and up Momanita’s arm. I nibbled her ear to calm her.
“I think that we should write about how sometimes when there’s so much to do, we should take it one step at a time.”
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.
Momanita and I read about flightless birds. You might want to read about them, too.
Anita Borgo 