Polly's Story

[LovebirdsFlying]

This is a bit of creative writing I did. I'll put each part into a separate post to keep it from getting too long. Originally I shared it on my Facebook page. I thought you might enjoy it here too, and realize how these things work.

Part One

What's Wrong With Polly's Beak?

Peter shook his head in disbelief. Polly insisted that her beak hurt, and a glance showed that it might be oozing some blood. "But I didn't hit you that hard," Peter insisted. "Your beak must be too sensitive." The other parakeets gathered around them, inspected the damage, and came to the same conclusion. There was no real reason, they decided, that Polly should be hurt. If she was, it was her own fault for not flying high enough to avoid the deliberately thrown blow. For this reason, they decided to leave her to her own devices. Maybe if this happened often enough, she'd wise up and learn to take it.

As time went by, Polly tried many ways to protect her beak from injury. She tried wearing a mask, but the other parakeets disapproved. "Just be yourself," they counseled her. But when she took the mask off, it only left her open to damage. Some parakeets deliberately flew at her and took a swing at her beak, laughing at her as they flew away. Other times it was an accident, and Polly knew it, but that didn't make her broken beak hurt any less. Each time her beak was broken, it became more fragile, and easier to break again. Gradually, Polly came to the conclusion that something must be wrong with her beak. It gets hurt too often. Other parakeets don't seem to be complaining. Maybe she has some kind of beak disorder.

"Yeah, I think so too," said the other parakeets around her. "You get more broken beaks than anybody I know, and you just never shut up about it. Maybe you should see the veterinarian."

Polly took the advice and made an appointment. Yes, the vet could see, her beak had been badly damaged. It was so sensitive now that even brushing up against it could leave a crack. The vet ordered every beak test he could come up with, and explored Polly's beak from every angle.

The parakeets gathered around to hear what the vet had to say. "Please tell us, Doctor. We've been worried all this time. What's the matter with Polly? She's got to have some kind of problem. Her beak just isn't normal. It's too easy to hurt it. Is there something wrong with her beak?"

"Of course, something is wrong with Polly's beak," the vet answered.

"It's been hit too much."

 

[LovebirdsFlying]

Part Two

The Truth About Polly

"Hit too many times? Is that all?" The parakeets were flabbergasted at what the veterinarian had told them. So, for that matter, was Polly. She just *knew* something was inherently wrong with her beak, that caused it to get hurt so easily. She'd always felt she was different from everybirdy else, and the rest of the flock had always been quick to let her know they felt the same way. The parakeets exchanged glances, not quite knowing how to handle this information.

Peter, especially, was confused. "I just don't get it." His head turned from side to side as he looked from Polly to the vet and back again. Addressing the doctor, he tried to summarize the findings. "You're saying that, if nobody had hit Polly's beak, it would have been normal? How can that be? I've known Polly since she was an egg. Her beak has always been odd. It sticks out too far. That's what gets her pecked at. I've told her and told her, but she still flies around with her beak sticking out, and that makes the other birds think she's conceited. Then they feel an urge to knock her down out of the sky."

The vet had been confused too, wondering why the flock of parakeets had gone after Polly so often, targeting her beak. And now he understood. "You're mistaken," he told Peter and the rest of the parakeets. "Polly's beak is supposed to stick out. It was made that way."

"Oh, I see," Peter answered, and clucked sympathetically. "Well, I guess she can't help that, poor bird. She was hatched with a defect."

The vet shook his head. "I'm afraid you don't see," he noted. "It's not a defect at all. Polly's beak is absolutely normal for her kind. Or at least, it was."

That startled Polly. "My kind?"

The vet nodded. "You're a gouldian finch. You were hatched with a normal, healthy, finch beak."

Chirps of surprise echoed throughout the flock. "I guess that would explain how easy it is to aim at that beak," Peter observed. "No wonder she's different. But can't you fix her and make her like the rest of us?"

"I can fix the damage where her beak has been hit so many times," the vet said. "But I can't make her like the rest of you, because she is a different species."

"Well then, Polly," said Peter, turning to her, "You're just going to have to find a way to act like a parakeet, so you can fit in with everybirdy else. Maybe you can hold your head in while you fly. That's the only way to keep your beak from getting whacked."

Polly's feathers ruffled. "Why should I?" she wanted to know. "Holding my head in an unnatural way would only interfere with the way I fly."

"Then don't fly," Peter suggested. "Let us fly for you. We'll help you." The flock relegated Polly to a cage, promising to bring her whatever she needed. "It's only for your protection," Peter said.

And Polly tried, for a while, to be content. Over time, she discovered she didn't like it much. While the flock no longer went out of their way to take aim at her beak, nothing had actually been done to repair the damage. Besides, she hated being confined. She didn't know what was worse, having all of her decisions made for her, or overhearing what the parakeets often said about her. Poor Polly, they chirped and chattered among themselves. She can't fly for herself, and now they had to take care of her. Eventually Polly realized, there was no real reason she couldn't fly. There was nothing wrong with her wings, and nothing wrong with her beak either, for that matter! "If I'm a finch, there's no reason for me to pretend I'm a damaged parakeet. I need to go be a finch!"

She opened the cage door and began to flap her wings, much to the dismay of the parakeet flock. "Polly! Don't! Your beak is too delicate. You'll get it broken again!"

"That's what you think," Polly answered.

So Polly was determined to leave them, the parakeets understood. How could she do that? Her beak had been damaged so many times she could hurt it just by sneezing. What had gotten into Polly? Didn't she know she'd be safer if she stayed in the cage and let them take care of her? They banded together, trying to keep her where she belonged.

Then from out of nowhere, an eagle swooped in. The parakeets were alarmed. The big stranger's sudden appearance had taken them by surprise. What would he do to Polly? She's so fragile, you know.

The eagle stood between the flock and the cage, not allowing anyone to stop her from flying away. Polly chirped with delight. She had arranged this beforehand, sending messages back and forth by carrier pigeon, from her cage. Her eagle had arrived to take her to live with another flock.

"So now you're too good for us?" Peter called out after her as she took off. Polly didn't answer.

She and the eagle flew away together, and soon landed in what would be her new habitat. The eagle introduced her to birds of many species, who accepted her in all of her finchiness. She no longer had to live like a crippled parakeet, but could be a free, soaring finch. At first it wasn't easy. Polly had forgotten how to fly. Riding her on his back, the eagle took her to a beak specialist who carefully put the pieces of her damaged beak in alignment, and then filled in the cracks with a strong adhesive. This came as a surprise to Polly, who hadn't realized her beak problem could be solved. She thought she would have to wait forever for the adhesive to dry, so she could move her beak again, but it didn't take nearly as long as she had expected. After this, the eagle gave her flying lessons, so she could learn to get around on her own. She flew higher and farther than any of the old parakeet flock ever had.

It wasn't that the parakeets were bad birds, Polly understood. At first they hadn't realized she was a different species. Then when they did find out, they didn't know how to respond. But she knew, she couldn't go back to them. Now she belonged to a different flock.

It's nice to soar with eagles.

 

[LovebirdsFlying]

Part Three

Fly, Polly!

It had been some time since Polly the gouldian finch left her former flock of parakeets. She now lived among a variety of species, from hummingbirds to eagles. Each was unique, and everybirdy accepted Polly's own uniqueness as well. Polly had even come to realize that parakeets, in and of themselves, are not bad birds. Many of her new flock were parakeets also. Their beaks lay flat against their faces, the same as those of Polly's old flock did, but that type of beak was normal for them just as Polly's was normal for her. Nobirdy criticized Polly because her beak jutted outward from her face. In fact, she had seen so many different styles of beaks since she had flown away with her eagle friend, it no longer made a difference whose beak was shaped like what.

To her former flock, it came as an utter shock to hear that nobirdy was taking aim at Polly's beak anymore. Peter just flatly refused to believe it, when she told him. "But that's impossible!" he chirped. "There's no way to escape it. Everywhere you fly, you're going to find somebirdy throwing rocks."

"Hardly anybirdy has thrown a rock at me since I have lived with this flock," Polly insisted. "Now and then, a little pebble might graze me, but it doesn't happen nearly as often as it used to, and the rocks that do get thrown are smaller. You see, if a beak stays broken all the time, even the slightest little pebble will re-injure it. But now that my beak has a chance to rest and recuperate between rocks, it can heal, and I can stand up to the occasional rocks that do get thrown."

Peter had to admit, Polly was flying well on her own, and her beak did seem much stronger now. To test it out, he picked up a pebble, and without even fully realizing what he was doing, he let it fly. Polly deflected it easily, much to Peter's surprise, and remained on her perch without wavering.

"You just threw a rock at me," Polly observed. This simple statement threw Peter for a loop. The Polly he had known before would have been on the ground holding her broken beak, complaining of pain. He didn't know what to say in response.

So, he tried denial. "No, I didn't. I wasn't aiming it at you. I was getting it out from underneath me because sitting on it was making me uncomfortable, but as soon as I let go of it, you flew into its path."

"Are you kidding?" Polly couldn't believe he'd even try that lame excuse!

"Well, Polly, you've got to remember, your beak sticks out. You have a beak disorder."

Polly answered quietly. "My beak is normal for my species," she reminded Peter. "The vet said there is nothing wrong with it except that it was hit too many times."

"No, it has to be more fragile than most beaks, if it's going to be that breakable," Peter insisted. "It wasn't just hit too many times. It's not that simple. Your beak wasn't hit any more than anybirdy else's. You're always imagining things."

"Oh? So if my beak hasn't been hit too many times, how would it end up broken?"

Peter's feathers visibly ruffled. "Then it was never broken in the first place. You only thought it was broken."

Polly reminded Peter of the vet's comprehensive testing. Her beak had in fact been broken many times, one rock thrown at it after another. Peter's next defense was, "Well then, what's been thrown at you was actually birdseed, for your nourishment, but you didn't see it for what it was, and thought it was rocks."

"So that wasn't a rock?"

"I didn't say it wasn't a rock!"

"Didn't you just try to tell me it was birdseed?" Polly looked down at the pebble she had just deflected. It's true, it wasn't a very big projectile, but facts were facts. It had been flung at her. She looked back at Peter, then again at the evidence that lay on the ground between them. "If it looks like a rock," she began, "feels like a rock...." Here she paused long enough to touch her tongue lightly to the pebble, then continued, "and tastes like a rock...."

"So it's a rock!" Peter was losing his patience. "But I didn't throw it at you."

A third voice chirped up. "You did. I saw you." Both Peter and Polly looked to see who had spoken. Peter didn't know this bird at all, and Polly only barely. To Polly it meant this bird was entirely objective. It had no stake in the debate, and no need to take a side. To Peter it meant, as an outsider, the interloping bird didn't have all the facts and was obviously misinterpreting the scene. Surely, anyone who knew Polly as well as he did would know how well Polly can twist things around. She has a knack for making something that didn't happen look as if it did. Polly, however, was glad for the confirmation.

"It's beside the point anyway," Peter decided. "The point is, rocks get thrown everywhere. You can't tell me nobirdy in this part of the sky ever throws rocks." Of course, Polly had made no such claim. She had only said that the rocks were fewer and smaller, not that they were never thrown. But Peter had flitted away momentarily. When he returned, he had brought with him a photo of a young bird with a cracked beak. The story accompanying the photo explained that other birds had thrown rocks at him. "See? Here's proof. Rocks get thrown here, just the same as every place else."

"Are you trying to get me to fly back with you, to where I came from?" Polly was confused.

"Oh, no. Not at all. I'm glad you're happy where you are," Peter assured her. "I just want you to realize, that rocks are everywhere. You know they're everywhere. Look how many times you've been hit! You've had so many rocks flung at you, it's ridiculous!"

Now Polly was even more confused. "Didn't you tell me I wasn't hit any more than anybirdy else?"

"No. I never said that," Peter insisted.

"Yes, you did. That's exactly what I heard too," Polly's bird friends began offering, one by one.

"I can prove you said that," Polly offered.

"Please do." Peter challenged her.

Polly had been recording the conversation, and she began to rewind to Peter's exact words. "Your beak wasn't hit any more than anybirdy else's. You're always imagining things."

Finally Peter realized, he was faced with an impossible task. No matter what he said, no matter how he spun it, he could not create the former illusion he had so comfortably grown up with. Polly was not, as the entire flock back home had assumed, a parakeet with a defective beak. She was an entirely different species of bird. Nor would she accept any longer the notion that she was damaged. Her beak had healed. She could fend for herself as well as any healthy bird could do. There was nothing left for Peter but to give up trying to convince Polly she was still weak and injured, and fly away home.

Peter has an obvious need to take care of damaged birds, Polly realized. That's why he wants to keep me in a position where I'm damaged, so he can take care of me and fulfill his purpose in life. He is afraid, if I fly too high on my own, and I don't need his advice, he won't have anything to chirp with me about.

So Polly understood. She didn't hold it against Peter. But she let him fly away into his own sky. She couldn't worry about it, because it was time now to spread her wings and fly for herself.