Fowl Weather Read Online Free Page A

in my daily schedule of chores and visits. For a while, I solved the sulking problem by turning the toy upside down, then removing and replacing its batteries. This reset it to a state of chirpy ecstasy. But I grew sick of the battery changing, and Stanley Sue soon decided that an intermittently active bird was no threat whatsoever. She retook her prized countertop and perched on top of the water jug.
    â€œIf you want to stay up there, you can’t be near the bread box,” I informed her.
    She took exception to the restriction. When I moved the water jug toward the center of the countertop, out of reach of things wooden, she startled me by springing off it and flying back to her cage. She didn’t fly short distances gracefully. Her wingbeats were as loud as those of the robotic bird, and she bobbled slightly off balance when she landed.
    I looked at her. You could almost hear the snap of a spark as our gazes locked. I drifted toward her, pulled across the room by the irresistible force that bound the two of us together.
Oh, that alien,
I thought.
That alien has got me again.
My two eyes focused on her one eye. I came closer. I smiled at her, and the black pupil changed size ever so minutely, pulsing in and out as it floated in a thick white yolk lit with a hint of gold.
    Her eye was welcoming, but that’s because I knew she welcomed me. In point of fact, I’d noted the same glint in the eye of a parrot that wanted nothing better than to chomp my hand. You couldn’t see the affection in her face. Her upper beak curved backward in a frown from the wickedly pointed tip, then, at the last moment,flowed upward in a smile. That mouth could mean anything. She was aggressive toward our other birds, having once sent Howard to the vet in terrible shape. Another time, she caught our canary in midair and threw him to the floor like a ceramic spoon rest. But she was tolerant toward my wife and the essence of gentleness with me. Leaning over the cage top, she lowered her head beneath her feet and raised it again, never taking her eye off me, in what I had learned was her silent approximation of a chuckle.
    â€œStanley,” I told her. “Stanley Sue.”
    She opened and closed her beak, making a quiet clucking that was probably her attempt to mock my speech. Unlike Dusty, she didn’t talk, but she spoke volumes nonetheless. I leaned down, touching my nose to her beak. I laughed, and she clucked. Demonstrating her extreme satisfaction, she began to preen the feathers on her chest, ignoring me as I finally walked away. Before leaving the kitchen, I picked up the mechanical bird and placed it on top of the refrigerator, where it could keep the cardboard wrapping-paper tubes company.
    T HAT NIGHT , I ASSUMED my post at the bathroom window, hoping to hear the primates whooping it up again. It wasn’t a pleasant vigil. Linda had replaced the heating grate next to the sink, because it had started to rust. But she’d had trouble fitting the new grate in place until a stroke of inspiration had convinced her to rip out the metal vanes that limited the heat flow. A shower became a visit to the sauna. While the water faucets glowed red-hot, and toothbrushes melted into sticky puddles, a cup of steaming tea anywhere else in the house froze solid in a matter of seconds.
    I slept lightly most of the week, keeping one ear cocked for teeth-jarring cries. One night, a disturbance out in the duck pen woke Dusty, and he responded with a descending whistle, whichI tried to pin on a geographically challenged lemur. But the harmonic complexity was missing. Dusty hadn’t made my mysterious nocturnal noises, if there had been any noises after all. I started to convince myself that I had dreamed the entire thing.
    I sat up in bed an hour or so later to find a grey-skinned extraterrestrial skulking near the bed and bent on the usual kidnapping. I played along with the abduction, but once we reached the front door, I