Little Bird grew up surrounded by single bars. They stopped her from nothing, and yet they were everything. She grew up loving them, as all birds should. Each bar was a foundation that she could not go on without. It kept her where she was, besides a window in Mr. Swain’s house. 

Mr. Swain was someone who Little Bird simply could not do without. He cared for her, protected her, fed her—in short, he gave her the life she needed. On top of that, he sat by her side as often as twice a day and played with her and told her how pretty her feathers were. As she grew up, she had done every little thing she could to stand out for him, and luckily life rewarded her, blessing her with vibrant green feathers that always caught his eye. 

She did not grow up alone, however. No, there had been, and still were, others around. Like Civil, the white-furred Labrador and Big Bird, an elder bird who was soft blue all over. When Little Bird was younger, she lived beside Big Bird, but now that she was all grown up, she had a place of her own, with her own bars keeping her safe. How lucky she was! How big-hearted Mr. Swain was! She could hardly believe that such luck could continue. Surely life never got any better than this? No, this was the best life a bird could have, and she was lucky enough to have it.

It had not always been so. There were times when Mr. Swain kept his distance. Without so much as a word, in times long past, he disappeared for great spells of time, leaving Little Bird alone and hungry. Even worse than that, there were times when he gave attention to Big Bird or Civil, but none to her! It was as infuriating as it was depressing. But she persevered, and Mr. Swain had come to his good senses. He always did in the end. Now she was back to being his favorite, as was only appropriate. 

Despite her past grievances with both Civil and Big Bird, and their unedifying tendencies to throw themselves at Mr. Swain, she was now on good terms with the both of them. They were, after all, the people that had kept her company in the dark times during Mr. Swain’s absences. They behaved most inappropriately towards Mr. Swain, but Mr. Swain was a most charming man. As long as they didn’t step out of bounds, she would remain fond friends with the both of them.

Moreover, Big Bird played a part in raising her from infancy, and for that she would always be grateful. He was now up there in age and occasionally said odd things, but he was a good bird and a good friend. She missed the days when she’d played with him, and even though bars now separated them, they still tried to look after each other. If anything, it was Little Bird’s turn to take care of Big Bird.

Civil helped tell her with what was what. Little Bird wasn’t afraid to admit her shortcomings. She was only a small bird and knew little of the world, so it was often Civil who explained things to her and told her how to act. Sometimes he would be direct, other times he would slip in suggestions in conversation, and sometimes she would even change the way she acted just by the thought of him. He told her she should keep her feathers pretty and he explained to her the importance of not overreaching. “The most a bird should do is flutter,” he often told her. All in all, Civil often reminded Little Bird of who she was. 

Little Bird was a happy bird, in the prime of her life, with many joyful years ahead of her. All the tough times were behind her. She was a mature bird now, the foolishness of her youth no longer ailed her and neither did the folly of others. She was a strong, confident bird, with her friends by her side, safety bars all around her, and Mr. Swain taking care of her. Nothing would get her down.

Or so she thought.

***

Little Bird was jolted out of her comfortable existence one quiet summer evening. Having been well fed, Little Bird, Big Bird, and Civil relaxed before a setting sun. Big Bird and Little Bird perched comfortably in their little homes on the table next to the window, and Civil slumbered on his paws in front of them. It was tranquil, just the way Little Bird liked it. Little Bird squeaked a yawn as the sun bathed her bright green feathers, causing them to glitter. She began to drift away into a peaceful slumber. …  

“You know, I wasn’t always this way,” Big Bird chirped quietly, as if unsure he was talking aloud. 

“I’m sorry?” Little Bird asked, half-asleep.

“I wasn’t always this way,” Big Bird repeated, this time with a wistful sigh.

“You weren’t always what way?” Little Bird inquired.

“Old … tired and—”

“Oh, you’re not that old, Big Bird,” she interrupted, with a dismissive wave of one of her wings. “In any case, everybody ages,” 

“Old, tired … uninspired. So willing to do so little,” he went on, as if Little Bird hadn’t spoken.

“So little? What more do you want?” Little Bird waited a moment. “Well?” she questioned, amused by the old bird’s rambling.

“I don’t know. … I wish I had the opportunity to find out.”

“You can still find out, Big Bird. Nothing’s stopping you.”

“No?” Big Bird wondered aloud. “Maybe not. It’s hard to say. I’ve been here for so long.”

“You’re not making much sense. Perhaps you should get some rest,” Little Bird suggested, though her tone was firm enough to leave little room for disagreement. 

Big Bird opened his beak but then paused as if wondering whether to do as she said. He closed his beak, an exhalation whistling through it, momentarily looking away with sad eyes. Little Bird nodded to herself, happy the nonsense was at an end. Several moments went by.

“I wasn’t always in this little home. Once I knew a lot more than just these bars all around me,” Big Bird told her.

“What?” she cried out. “Where were you then? What did you do?”

“I was out there.” He nodded towards the window. “Free. I roamed the wild. I can almost remember. Like a dream within a dream. A whisper that I can’t quite make out. The wind beneath my wings. Soaring beneath the clouds. … Sometimes I wonder if what I recall is what my life actually was like, or just wishful thinking.”

“Enough! I think you’ve said quite enough, Big Bird. I really don’t think this is a suitable subject matter,” Little Bird chided, looking flustered. “I can’t imagine why you’d think of … such things wishfully.”

“Maybe one day you will see my dream. You’ll understand then.”

“I certainly hope not,” she squawked with indignation.

“That’s a shame. Dreams are all we have here. Our only hint that there might be something more than this,” Big Bird responded, either oblivious to her discomfort or unmoved by it.

“Nothing that I want to see,” she sniffed. “I have my home here. I have Mr. Swain.”

“You’re right about that. Mr. Swain is here,” Big Bird mused. “So, you have no desire to go out there? No desire to. …” He opened and closed his beak several times. “Fly?”

Civil came to with a sharp intake of breath. A moment later Civil’s head shot up, suddenly alert.

“F-fl—no, of course not! I’m more than happy fluttering within the comfort of my home, thank you very much!” Little Bird answered, shooting a tentative glance at Civil.

“Quite right!” Civil emphatically agreed, nodding his head up and down.

Big Bird appeared confused, his brow wrinkling. “I’ve done it, you know. Fly. Once long ago. I’m almost sure of it.” He spoke mostly to himself.

Civil swung his head from side to side. “Absurd.”

“Yes. Absurd, inappropriate, and unnecessary!” Little Bird scolded.

Big Bird seemed to anger for a split-second before ducking his head down and shuffling about restlessly. “You might be right,” he finally conceded. “Perhaps I got carried away.”

Little Bird nodded. Civil continued looking at the two birds a while longer, before eventually settling down again and falling asleep. Little Bird tried to do the same but couldn’t. She remained flustered and anxious, and her little heart kept pounding at her chest until well after both her friends’ snores filled the room.

***

The days rolled by, and Little Bird tried her hardest to strike Big Bird’s nonsense from her mind. She would never admit it aloud but doing so was easier said than done. Something about Big Bird’s words distressed her. But what else could they have been other than nonsense? Maybe it had been his tone, even if the words had made little sense. His tone had been so sad. Both sad and longing. Yes, that was it. Despite his occasional gibberish, Little Bird did care for him, and she did not like seeing him sad.

She gave herself a shake, throwing her wings up and down a couple of times before settling down again. Mr. Swain was coming in. She could hear his footsteps. She had to be pretty for him and weighing herself down with baggage she should have already jettisoned would not do. She straightened up and chirped merrily as Mr. Swain entered.

“And hello to you, Little Bird,” he said, his voice light with cheer. He dragged a chair from across the room over to her table and sat himself upon it. 

She chirped again. 

“How are you doing today?” he asked with a smile, poking a finger through the bars of her home.

Little Bird fluttered over and nipped his finger affectionately. 

“What about you, Big?” Mr. Swain inquired, as he turned to the blue bird. “You’re awfully quiet over there.”

Big Bird squawked half-heartedly. Little Bird sent a withering look his way, but the elder bird took no notice of it.  

“Not in the mood, eh?” Mr. Swain said with a grunt.

The nerve of Big Bird! To show such indifference to Mr. Swain. The old bird was lucky Mr. Swain was so understanding, Little Bird thought to herself. At times that bird was truly insufferable. 

As Mr. Swain turned back to her, she immediately smoothed out her features, remembering Civil’s advice to never let the recklessness of others draw her in.

“It’s hot in here, isn’t it?” Mr. Swain said, standing up and opening the window. A breeze rolled in. “Ah, that’s better.”

Mr. Swain opened the little door of her home and began playing with her. She showed off all her tricks—fluttering around, hopping onto his finger, spreading out her wings—doing all she could to impress him. After a while, she settled down and sat merrily as he stroked her feathers, occasionally letting out a satisfied chirp.

“That’s all for today, Little Bird. I am a busy man after all,” Mr. Swain announced, getting up and turning away.

Little Bird cheeped a goodbye and watched him leave, a little sad, but content. Mr. Swain had given her all the time that he could, and she was grateful. She had half a mind to give Big Bird a talking to, but then thought better of it. Little Bird settled down and began to close her eyes and think of the gentle touch of Mr. Swain’s fingers when she spotted a pigeon sitting upon the windowsill. 

Little Bird hopped up in alarm. Mr. Swain had forgotten to close the window! She had seen pigeons before from a distance, but never this close. She looked at the pigeon with a blank expression, not knowing what to say, and the pigeon stared back at her.

“What are you doing over there?” the pigeon asked bluntly, her voice more probing than accusatory.

“What? What do you mean? I was just relaxing on my perch. What else would I be doing?” Little Bird demanded.

The pigeon’s face grew skeptical. “Relaxing? That doesn’t look relaxing.”

“We have a visitor! We haven’t met someone else for so long,” Big Bird exclaimed, before Little Bird could reply.

“Old bird, how do you do? Why are you in there?” the pigeon questioned, looking the blue bird over.

“I couldn’t tell you. I’ve been here most of my life,” Big Bird answered, averting his eyes after a moment.

“Most of your life! You’ve never spread your wings? Have you ever flown?”

Little Bird twittered in protest, but Big Bird replied, keeping his gaze downcast, “I believe I have. I have memories of it … I think.”

“I’m sorry, old bird. It’s a wonderful feeling,” the pigeon said, sorrow seeping into her voice.

“I can imagine,” Big Bird said, nodding.

“You should not have to.”

What was Big Bird doing? His mind really was deteriorating quickly. Little Bird wished Civil was with them. He’d put a stop to this.

“Maybe—maybe I can do it again,” Big Bird whispered, “Maybe—”

“Enough of this talk!” Little Bird cried out.

“Why does our talk bother you, small bird?” the pigeon asked, turning to Little Bird and cocking her head.

“It is unbecoming to talk of such matters,” Little Bird informed her with barely contained fury.

“But why?”

“Why? Why?” Little Bird spluttered. “Because what you speak of is not for us birds! Perhaps you think f-flying around is all right, but we do not. It is most unseemly, in fact. It is boastful and completely frivolous! It—it—”

“It’s natural,” the pigeon contended, unfazed.

“Maybe for you! You birds who don’t know any better!” Little Bird retorted, eyes bulging.

The pigeon looked at Little Bird long and hard, then her eyes softened. “You are in a cage, little green,” she told her.

“A what?”

“A cage, little green, a cage.”

Little Bird was struck dumb. Big Bird just sighed and nodded his head.

“I feel terrible for you, old bird,” the pigeon said, turning back to Big Bird. “I wish you could fly once more.”

“As do I, but don’t worry yourself. I am old and weary. My time has come and gone.”

“No age is too old to fly.”

Big Bird stayed silent.

The pigeon glanced out of the window to a bruised purple sky. “How could you have let your life come to this?”

“I couldn’t tell you, my pigeon friend. Sometimes a good life just slips away from you. Sometimes it is taken,” Big Bird replied. “Before you know it, you have no options. Now all I have is this cage.”

“Don’t say that!” Little Bird protested. “We want to be here! These are not cages! These bars do nothing but protect us. These bars have food and drink within them. They are comfortable and have all a bird could want.”

“Protect you from what?” the pigeon asked flatly.

“Anything. Everything! We’re protected from the likes of you! Shoo, pigeon, I’ve had enough of you.”

“How tiresome a life you must live,” the pigeon sighed. She turned back to Big Bird, “I should get going now.”

The big blue bird’s expression fell. “Already? That is a shame. I’ve enjoyed talking to you. We don’t get many visitors.”

“And I you. Goodbye, old bird, I wish you the best.”

“Goodbye, friend, I will miss you.”

The pigeon cooed and soared away.

“What was all that about, Big Bird. … Big Bird?” Little Bird asked.

Big Bird didn’t reply. He looked to the window, and his eyes remained there for long into the night.

***

After that day Big Bird barely spoke. He spent most of his time looking out the window, his eyes distant. Soon he stopped eating, too, and a while after that, his drinking bowl started to go untouched as well. In time, illness took a hold of him. Both Civil and Little Bird begged him to eat, but Big Bird remained unresponsive. 

Mr. Swain initially tried to force some food into the old bird and even brought him medicine, but after Big Bird rejected him several times, he stopped bothering. Little Bird became wracked with dread that Big Bird would waste away.  

One windy night, as the curtains billowed wildly, Big Bird finally broke his silence.

“Little Bird,” he chirped weakly, his gaunt body lying at the bottom of his little home.

“Big Bird, what is it?” she asked.

“I don’t have much time left.”

“Don’t say that. Just eat something. Please!” she begged.

“I’m sorry, but it’s true. I don’t think I’ll last the night.”

“No! Big Bird—”

“Listen to me, Little Bird. Things are as they should be. I just want to speak with you one last time.”

“All right.”

“I … I wish I could have done it one more time. I wish I could have flown. Flown just to see if it was like my dreams.”

Little Bird didn’t know what to say. She decided to remain silent.

“With the wind blowing as it is now it almost feels like I am in the sky. If I could only raise my wings…” he murmured.

His voice hurt her. It ached with something she couldn’t understand. Yet, somehow, she thought she could feel it. Her wings tremored. “Don’t strain yourself, Big Bird. Just close your eyes. Rest.”

“I think I might do just that,” he said, his words tumbling over each other in exhaustion. Little Bird waited a moment. She felt sleep beckoning her when Big Bird continued, “Little Bird, what do you dream of?”

“I—I don’t know. I don’t dream much,” she confessed. She wasn’t sure that was true. At least, she didn’t remember them well. 

“That’s sad. Very sad, I don’t know what I would have done all these years without dreams. Then again, maybe they only made my life more painful,” Big Bird said, his voice barely audible. 

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” A minute went by. “Little Bird,” he said, “I have something to ask of you before I go.”

“You don’t have to go anywhere,” she pleaded.

“I want you to give me your word that you will at least try what I’m about to ask of you,” he said as resolutely as he could, straining his neck to look at her with the little strength he had left.

“I promise.”

Big Bird dropped his head, the tension leaving his body. “Do what I cannot. What I’ll never do again. Fly. Maybe then you’ll understand. Then, even though I will be gone, there will be something between us. Something special.”

“I.… Yes, Big Bird,” she answered, not knowing if she meant it, but knowing it was all that she could say.

“Good. Good. Fly, Little Bird, fly,” he whispered before drifting away into what Little Bird hoped was one final wonderful dream.

By the next morning Big Bird was dead. Little Bid was overcome with grief unlike anything she had previously endured. Mr. Swain paused for only a moment when he found Big Bird’s lifeless body, before taking his cage away. Little Bird didn’t know how she felt about that. 

What she did know is that Big Bird’s last words haunted her. Day after day she thought of them, barely sleeping at all. “Fly, Little Bird, fly”. Crazy words. Words of an ailing mind. But words that wouldn’t leave her alone. She didn’t know if she could heed them, but she started to wonder.

***

She would do it, she decided. She had to. She was a bird of her word. If she didn’t, Big Bird’s words would haunt her until the end of her days. She needed her mind to rest. The only way Little Bird could achieve that is if she tried to do what Big Bird had asked of her. 

Fly. 

The word frightened her, but where once it had only brought fright, now tiny fragments of excitement came with it. The more she thought about it, the more compelled she felt to do it. Fly.

Now that she let herself think of things she otherwise would not, she realized getting out of her little home would not be at all difficult. Nor would flying. Mr. Swain had taken to leaving the window open. She would take a piece of paper from her bedding and use it to unhook the latch on her door. 

She did not intend to fly away for long. No. That was out of the question. She simply wanted to respect Big Bird’s last wishes. She’d fly just for a little while and immediately come back. That was all.

She was a mature bird and would not partake in any excessive silliness, but she was willing to experiment. Just this once. She’d get the experience out of her system, see what all the fuss was about, and be done with it. 

Less than a week after Big Bird’s death, she found herself alone, as she often did now that he was gone, the morning sun shining through the window. Today would be the day, she decided. Now was the time. She hopped over to the door with a piece of paper in her mouth. She swiped the paper up against the latch, unlocking the door. 

Her heart began to skip. What would Civil say? What would he think of her? He would judge her, he always did. She started to push at the door with her head, trying to forget about him, but as if her thoughts summoned him, Civil entered the room a moment later. Her heart started beating intensely against her breast. She had really wanted to avoid this. What would she do now? 

She would finish what she’d started, she told herself, feeling resolve push back against her panic. He would understand.

“What are you doing?” he inquired.

“I’m leaving my cage. Just for a while,” she said as casually as she could manage.

“Did you say cage?”

“My home.” She pushed open the little door.

Civil tilted his head to the side. “For what reason?”

She stepped outside. “To … fly.”

“Fly?” Civil barked an incredulous laugh.

“Yes, only for a little bit, then that will be the end of it.”

“You’re serious?” Civil asked, his mirth dissipating immediately.

“Don’t be upset, Civil,” she said, “I just want to try it, that’s all. I know you don’t approve, but it’ll be over and done with before you know it.”

“No!”

Little Bird winced but kept going, moving towards the window. Civil leapt forward, placing his front paws on the table and looking down at Little Bird. He let out a low menacing growl. 

Little Bird hesitated, her heart racing uncontrollably. Then, taking a deep breath, she started flapping her wings, not just to flutter but to rise. As she did, she felt something she hadn’t before. The air beneath her wings gave her a sensation of ineffable elation. In that moment, she thought she’d never stop flapping. Civil began barking, an unhinged look in his eyes, and swung a paw at her. She swooped under it and flew up further.

Civil’s barking grew louder. He leapt up at her trying to swipe her down. Little Bird hovered inches away from the ceiling. Even in her state of unbridled liberation, she felt dismayed at the viciousness of Civil’s frenzied attacks. Little Bird glanced at the open window, but before she could think, she heard loud footfalls heading for the room—Mr. Swain. 

Little Bird swooped down, past one of Civil’s outstretched paws, through the opening in the rows of bars, and back inside them. With her beak she pulled the door, shutting it. Mr. Swain entered the room a moment later.

“What is it, boy?” Mr. Swain asked Civil, his face tight with concern.

Civil kept barking and leaping around. Mr. Swain looked around the room, shutting the window in the process, finding nothing.

“Calm down, Civil!” Mr. Swain commanded. 

Civil kept barking, slightly less loudly.

“Stop it!” Mr. Swain yelled, slapping the dog’s head.

Civil went quiet and then whined, hurt at his masters misunderstanding. Mr. Swain left the room and Civil trailed him, his tail hanging limp in between his legs. Little Bird thought about opening her cage once more but then thought better of it. The window was closed. 

She looked out of it, overcome with feelings she couldn’t explain. In a matter of seconds everything had been turned upside down. She couldn’t forget the sensation she had felt. That freedom. That power. The rightness of it all. Nor could she forget the crazed manner in which Civil had tried to attack her. 

She’d have to be patient. The window would be open again, soon.

*** 

Later that day Mr. Swain came to play with her. She wasn’t in the mood to play. After a short while, Mr. Swain’s fingers began to feel rough for some reason. She was restless and his petting only made her more so. Irritable too. She wanted that feeling again, not this. Not Mr. Swain’s tiresome stroking. She would fly again. She had to. What she had done before hadn’t been nearly enough. Big Bird wouldn’t have been satisfied with it at all.

The next day Civil came by to apologize. Little Bird, while still holding on to her reservations, accepted. The dog had practically tried to kill her. She would have to be careful around him. 

She had thought she’d understood him. Clearly, she hadn’t. She had believed Civil had always had her best interest at heart, but she wasn’t so sure anymore. When push had come to shove, Civil had shown his interests were not hers. He would crush hers, for his.

“You know, with all that said, you really should have known better. I have told you time and time again that a bird should do no more than flutter,” Civil reproached, his apology transforming into a lecture. “I don’t know what came over you.”

“I did what I felt I had to, Civil.”

“What you had to? Don’t be silly, Little Bird. You don’t have to do that thing. 

You haven’t done it your whole life, and there’s no need for you to do it now,” Civil went on with a patronizing smile.

“I don’t need you telling me that there’s no need for it,” she snapped, speaking through a pressed beak, barely managing to contain her sudden fury.

“What?”

“I will fly again,” she declared, her intentions to be careful discarded, finding that she couldn’t—nor did she want to—hold back any longer. This possessive, controlling dog would not have his way. Never again.

“You will not!” the dog snarled.

She let out a furious tweet, but as she opened her beak to send a retort his way, she paused. She looked at him. There was such agitation in his rigid posture. Such emptiness behind the frenzy in his dark eyes. 

“I will,” she said, simply.

Civil looked at her with wide eyes. “I really don’t know what has happened to you.” He walked away.

Little Bird looked to the window. It was still closed.

***

The next day, Civil came to her again.

“You’re a funny one, Little Bird. So curious,” he said, his tone light. “Let us put the past behind us. It is only the two of us now, after all. I hope those fanciful thoughts from yesterday no longer plague.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. Nothing has left or is leaving my head, Civil. I will still do what I intended,” she informed him.

“Come now, Little Bird. Let’s end this charade,” Civil tittered. “You can’t do it. You can’t … fly. It is not how things should be. Not how they are meant to be.”

“Then why do I have these wings?”

“For Mr. Swain.”

“For me. For flight.”

“No, no, no.” The dog began to shake his head compulsively. 

“This is who I am.”

“Who you are? I did not expect this. I thought you would surely move past this folly, Little Bird.”

“I don’t live according to your expectations,” Little Bird responded.

Civil began walking in circles around the room restlessly, his head twitching. Then he turned back to her. “They’re not my expectations, they’re everyone’s! If you fly away, no one will ever see you the same. Mr. Swain will be done with you!”

“Who is everyone? Why do they care about what I do?” Little Bird countered.

“All of us! Every civilized animal there is.” His tone took on an exasperated air. “We care because we know what’s best for you! I am just looking out for you.”

“I’m sorry, Civil, but then everyone needs to change. They will have to accept me when the time comes. If they refuse to accept flight, then they refuse to accept reality—and the best part of me.”

“Have you thought about what will happen to you out there? Who will feed you? Who will protect you?” Civil growled, his frustration giving way to anger. “If you go out there and fly about like an indecent, attention seeking animal, don’t think you won’t be attacked!”

“I don’t know what I will face out there, but if I don’t go, I’ll never find out. At least out there I’ll be free. Free to rise and fall by the power of my own two wings.”

“Enough.” Civil jumped at the bars that surrounded her, fangs bared, causing what was once her home to fall over.

Little Bird fluttered about as her cage tumbled, forcing down her fear. “You’ve lost yourself, Civil, look at what you’re doing.”

Civil continued to expose his teeth, but, after a few moments, his anger subsided. He bowed his head in shame. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not sure I can accept this time. Look at what your obsession with me has done to you.”

Civil bowed his head even lower. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice soft, “I just don’t understand. Why do you want to go?”

“Look at me, Civil,” she instructed. 

Civil slowly looked up and met her eyes. 

“What is it that I am in right now?” she asked.

“You …? Why, you’re in your home,” Civil replied.

“And what is my home?”

“It’s bars. Bars all around you,” he answered, growing hesitant.

“And what do these bars make?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“No,” he conceded.

“They make a cage, Civil.”

Civil opened his mouth and then closed it with a clack. He wanted to respond but had nothing to say, so instead he whined in distress.

Little Bird turned away from him. “I don’t know if I’m leaving, but I must fly again. This cage can’t be my life.”

***

Having heard the commotion, Mr. Swain came by a short while later. He righted Little Bird’s cage, scolded Civil, opened the window to let in some much-needed fresh air, and left. Civil, who had seemingly conceded to her arguments, refused to leave the room, stationing himself in front of her cage. Little Bird was restless but waited patiently. The dog could not wait forever.

The hours went by slowly, and soon it was nighttime. The stars twinkled at Little Bird, beckoning her to join them in the heavens. Soon, she thought. Very soon. 

Civil’s head started to droop. In response to this he got up and started bounding around the room. In time he was panting heavily. He settled down in front of her cage once more. His head drooped once, twice, and upon the third time it didn’t rise again.

Little Bird sprang into action. In seconds she was out of her cage. She fluttered to the top of it and turned her head, feeling the midnight breeze embrace her. “Goodbye, Civil.”

Civil shot up. “No!” he cried.

Little Bird soared out of the window. 

Just as he was about to bark, Civil paused, and then stopped altogether. Civil stood mesmerized by his little friend as she took off and went into full flight. 

The wind caressed Little Bird and she chirped in merriment as she rose further and further into the sky, until only the moon kept her company. Almost immediately she knew she was never going back. There was no going back from this. 

Soon the house in which her little cage had once been became a dot. Then it disappeared entirely. I understand, Big Bird! I understand, she thought, looking up to the stars and twirling about.

Back in the room, Civil continued to stand still, transfixed by what he saw. He let himself accept it, not begrudgingly, but happily. 

“Fly, Little Bird, fly,” he whispered.

As Little Bird flew past the horizon, Civil howled a mournful lament for his friend’s departure, but when Little Bird was finally out of sight, he quieted down. After a short period of time his tall began to wag again. He mused momentarily as to whether he’d just witnessed the way things were meant to be or just an aberration. He turned away, the thought already waning in his mind. He was, after all, a forgetful dog. 

 

THE END