Time to Fly Read Free

the parrot, and Gran’s fingers are around the bird’s neck, immobilizing its head—I guess so it won’t bite her. But the bird barely protests. Carefully supporting the lower half of the bird’s body with her other hand, Gran walks briskly back to the clinic.
    â€œZoe, why don’t you come help me with this bird,” Gran calls over her shoulder. “The rest of you can go back to your chores.” She heads for the Herriot Room, calling for Dr. Gabe.
    I’m right behind her. “Doesn’t it hurt the bird’s neck to hold it like that?” My hand goes to my neck, and I swallow.
    â€œNot at all,” she assures me. “Birds have a very sturdy windpipe. But they don’t have a diaphragm, like we do. A bird has to move its chest in and out to breathe. So if you hold it too tightly around its chest, you can suffocate it.”
    In the exam room, Gran cradles the parrot against her chest. “We need to rehydrate this fellow before we can do anything else,” she says. “Sick birds are very vulnerable to dehydration. Let’s start with a quick shot of fluids.”
    I’ve done this before. I go to the cabinet and get a syringe of lactated Ringer’s solution. While Gran holds the parrot, Dr. Gabe slowly gives it an injection between the shoulders. I hate getting shots, but the bird doesn’t even seem to feel it.
    Watching the parrot up close, I notice that his head doesn’t really look blue under the fluorescent lights. In fact, it’s not blue at all, it’s green, like the rest of him. “Gran!” I exclaim. “This isn’t the parrot I saw before.”
    â€œWhat?” Gran looks puzzled. “Are you sure?”
    I nod my head. “Positive. The talking parrot was about the same size and color as this one, but his head was blue, not green. And he seemed so alert and healthy. I mean, he was fluttering around in the oak tree, squawking and talking to me. He couldn’t have gotten so sick this fast, could he?”
    â€œIt’s not always easy to tell when a bird is sick,” Dr. Gabe says. “In the wild, birds often hide any illness to protect themselves, because a sick bird is easy prey for predators. Unfortunately, pet birds tend to follow that same behavior pattern. That’s why bird owners sometimes don’t even notice something’s wrong until their pet is really sick.”
    I shake my head. “But I’m sure this isn’t the same bird.”
    â€œWell, we’ll deal with that mystery later,” Gran says, peering at the parrot, “after I take care of this little fellow.”
    â€œI’ll get the oxygen cage,” Dr. Gabe says.
    â€œIs he that sick?” I ask.
    â€œIt’s hard to know for sure, but he’s certainly not doing too well,” Gran replies. “Extra oxygen will help stabilize him and restore his breathing.”
    â€œPoor thing,” I croon, reaching out a finger to stroke his bright green head.
    Quickly Gran puts her hand on my arm. “It’s best not to touch him, Zoe—not until we know what’s wrong,” she warns. “He might be contagious.”
    I jerk back my hand. “Really? People can catch bird diseases?”
    â€œYes, they can.”
    The bird has some junk around its eyes and beak. Ick—I don’t want to catch that .
    Dr. Gabe returns with a small plastic chamber. He sets it on the counter, plugs it in, then connects a thin tube to an oxygen tank. Gran tucks the parrot into the plastic chamber and closes the door.
    I peek through the window. The box is heated, and the bird looks warm and cozy, still nestled in the towel. “How long does he stay in there?” I ask.
    â€œA half hour should help him feel much better,” Gran says. “With some fluids in him and some oxygen, he’ll be stronger, and it’ll be easier for him to tolerate me handling him for the