Legacy Writing 365:185

I don’t know why when we were growing up we began telling Debby she was left with us by gypsies. Sometimes it was to tease her–you are not one of us–and before you feel sorry for her, she gives as good as she gets. (After all, I’m the one they had to go to Europe to get, making me a probable “not one of us.”)

I did always think she had a pixie quality, with her smallness, her freckles, and her upturned nose. And even though I was the one who drove her crazy talking to my imaginary herd of cows when she was trying to fall asleep, she’s the one who actually had a supernatural communion with animals. They were drawn to her, and with her big heart, if any animal was ever injured or in need, she would go to any length to help.

It was no surprise to me when she texted me about a bird who was blown onto her porch during a recent storm. Of course the bird would pick her house–probably animals have a secret mark they leave, like hobos, when they’ve found a compassionate human. When I saw the bird’s photo, I said, “Is that bird an exotic? Do you think it’s someone’s bird who got out? Or they let it go?”

The bird is, in fact, a cockatoo. She said except for some scrapes on his head, he’s in good shape. She called several rescue organizations without any luck, then she remembered that a neighbor of hers has birds. They talked, and the woman took him in. The neighbor did try to find his family via online resources, but no one claimed him. So now Stormy, as Debby calls him, has a new home, where he’s doing well.