olsen

Heaven flew away from me.

After a few days of indoor flying lessons (during which I tried desperately to convince him to fly outside, to no avail), Heaven was sitting on top of curtains, worrying me that he would poop in no-no places in this multi-million dollar home in which I'm free-loading.

It was really strange. I've never seen fear like this in an animal. Not fear through adrenaline and an outside threat. But the fear of anticipation. Fear of failure. The kind of fear that comes from a logical/illogical train of thought, thinking too hard, analysing details.

Heaven had talked his way out of being able to fly. It's like a bumblebee suddenly remembering that his flight is physically impossible.

He flew perfectly in the house, but out of the house, I could throw him flapping in the hair, and he'd crash tumbling to the ground, like an ostrich trying to fly.

So on Friday morning, I took him out and set him in the middle of the fountain in the courtyard, so that he'd have to fly to go anywhere at all.

An hour later he was still sitting there.

So I chased him in circles around the rim of the fountain until he got irritated and flew to the courtyard wall.

And then he looked down, sort of like "Holy Hell! How'd I get up here?" And then "Zeus almighty! Look at that cool stuff on the other side of the wall!" And then "But I like my indoor jungle gym."

I said "Heaven, I can't make this choice for you, you have to decide where to go from here." (Yes, I talk to animals even though they don't talk back).

And I went inside to get ready for work.

When I came out he was gone.

There you have it. Not quite as romantic as if I had watched him fly off into the sunrise. But I'm not sure he would have left if I was watching. And really, that was his moment. Not mine.

So that's how you ended up with one more bird in the sky.