by Bill Wallace
“Ouch,” Snake hissed. “That hurt!”
Flea swooped high into the air. “Run, Gray. Get away. Quick!” She dived at him again. She pecked him on the back this time. “Leave my friend alone, you nasty, evil old snake!”
The moment Flea hit Bullsnake the third time, I darted away from the woodpile. Ears and whiskers flat against my face, I raced to the front porch. Flea swooped at Bullsnake again. She pecked the end of his tail, really hard, as it disappeared under the logs.
“Man, that one hurt!” His voice sounded funny from underneath all the wood.
Flea flew to the very top of the apple tree. She perched there for a moment, to make sure Bullsnake was still under the woodpile. Then she flew back to the pecan tree.
“Gray, are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”
I licked my shoulder and looked myself over. “I think I’m okay. What happened? I . . . I don’t remember. Bullsnake was about to get me, then . . . then . . . Callie? Was it you? Did you save me?”
Purring, Callie shook her head.
“No. I couldn’t get there in time. It was Flea. She saved you.”
I looked up in the pecan tree. It was hard not to smile.
“But how? How did she save me from the snake? How did she get there—in time?”
Callie switched her tail from side to side. She took a deep breath.
“She flew!”
“She what?”
“She flew. She flew from the pecan tree and pecked the snake on top of the head. Then she flew at him again and again until you were able to get away. Flea did it all by herself. Her wonderful flying skills saved you.”
Both of us looked up in the pecan tree. Flea frowned at us. Then she blinked her little bird eyes. For a moment she looked downright confused. Then she blinked again and seemed almost startled. She held her wings out and frowned at them. Finally a smile curled the back edges of her pointed beak.
“I did fly!” she cheeped. “I can fly!”
Flea sprang from the branch and flew to the apple tree. She went to the very top, then flew back to the pecan tree. Chirping and smiling, she swooped down and landed, light as a feather, on my back.
“Gray, did you see that? Did you see me? I can fly. I CAN FLY!”
She gave a little hop and took off again. It made me smile when she climbed and climbed, so high into the blue sky that I could hardly see her. Then she held her wings against her sides and dived. I held my breath. At the last second, just before it seemed as if she would smash into the ground, she spread her wings. She swooped back up into the sky again. She turned left. She turned right. She flew right through the middle of the pecan tree without touching a single branch or leaf.
“I can fly! I can fly! I can fly!”
And she did.
She flew from one tree to the next. She flew up. She flew down. She even flew at the woodpile a few times, chirping her threats at Bullsnake. Then she swooped to the porch and landed on my back. She gave me a sweet little peck on the cheek and thanked me for not eating her. She thanked me for feeding her grasshoppers. She thanked me for teaching her how to fly.
Then my little Flea flew away.
CHAPTER 11
A couple of weeks after Flea left, the Mama let me spend the night inside the house. It was the first time I ever got to spend that long inside. It was kind of interesting. I wanted to explore and see what all the new smells were. Callie told me to curl up on the couch and pretend to be asleep—at least until the Mama and Daddy dozed off. Once they were in bed, she told me I could explore. But she warned me to be very quiet, or they would put me outside again.
The next morning Mama put Callie and me on the front porch. It was awfully cold. There was this strange white stuff all over the grass. Leaves on the pecan tree were all brown and lots of them had fallen to the ground. They were covered with the white stuff, too. Crisp and crunchy, they crackled beneath my paws.
I took a quick hunt, but didn’t find a trophy to bring back to the mat. Callie was curled up in the rocking chair when I got to the porch. She yawned and looked at me.
“Why the long whiskers, Gray?”
I looked down—my whiskers were drooping. I twitched them a couple of times, but they still hung low.
“Your tail’s been dragging the ground for the last couple of weeks, too.”
Turning to the side, I looked back. Sure enough, my tail was hanging down, almost touching the porch. I flipped it once, then curled it around and sat on it.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I just don’t feel too happy, I guess.”
Callie hopped down from her rocker. She strolled right up to me and rubbed her cheek against mine.
“Feeling kind of sad and lonely?”
“Yeah. I guess that’s it.”
“Kind of miss that stupid bird, huh?”
I shrugged my ears. “Well . . . sort of. I can’t help worrying about her. It’s really cold. I wonder if she’s all right. I wonder where she is. She might be stuck in some tree, shivering, with her little beak chattering. She might be sick or lost or—”
“Flea is just fine.” Callie purred. “Birds know the way south. She had a good start before it turned cold. She will be okay.”
I twitched my face again, but my whiskers still hung down.
“Then why do I feel so bad?”
Callie rubbed against my other cheek.
“You shouldn’t feel bad. Flea would have never made it through the winter. Not here. She had to fly south. You know you did the right thing.”
“I know. But . . . well . . . I didn’t know it would hurt so bad. I thought when you do the right thing, you’re supposed to feel good inside. I don’t. I feel sad and lonely. I miss those little birdy claws scratching my back. I miss her yelling: ‘Feed me!’ I miss . . . I miss my Flea.”
Callie leaned against my shoulder.
“Remember—I told you it wouldn’t be easy?”
“I remember.” I nodded. “But I thought you were talking about getting Bullsnake to help us. I thought that was what you meant when you said it wouldn’t be easy.”
“Well, yes, that too. But I also meant teaching Flea how to fly. Giving her enough faith in herself so that she could go south for the winter.” Callie kissed me on the cheek and curled up beside me. “Sometimes doing the right thing hurts. But even when it hurts, it is still the right thing.”
I pouted. “It shouldn’t be like that.”
“Maybe not,” Callie agreed. “But that’s the way it is. Besides, Flea will be back.”
I raised my head. When I did, I saw my whiskers spring up.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Callie smiled. “Birds always come home in the spring.”
“When is the spring?”
“It comes after winter—when the grass starts to grow again and when the trees get their buds. Grasshoppers will come back. June bugs will come back. Bird will come back and build a new nest in the apple tree. And . . .”
“And,” I urged.
“And your little Flea will come back, too.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
I felt better already. My whiskers went up. When I walked toward the field for another mouse hunt, my tail was up, too. Then all at once I realized how close I was to the barn. Ever since the rats tried to get me, I’d made a wide arch around it. When I found myself right by the open doorway, my hair fuzzed to a sharp ridge down my back. My tail puffed.
I didn’t run away from the barn, though, I just walked really fast. At the edge of the field I paused and glanced back over my shoulder. Eyes tight, I glared at the open doorway. By spring I would be older. I would be bigger and stronger and braver. I could hardly wait until spring.
• • •
It was two days later when the House Mama finally let me in for the winter. It was worth the wait. I could eat cat food any time that I wanted it. In the evenings Mama opened a can of something that smelled delicious. Callie got to eat first, bu
t she always left me plenty of the good stuff. There were even mice to chase and snack on. Mama really liked it when I got a house mouse. She would praise me and rub me while we sat on the couch.
Sometimes I would get in trouble when I stretched my muscles and raced through the house. It was even worse when I sharpened my claws on the couch. Mama would chase me with a rolled-up newspaper, and I had to hide for a while. I had lots of hiding places. I took long catnaps, and when I got up, Mama usually forgot all about the things that I did that she didn’t like.
My favorite hiding place was in the window, behind the curtain. I could watch the winter birds eating seeds out of the feeder that Mama filled each morning. They didn’t see me hiding there. Sometimes I would reach out to them. I looked for Flea, but she didn’t come to the feeder.
I felt stupid! I missed that silly bird. I wouldn’t admit it to anyone but Callie, but I would like to have my friend back on my head.
I could hardly wait until spring.
About the Authors
BILL WALLACE grew up in Chickasha, Oklahoma, a town of fourteen thousand people. He had lots of pets—dogs, cats, snakes, and lizards. He played baseball and football with his friends. His mother taught high school math.
CAROL WALLACE grew up on a dairy farm. Her family had lots of barn cats and two cats that got to come inside. She played with her dog Pooch, swung from the rope in the hay barn, and had her own special place on the rock hill. She attended a small rural school through eighth grade and then went to Chickasha High School. Her math teacher just happened to be Mabel Wallace. The first time Carol saw Mrs. Wallace’s son, Bill, he was playing his trombone in front of the high school.
Bill and Carol hold master’s degrees in elementary education from Southwestern Oklahoma State University. They are both authors and public speakers.
ALADDIN
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 1999 by Carol Wallace and Bill Wallace
Illustrations copyright © 1999 by David Slonim
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ISBN-13: 978-0-671-03968-4
ISBN-13: 978-1-481-43140-8 (ebook)
