“Mrs. Sampson, on behalf of the United States Postal Service, I must advise you that making a postal box unsafe for a carrier to deliver the mail is an offense punishable by law.” Mr. Sanders’s shoulders returned to their normal position. “We’re only human, you know.”
Mrs. Sampson sat at the kitchen table, her hands folded in front of her. “But I have the baby bird in that box over there.”
Just before they’d left for Mrs. Sampson’s house, Razi had been invited to run through the sprinkler at the Vanderests’, so the Carters were able to swing by and ask Wita if Jorge could come along. Now Keisha and Jorge stood shoulder to shoulder waiting to see what would happen next.
Mama stepped forward and put her hand on Mrs. Sampson’s. “A chicken does not forget where it lays its eggs, Mrs. Sampson, even after the eggs are collected.”
“But they didn’t lay their eggs in the mailbox.”
“It’s a Nigerian proverb, Mrs. Sampson,” Daddy said. “I think Fay means the crows will come back to the mailbox until they know differently.”
Just to let everyone know he was still in the room, the baby crow squawked.
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Sampson said, pushing up from the table. “I need to feed him again.”
“No, Mrs.…” Jorge held up his finger so everyone would stay quiet. The baby crow squawked again.
“I don’t think your bird is hungry,” Jorge said. “I think your bird is sad.”
“How can he know that?” Mrs. Sampson looked over her glasses at Daddy. “He’s just a child.”
“In my experience, children are better at understanding animals than adults, Mrs. Sampson. However, it might help you to think about it this way.…” Daddy paused, waiting for the right words to come to him. “Think of the bird as … lonely. Lonely for other crows.”
The porch screen door slammed.
“Move aside, everyone,” Grandma Alice said in her most important voice. “We have an emergency case and I need to consult the nurse.”
Mama raised her eyebrows and glanced over at Daddy. They couldn’t get Mrs. Sampson to give up the crow. Why would they be bringing another case here?
Big Bob followed close behind Alice holding a large brown box in his hands.
Alice stepped to the side and swung her arm like they did in the infomercials she watched on TV. “Ta-da!” she said.
Big Bob set the box down on the table so everyone could see. Cocoa was lying on her side, her little bandaged leg sticking out at an uncomfortable angle. She moaned in pain but wiggled her bottom anyway, to show she was friendly.
“Fred, I know you have a list of volunteers that work with dogs and cats, too, but I’ll be darned if I can find it.”
“It’s on the hard drive, Grandma,” Keisha said. “Go to the ‘organizations’ file, and choose the ‘vet volunteers’ file.”
Grandma Alice gave Keisha one of those you-must-not-have-any-idea-where-I’m-going-with-this looks. “I’m quite sure it is, dear, but we were having problems with the system this morning.”
“What problems?” Daddy wanted to know. “That’s a brand-new computer.”
This time Daddy got the look.
Every third or fourth word in the conversation, the crow in the corner let out a squawk.
“That little guy’s going to need a cough drop,” Mr. Sanders said.
All of a sudden, there was a tremendous scuffling noise inside the box. The baby crow was trying to fly! He succeeded in lifting the tea towel a couple of times, but mostly, he sounded like he was knocking up against the sides of the box.
“What’s happening?” Mrs. Sampson’s open hand hovered over the box as if she could stop the little crow from hurting himself. “Why is he so upset?”
“He’s doing what he is meant to do, Mrs. Sampson,” Mama said. “He is trying to fly.”
“I let him do that yesterday afternoon. We practiced launching off the kitchen table. But he could hurt himself in the box.”
“You’re right. He could injure himself.” Daddy reached down and used the tea towel to scoop up the bird and pin its wings to its sides. “The first thing to know about wild animals, Mrs. Sampson, is that they won’t do things on your timetable. He’s not going to practice flying like Keisha going to the playground and practicing her double unders. He’s going to do it whenever he wants.”
The baby crow fell silent in Daddy’s hands, making it easier to hear the moaning sound coming from the box on the table. Jorge was tall enough to see inside, but Keisha had to climb onto a kitchen chair to get a better view of the two button eyes and the little wet nose.
“What do we have here?” Mama said. “This does not look like a wild animal to me, Alice Carter.”
“Now don’t get your tea towels in a tangle, Fayola,” Alice said. “I just wanted to consult the nurse.”
“She’s had a lot of tendon damage to her foreleg,” Bob said.
“What kind of damage?” Mrs. Sampson asked, squinting into the box.
“Not sure. Definitely some sort of tear, but we’re also wondering about compression of the nerve endings and how that will affect her ability to walk.”
“So she’ll need this cast for a few weeks.”
“At least. She has to have vitamins and antibiotics administered orally on a strict schedule and she’ll have to be carried outside to go to the bathroom. After the cast comes off, she’ll need physical therapy and to be walked with a sling until she can put weight on her leg. We’re still not sure the leg can be used, but if she gets the right physical therapy, there’s a chance.”
“That’s a lot of work for one old pup,” Daddy said. “You’re sure there’s no owner?”
“Oh, this old gal has been on her own for some time,” Bob said. “I agree, Fred. This is a hard case. Even if she does get the medical attention she needs, it won’t be easy to find an owner for an old dog. They’re just—”
“Daddy, I—” Keisha couldn’t help herself. It just came out of her mouth. Wouldn’t it be perfect? She could help rehabilitate this little dog, and then instead of releasing her into the wild, they could release her to the Carter family couch.
“I see where you’re going with this.” Mrs. Sampson was looking directly at Grandma. “But I can’t take care of a crow and a dog.”
“While the Humane Society does have a shortage of volunteers to take care of high-needs dogs, we do have two volunteers to watch over this crow.” Daddy pointed to the front door. “And they’re waiting in a tree outside. Jorge, do you think you can provide some evidence of this to Mrs. Sampson? We’ll have to go out on the front porch.”
“But can we leave the dog alone?”
“Oh, she’s as comfortable as she can be, Mrs. Sampson,” Grandma said.
Jorge, Mr. Sanders, Mama, Daddy, Grandma, Big Bob and Mrs. Sampson gathered together on Mrs. Sampson’s front porch. They stood quietly, looking at the trees.
“First, let’s get their attention,” Daddy said to Jorge. “Why don’t you sprint over to the mailbox?”
Jorge ran across the yard, stopping about ten feet from the mailbox. Up in the trees, the crows came alive. They didn’t dive down on Jorge, because he wasn’t close enough to endanger their baby, but they sure did put up a racket.
“I’m inviting them to my next New Year’s Eve party,” Grandma said. “They’ll do a much better job than pots and pans of making a hullabaloo when the ball drops in Times Square.”
“Okay, go.” Quick as a wink, Daddy uncovered the baby crow’s head and held him, pointing in the direction of the trees. Jorge began making his noises, only this time they weren’t loud throat noises, they were little awping baby crow noises. The birds got very agitated. They circled Jorge and dropped down to branches closer and closer, responding in vocalizations Keisha had never heard crows make before. They were longer drawn-out caaaaaaws.
The baby crow struggled in the towel, but Daddy had him wrapped up tight. Except for his head. His glossy little head with the rock candy eyes turned this way and that, looking out at the big wide world.
“Awp, awp!” As soon as he started making noise, Daddy covered his head and took him back inside. The adult crows seemed confused. One landed right on the mailbox and pecked at it. Another soared to a tree closer to the porch.
“We don’t need mama and daddy dive-bombing your front porch, Mrs. Sampson. Now do you see?”
Mrs. Sampson took off her glasses and polished them with her apron.
“I suppose we could give it a try,” Mrs. Sampson said at last. “But my old eyes won’t be able to keep track of him if he’s not right in front of me.”
Daddy patted Mrs. Sampson’s shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about that, Mrs. Sampson. We weren’t able to build a nest with all that was going on this morning, but maybe we can rig something that will keep him protected until he’s ready to be on his own. As you can see, his crow family stands ready to protect him.”
“We don’t have to rig a thing,” Grandma said. “I came prepared. Keisha, go out to Bob’s car and bring me what’s on the backseat, please.”
Keisha ran out to the car, taking care not to go anywhere near the mailbox. She opened the backseat door only to find Grandma’s straw bag, the one she used to carry sunblock and swim caps to the pool. Surely she couldn’t be thinking … Keisha brought the bag into the house.
“That’s it, one ready-made crow nest.”
“But this is your favorite pool bag,” Mama protested.
“Correction, it was my favorite pool bag. According to Marilyn Kirschner of The Look On-Line, straw bags are seriously OL. I want to re-purpose this bag to be a baby crow sling.” Grandma squinted and put her hand to her forehead like a visor.
“Look out there. We can hang him on the laundry line. He’ll be in the shade, and it’s not too far from the ground for when he’s ready to flutter.”
“Alice, you’ve really thought this through.”
Grandma Alice rummaged in her purse and pulled out the scissors from their kitchen drawer.
“Yes, I have,” she said. “I put a Tupperware top in the bottom to make sure it doesn’t collapse and we’re going to have to cut down the sides a bit for easy reentry. Believe me, given the crows’ nests I’ve seen, this little baby is getting the Cadillac version.”
“Let’s hang this,” Daddy said, examining the bag. “And if it works as well as I think it will, Mrs. Sampson can give it back to us after the crow abandons it. Now, I don’t know about the rest of you”—Daddy was rubbing his stomach—“but I might need a little something to tide me over until dinner. I can run over to Charley’s candy store and get some fuel for the volunteer cat chasers.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Sampson said, glancing toward the kitchen. “Children don’t need candy for fuel. I—Misty, my niece, had the flu and couldn’t take me grocery shopping.”
“I took the liberty already,” Grandma said, “when I noticed you were a little low. Bob’s got the cooler in his trunk. You can’t travel with this crowd and not bring food along. I bet even the little one could use a snack before we hang him out to fly.”
Alice and Bob went out for the cooler, Jorge seemed happy outside with the birds and everyone else went back into the dining room. Wumpa-wumpa-wumpa. Cocoa’s tail against the side of the box greeted them as they walked into the room.
Carefully, Mama picked up the little dog. Cocoa’s front leg hung straight down in her cast. Some hair had been shaved away on her behind. Keisha counted seven stitches.
Mama turned Cocoa in such a way that there was no pressure on her wounds. Cocoa would have licked Mama, but she had to lick the air instead. Still, Keisha couldn’t believe her eyes. Mama didn’t like dogs very much. Or at least that’s what she said. Now she was cuddling Cocoa and making the little crooning noises she made to Paulo.
Mrs. Sampson leaned in, peering at the incision. “It’s more a tear than a cut. Could this little dog have been in a fight?”
“That’s something we’ll never know,” Daddy replied. “Maybe she crossed to the wrong side of the street into a bigger dog’s territory.”
Mama kept crooning.
Mrs. Sampson fingered the cast. “And what did you say this one was? A boy or a girl?”
“A girl,” Daddy said.
Mrs. Sampson patted the dog’s head. “What’s her name?”
“We don’t name our patients, Mrs. Sampson.”
“But, Fred, this is not our patient,” Mama corrected him. “Cocoa, I believe.”
“Well, that would make sense,” Mrs. Sampson said. “Her fur looks like a cup of nice hot cocoa.”
Alice and Big Bob “pardon me’d” their way past Cocoa’s admirers into the kitchen.
“So, Bob,” Mama said as Big Bob returned to the dining room. “What will happen to this little one?”
“Can’t say. Our other foster homes are full up. Half of the volunteers are on vacation. Cocoa’s going to need someone to watch this incision and—”
“Someone with training, not just anyone,” Mrs. Sampson interrupted. She was still examining the wound.
“Yes, exactly. And that someone’s going to have to put salve on her wounds and carry Cocoa outside for a while.”
“Well, I’m a little old for that sort of thing,” Mrs. Sampson said.
“She’s light as a feather,” Mama said, handing her over to Mrs. Sampson before the old woman could protest. “Not more than twelve pounds.”
“Well.” Mrs. Sampson held the trembling little dog. “Well. She is a little thing.”
“The sad part is,” Bob continued, “even if her leg heals up, she’s still going to have problems. That’s my guess, and I’m afraid we won’t find a home for her.”
“You can’t get old without having problems. I’d like to see the old person who doesn’t,” Mrs. Sampson said.
“Yes, well, we’ll take her back now. I can keep her overnight, but when I have to go to work—”
“Maybe if the little crow finds its way, I could do the looking after. I don’t have good eyes, but my hands are still strong. And I can use the magnifying glass to put on the salve.”
“That would be a mission of mercy, for sure,” Grandma said, coming in with a platter of cold cuts, cheese, lettuce, bread and juicy ripe sliced tomatoes. “And if you need some volunteers to run around with her when she gets her cast off, I can think of two named Razi and Keisha Carter.”