Meg pushed open the door to her room. On her desk was a large cage, and inside the cage was Elvis — a gray-and-white cockatiel with pumpkin-orange cheeks and a bright yellow head crest.

“You ain’t nothing but a hound dog! You ain’t nothing but a hound dog!” Elvis screeched over and over again.

“Morning, Elvis!” Charlie opened the door to the birdcage. The little cockatiel had spent the night safely locked up, but he was so tame that he was allowed to roam around the hotel during the day. Elvis hopped onto Charlie’s shoulder and gently nibbled his ear.

“We’ll play later, Elvis,” Meg promised. “But right now we need to give the other guests their breakfast.” She scooped Elvis off Charlie’s shoulder and gently lowered him to the floor.

Elvis strutted after the twins as they headed downstairs. He followed quietly behind, hopping down each step. Meg and Charlie carried their basket and backpack into the kitchen, where Mom and Saffron were finishing their breakfast.

Saffron’s crinkled face lit up when they came in. She was wearing a purple flower in her long silver hair and a dress patterned with orange sunbursts.

“Let me help, my dears.” The bells on Saffron’s earrings jingled as she rose slowly to her feet.

“Did you get everything?” Mom asked the twins, leading the way into the old pantry, which had been converted into a special kitchen for preparing pet food.

“I have dry dog and cat food. . . .” Meg said, tipping it into individual bowls. Buster sat beside her feet, drooling.

Charlie pulled things out of his backpack and piled them on the table. “Pellets for the rabbit, guinea pig mix, sunflower seeds for treats, fish flakes . . .”

“. . . and some delicious fruit,” added Saffron, peering into the backpack and pulling out a bunch of grapes.

Just then, there was a strange click-click-clicking noise outside the door. Buster’s furry ears perked up.

“Is that a mouse?” Mom asked suspiciously.

“Wheep!” The whistle was followed by another rattle of claws on the tiled floor. Elvis skittered into the pet kitchen, bobbing his head up and down and raising his yellow crest so that it stood up like a Mohawk. Buster tilted his head to one side and looked at Elvis in amazement.

“I read that cockatiels put up their crests when they’re excited,” Charlie noted, as Elvis’s bright, beady eyes surveyed the room.

“Tuk . . . tuk . . . tuk . . .” The little cockatiel made a clicking sound with his beak and strutted around the kitchen, weaving between Meg’s and Charlie’s legs. He stopped behind Buster. Before Buster had time to figure out what was happening, Elvis hopped onto his tail, walked up his back, and jumped off the puppy’s head onto a kitchen chair!

“Woof!” Buster barked, shaking himself from nose to tail. He was clearly surprised at being used as a stepladder.

Elvis looked up longingly at the fruit on the table and whistled as loudly as he could.

“It’s a shame he won’t fly anymore,” Saffron commented between the barks, whistles, and laughter.

The twins looked at each other. Now that they thought about it, they’d never seen Elvis fly — he hopped everywhere!

“What’s the matter with him?” Charlie asked.

“Elvis’s owner, Anton, told me that Elvis stopped flying after he hurt his wing,” Saffron explained. “It’s completely healed now, but he still doesn’t want to use it.”

“Maybe he’s forgotten how to fly,” Meg suggested.

“Or he’s scared to try,” Charlie added. Then his eyes lit up. “Maybe we can help him fly again!”