RachaelR
New member
It's a snowy night and we're stuck inside, so for fun, I'm posting a bit of my book for you all to see!!
It's fiction, a mystery, featuring an umbrella cockatoo!
Ainsley turned off the water to the kitchen sink and wiped her hands on the towel. Another meal completed in solitude. The television was whining in the other room, the set left on for noise but little else. She didn’t want to watch the news. It was all too consistently disturbing.
Outside, the October night was picking up a chill. She looked out into her dim back yard as the leaves danced with the wind. She shivered a little even though it was warm inside. A dash of movement, a white flutter caught her attention and she leaned closer to the glass. What was that? It wasn’t paper, caught by a gust, or tumbling trash. It was moving of its own accord, against the wind, a hopping fluttering motion. A chicken? It almost made her smile to imagine some wayward poultry whipped up by the wind and carried into her yard Wizard of Oz style. But then she thought of the chill and the threat of rain and frowned. If it was a lost animal, perhaps she should check on it. She had no pets of her own. Since the move from her college apartment to her first self-owned property in Louisville, she had spent most of her time trying to get used to her new job as a secretary for the dentist’s office. She had fostered a cat for about a week, but then it’s forever home had opened up and she had reluctantly let them pick it up. She sighed now. She hadn’t had time to fully furnish her new place, much less adopt an animal for companionship, and sometimes it wasn’t good to live alone.
She hurried to her back door and swung the wooden door open, looking through the darkness to the lawn beyond. Her neighborhood was an old one, filled with mature trees that stretched long limbs across the lawn like a giant canopy of green in the summer. But in the autumn, with many of the leaves falling in multicolored heaps, the branches looked more like a cage shielding the earth from the moon’s glow.
She opened the flimsy screen door and stepped out into the darkness, her feet landing first on the few steps of concrete and then sinking into the damp earth. As she grew closer, the shape continued to flutter against the wind. Definitely something alive, she thought to herself. The white shape gradually grew more distinct and she realized that it was a bird. But not a chicken. It was a big white thing, its feather’s puffing in the gusts, a great black beak thrust into the wind. When it caught sight of her, it cocked its head so that one round dark eye appraised her from its place on the ground. She stopped and stared. This was no chicken, no duck, but some parrot. It was a tropical bird. Her mind shuffled through her limited knowledge of avian facts. A parrot, yes, an amazon? No, that wasn’t it. A macaw was a bigger, colorful bird, and then there were the green ones. The little ones at the pet shop were parakeets, and their larger cousins with the tuft of feathers atop their heads, the grey or white ones were, her mind stuttered, cockatiels. Cockatoo! That was it. This bird was a…
“Cockatoo!” The plume of feathers on his head raised as she said the word aloud as though to assure her of the name. He turned his head to examine her with his other eye and then started walking toward her in an odd waddling gait, his feathers fluffing in the wind.
She stood very still, uncertain as to what he was doing. He was coming toward her faster now, eyes going first to the ground, the damp grass and fallen leaves, and then up in her direction. She was afraid to move. She didn’t know if birds attacked, but this thing had a huge beak, and she was pretty sure he could bite hard.
Once at her feet, he lifted one dark claw and placed it atop her tennis shoe. With the same hesitant move, he bolstered his body up and climbed until one sharp talon was planted in the leg of her jeans while the other was still tangled in her shoe laces. Moving as though familiar with the motion, he then used his beak to grab the fabric of her jeans and climbed, beak to foot and beak again until he had reached her middle where her heavy sweatshirt draped almost to her hips.
“Um, okay, Birdie,” she said, her voice soft and strained. “You can stop now. Stay. Birdie, stay.” She couldn’t believe she was ordering him around like a dog, but she was terrified to move. If she tried to shake him off, he might bite her. If she ran, he could certainly chase her. He could fly! And what was his intention? If a bird did want to attack you, did it climb your clothes to do it?
She heard the bird give a soft gravelly mumble as it began to climb her shirt. She felt the claws dig into the material, but they didn’t actually graze her skin. Then he stopped climbing and ducked his head, the tuft of soft feathers just reaching her chin. His wings fluttered out slightly and she felt him cuddle up against her like a puppy would cuddle close.
“Bird?” she said softy. He was very still, but she thought she could feel his body trembling. She slowly raised a hand and placed it so gently against the creature’s feathered back. He was shaking. He was really trembling, and when she laid her hand more firmly on his back she realized that under all of the soft fluffy feathers, his body felt fragile and light.
“You’re cold!” she exclaimed. Parrots were tropical birds, weren’t they? They certainly weren’t from Kentucky. “Okay, we’ll go inside,” she mumbled and slowly turned back toward the house.
The bird clung to her as she opened the back door and then closed it behind her, shutting out the wind and the dark. In the kitchen, it was cozy and warm, and she sighed now from relief. The bird shifted a little but still stayed planted in her heavy shirt.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
The bird did not reply. She hadn’t expected that he would. So now her problem had changed. What did one do with a lost parrot? If she had found a dog or a cat she might have called the veterinarian. But would there be any open at this late hour? And frankly, who else could she call? She slowly and gingerly walked to the table and picked up her cell phone. The brightened screen seemed to catch the parrot’s eye, and he turned to look at it more closely. As she held it in her hand, he began to stretch away from her and towards the phone, his black claws still buried in the material of her shirt. She put the phone on the table in front of her before he could touch it.
“Okay, now Bird,” she admonished, “you can’t have my phone.” She carefully bent over the table and the bird, to her surprise, flopped onto the table, using feet and wings to stand upright. He headed quickly toward her phone in a scrambling hop step, and she snatched it up and backed away from the table a step. He stood on the edge of the table, bright eye directed her way, watching her with interest.
It's fiction, a mystery, featuring an umbrella cockatoo!
Ainsley turned off the water to the kitchen sink and wiped her hands on the towel. Another meal completed in solitude. The television was whining in the other room, the set left on for noise but little else. She didn’t want to watch the news. It was all too consistently disturbing.
Outside, the October night was picking up a chill. She looked out into her dim back yard as the leaves danced with the wind. She shivered a little even though it was warm inside. A dash of movement, a white flutter caught her attention and she leaned closer to the glass. What was that? It wasn’t paper, caught by a gust, or tumbling trash. It was moving of its own accord, against the wind, a hopping fluttering motion. A chicken? It almost made her smile to imagine some wayward poultry whipped up by the wind and carried into her yard Wizard of Oz style. But then she thought of the chill and the threat of rain and frowned. If it was a lost animal, perhaps she should check on it. She had no pets of her own. Since the move from her college apartment to her first self-owned property in Louisville, she had spent most of her time trying to get used to her new job as a secretary for the dentist’s office. She had fostered a cat for about a week, but then it’s forever home had opened up and she had reluctantly let them pick it up. She sighed now. She hadn’t had time to fully furnish her new place, much less adopt an animal for companionship, and sometimes it wasn’t good to live alone.
She hurried to her back door and swung the wooden door open, looking through the darkness to the lawn beyond. Her neighborhood was an old one, filled with mature trees that stretched long limbs across the lawn like a giant canopy of green in the summer. But in the autumn, with many of the leaves falling in multicolored heaps, the branches looked more like a cage shielding the earth from the moon’s glow.
She opened the flimsy screen door and stepped out into the darkness, her feet landing first on the few steps of concrete and then sinking into the damp earth. As she grew closer, the shape continued to flutter against the wind. Definitely something alive, she thought to herself. The white shape gradually grew more distinct and she realized that it was a bird. But not a chicken. It was a big white thing, its feather’s puffing in the gusts, a great black beak thrust into the wind. When it caught sight of her, it cocked its head so that one round dark eye appraised her from its place on the ground. She stopped and stared. This was no chicken, no duck, but some parrot. It was a tropical bird. Her mind shuffled through her limited knowledge of avian facts. A parrot, yes, an amazon? No, that wasn’t it. A macaw was a bigger, colorful bird, and then there were the green ones. The little ones at the pet shop were parakeets, and their larger cousins with the tuft of feathers atop their heads, the grey or white ones were, her mind stuttered, cockatiels. Cockatoo! That was it. This bird was a…
“Cockatoo!” The plume of feathers on his head raised as she said the word aloud as though to assure her of the name. He turned his head to examine her with his other eye and then started walking toward her in an odd waddling gait, his feathers fluffing in the wind.
She stood very still, uncertain as to what he was doing. He was coming toward her faster now, eyes going first to the ground, the damp grass and fallen leaves, and then up in her direction. She was afraid to move. She didn’t know if birds attacked, but this thing had a huge beak, and she was pretty sure he could bite hard.
Once at her feet, he lifted one dark claw and placed it atop her tennis shoe. With the same hesitant move, he bolstered his body up and climbed until one sharp talon was planted in the leg of her jeans while the other was still tangled in her shoe laces. Moving as though familiar with the motion, he then used his beak to grab the fabric of her jeans and climbed, beak to foot and beak again until he had reached her middle where her heavy sweatshirt draped almost to her hips.
“Um, okay, Birdie,” she said, her voice soft and strained. “You can stop now. Stay. Birdie, stay.” She couldn’t believe she was ordering him around like a dog, but she was terrified to move. If she tried to shake him off, he might bite her. If she ran, he could certainly chase her. He could fly! And what was his intention? If a bird did want to attack you, did it climb your clothes to do it?
She heard the bird give a soft gravelly mumble as it began to climb her shirt. She felt the claws dig into the material, but they didn’t actually graze her skin. Then he stopped climbing and ducked his head, the tuft of soft feathers just reaching her chin. His wings fluttered out slightly and she felt him cuddle up against her like a puppy would cuddle close.
“Bird?” she said softy. He was very still, but she thought she could feel his body trembling. She slowly raised a hand and placed it so gently against the creature’s feathered back. He was shaking. He was really trembling, and when she laid her hand more firmly on his back she realized that under all of the soft fluffy feathers, his body felt fragile and light.
“You’re cold!” she exclaimed. Parrots were tropical birds, weren’t they? They certainly weren’t from Kentucky. “Okay, we’ll go inside,” she mumbled and slowly turned back toward the house.
The bird clung to her as she opened the back door and then closed it behind her, shutting out the wind and the dark. In the kitchen, it was cozy and warm, and she sighed now from relief. The bird shifted a little but still stayed planted in her heavy shirt.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
The bird did not reply. She hadn’t expected that he would. So now her problem had changed. What did one do with a lost parrot? If she had found a dog or a cat she might have called the veterinarian. But would there be any open at this late hour? And frankly, who else could she call? She slowly and gingerly walked to the table and picked up her cell phone. The brightened screen seemed to catch the parrot’s eye, and he turned to look at it more closely. As she held it in her hand, he began to stretch away from her and towards the phone, his black claws still buried in the material of her shirt. She put the phone on the table in front of her before he could touch it.
“Okay, now Bird,” she admonished, “you can’t have my phone.” She carefully bent over the table and the bird, to her surprise, flopped onto the table, using feet and wings to stand upright. He headed quickly toward her phone in a scrambling hop step, and she snatched it up and backed away from the table a step. He stood on the edge of the table, bright eye directed her way, watching her with interest.
. What happens next. I love to read lol.
