Lily to the Rescue

by W. Bruce Cameron

  My eyes may have shut, but they snapped open when I smelled something familiar. It was Maggie Rose! And it was the smell of Mom and Dad, too. They must have entered the dog park and were probably coming toward me because their scents were growing stronger.

  I wagged, aware that I still had a crow on my back so I couldn’t stand up and turn to face my human family. I hoped they would not think that I was being a bad dog. It was certainly a little embarrassing.

  “Good dog, Lily!” I heard Maggie Rose call. That made it all right.

  At the sound of my girl’s voice, the crow jumped off my back and hopped back over to the fence, where it felt safe. Since I was back to being a regular dog and was no longer a crow bed, I stood up, shook, and ran to my girl and Mom and Dad.

  Dad was carrying something that looked like a big handful of thin cloth. “It does look like a broken wing,” he said. “We’ll have to take him in and see if he can be saved.”

  “If he can be saved?” Maggie Rose repeated. “What do you mean, if?” I looked at her in concern. She sounded shocked.

  “Well,” Dad replied, “when a wild bird breaks a wing, it can be hard to repair. And this is a young crow, and crows are very social birds. I worry about keeping him at the shelter while he heals.”

  “What does it mean if we can’t help him?” Maggie Rose wanted to know.

  Dad was quiet for a moment. “Maggie Rose, we’ll do what we can, but a bird with a broken wing can’t survive in the wild. We’d have to keep him in a cage. I don’t think he would be happy.”

  “But, Dad,” Maggie Rose cried, “then we have to save him! He and Lily are friends! He was standing on Lily’s back!”

  “Well,” Dad said, “we have to catch him first.”

  I watched as Dad shook out the cloth in his hand. It turned out to be a big square made of thin threads, all connected to each other so that it looked a bit like a spiderweb. What was this game? I wagged, ready to tug on one end of the cloth if that’s what we were doing, but then Mom spoke, surprising me. “No, Lily,” she said. “Stay here with us.”

  I knew the word no and had never really liked it. But when Maggie Rose told me to do Sit, I obeyed her. Dad walked very slowly toward the crow with the damaged wing. I could sense Maggie Rose’s heart beating in her chest, and she seemed afraid. I nosed her hand so that she would know that whatever was going on, her favorite dog in the whole world was right here, so it couldn’t be that bad.

  The crow was watching Dad even more closely than I was. The bird was back to twisting his head one way and then the other. In a sudden move, Dad raised his arms and flung the cloth through the air. The crow tried to take flight, but I guess it forgot it was hurt. It didn’t even lift up off the ground.

  Then the cloth landed on the crow, who flapped and fluttered while Dad stepped forward and grabbed the cloth and cinched it shut.

  The crow squawked then, and I was sad because the squawk sounded so sad. Clearly, the crow thought something really bad was happening. I stopped doing Sit and went over to sniff at the cloth to try to make the crow feel better, but I could tell that it did not help.

  Dad very carefully lifted the cloth, examining the crow. Mom walked over to look, too. Maggie Rose, however, came to me and rubbed her open hand on my head. “You are a good dog, Lily,” she said. “You kept the crow calm.”

  I wagged at being a good dog for Maggie Rose.

  “What is that around his wing?” Mom asked Dad.

  Dad was tenderly turning the crow inside the cloth. “It looks like some sort of wire or string. It’s so tight it’s cut his flesh; can you see? I’m not sure what it is, but there are all sorts of wires and kite strings in the trees that a bird can get tangled in.”

  “Let’s get this crow back to the rescue and see what we can do for the poor thing,” Mom said.

  When we arrived at Work, Dad carried the crow into a room, and I trotted off to see several of my newest friends. There were three little kittens in a cage I could not reach who were delighted to stand and stare down at me. They wanted to play, I knew, because on other days, Maggie Rose had let them out and we’d scampered around the room with each other. But today she did not do that.

  Farther down the row of cages, right on the floor, there was an old dog named Brewster who thumped his tail but did not get up to greet me. Brewster was a brown, lazy dog who liked to take naps. He had been at Work longer than any other animal. Mom sometimes called him a senior dog, which I suppose meant the same as good dog because Brewster was allowed to stay at Work so long.

  “Brewster,” Mom would say, “is going to be a challenge to adopt out. People want puppies more than they want senior dogs.” I did not know what she was saying, but hearing her say puppies and dogs made me happy.

  Brewster and I sometimes played together out in the yard, and one time we went to the dog park together, but for the most part, Brewster really liked to focus his attention on sleeping.

  I greeted the other dogs and the adult cats in their cages and then went to be with Maggie Rose.

  “Oh, Lily,” Maggie Rose said, holding me tightly, “I sure hope Mom and Dad can save that poor bird.”

  5

  The next time I saw that bird, he had a name and an outfit!

  Maggie Rose and I went into Work a few days after I’d met the crow at the dog park. I smelled him right away, and Maggie Rose called out to him. “Good morning, Casey,” she sang. “How’s your wing today?”

  Casey lived in a big wire cage with seeds on the floor and a stick he could hop on, sort of like a tree but with no leaves. He did not have a blanket to sleep on, which might be why I never saw him lying down.

  “Mom,” Maggie Rose asked, “when will Casey be able to fly again?”

  When she asked this question, Maggie Rose had been training me to do Roll Over. Roll Over is a complicated trick where a dog lies down on her stomach as if to take a nap like old Brewster. Then she lies on her back as if to get a tummy rub, and then she flops to the other side. I thought it was pretty pointless, but when I did Roll Over, Maggie Rose gave me a turkey treat. I will do pretty much anything for turkey, pointless or not.

  Mom was carrying a cat who had just arrived the day before. The cat was purring, which is what cats do instead of barking.

  “Well, honey,” Mom said, “we’ll have to see if the operation was successful. If it was, then there’s no reason why Casey shouldn’t fly again. But we had to deal with some pretty deep cuts. We’ll just have to wait.”

  I could feel that Maggie Rose was sad, so I went to comfort her by doing Roll Over without being asked. For some reason, there was no turkey for this.

  With people, the rules change all the time.

  Casey’s outfit was a white coat that he wore on the wing he had been dragging. It smelled like cloth and a little bit like a strong chemical. His other wing still fluttered and stuck out, but he seemed to like wearing his new coat so much he never moved that wing at all. He let me sniff the coat, but I honestly didn’t find it very interesting.

  Casey and I were becoming good friends. I would visit him by going to his cage and sticking my nose against the wires every day. Casey would hop over to greet me.

  One day, I noticed Casey watching Mom as she opened the cage door to put seeds in a bowl for him. After Mom had left, Casey went to the door of his cage and began pecking at it with his black beak. With a little bit of a rattle, the door swung open! Casey hopped out.

  I bowed and wagged and jumped around in excitement as Casey hopped along the floor between the stacks of cages, saying hello to all the animals.

  Casey was happy to see Brewster, who actually roused himself from a nap to wander over and sniff Casey from the other side of his gate. But Casey was far more interested in the kittens than anything else. He hopped up from one cage to another on the stack until he was off the floor, out of my reach, standing on top of an empty cage so that he could look right into the one with the three little kittens inside.

  The k
ittens tried to reach out to play with Casey. They could stick their soft little paws between the wires to bat at him, but Casey was not interested in having them pet him on the head like a person would pet a dog.

  Casey seemed to understand that kittens are not dogs, which is good information to have. A dog knows how to play by chewing very gently on a playmate, but kittens play with their claws. Sometimes they can accidentally hurt you. Adult cats are even more iffy when it comes to playing—some of them like dogs, and some of them despise dogs.

  This makes no sense because dogs are wonderful, but it is true, just like it’s true that you Should Not Sit in the Dog Park Water Bowl. Casey was showing the proper amount of caution around the kittens, I felt.

  When he made his way back down, one wing fluttering, he jumped right up on my back for a dog ride. I walked him around the room so he could see everything there was to see.

  At first, it felt very strange to have a big black bird on my back, his tiny feet gripping my fur. But soon it started to feel ordinary. Casey liked to be up there—I think it made him feel safe. And I liked to have him up there because it was a completely new way of playing with another animal.

  After taking a tour of all the cages, Casey hopped back up into his cage and then, reaching out with his beak, he pulled the door to his cage shut. I was very impressed.

  We did this every day that I went to Work. Most days I was at Work because Mom or Dad had said the word school, and that meant Maggie Rose was gone for some time. Other days, though—the best days—were when Maggie Rose came to Work with me!

  She would play with the kittens, she would play with Brewster, she would play with any puppies, and she would even reach her hand into Casey’s cage, and he would hop onto her wrist and she would pull him out and talk to him.

  One day, Mom came into the room while Maggie Rose was holding Casey. “Mom,” Maggie Rose asked, “how is Casey’s wing doing? Is it going to heal okay?”

  “Well,” Mom said, “we’ll take his bandage off in another few days, and then we’ll see.”

  “What’ll happen if the wing didn’t get fixed?” Maggie Rose asked.

  “Oh,” Mom said sadly, “I’m sure we’ll figure out a home for Casey. But I think he’d rather be able to fly.”

  “I’d love to fly. Would you like to fly, Lily?”

  I wagged, not sure what we were talking about but ready to play any game Maggie Rose came up with.

  The next day when no one said school, Maggie Rose came to Work and watched while Mom removed Casey’s coat. For the first time since I had met him, Casey flapped both of his wings! He didn’t fly, though. He just sort of stretched his wings out.

  Then Casey hopped down onto the floor and went over to visit the kittens.

  “We still don’t know if Casey can fly or not,” said Mom. “Let’s take him outside.”

  We all went into the yard together, and Dad came out to join us. I was happy that Casey was outside for the first time since he had come to live with us, because there are toys and grass and sticks out in the yard. I wondered what sort of games we might play together.

  I hoped if I grabbed a ball Casey would do Chase-Me. That’s a great game because I have the ball and everyone else wants it. Maggie Rose’s brothers, Bryan and Craig, often played Chase-Me. But sometimes Craig was able to catch me and grab the ball, and then I had to play Chase-Craig, which wasn’t as fun.

  Casey hopped on the ground and poked a little at the dirt. I went and found a rope toy to see if he was interested in tugging on it, but he mostly just wanted to jump around.

  “Can’t he remember how to fly?” Maggie Rose asked anxiously, looking up at Mom.

  Mom shook her head. “I don’t know, honey. His wing may still be feeling sore or weak. I’m just not sure.”

  I felt the sadness coming off Mom and wondered if I should take the rope toy to her to make her happy. Then Maggie Rose held out her hand, kneeling next to Casey. Casey hopped right up onto her hand. “Come on, Casey. You can fly,” she urged.

  Maggie Rose held Casey out at the end of her arm, but nothing else happened. I sat and scratched behind my ear, thinking that crow games are very different from dog games.

  “Please, Casey. Please try to fly!”

  6

  Casey lifted his wings a little, and I stared at my girl, Maggie Rose, because both Casey and I could hear in her voice that this was important.

  Crows can fly, and come together to mob hawks to protect their chipmunk friends, and hop over to see kittens. But as far as I know, they can’t do much else. A dog, now—a dog can do a great many wonderful things if it just understands what is needed.

  I decided that since Maggie Rose was holding her arm out, I should lift my paw, which is called Shake. It is a trick that Bryan taught me. He had hamburger pieces, so I caught on right away.

  But nobody seemed to notice my Shake, even though I was doing it so well.

  “I know,” Mom said. “Maggie Rose, why don’t you try running? Maybe the feeling of movement will give Casey the idea that he should try flying.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Dad agreed. “Maggie Rose? Keep your arm out and run into the wind.”

  I was startled and thrilled when all of a sudden Maggie Rose started to run, Casey still perched on her hand. Casey seemed excited, too, because he raised his wings. Maggie Rose ran around and around the yard. I chased her, holding the rope toy in my mouth so that this new game would be even more fun.

  With a squawk, Casey flapped his wings. With a gasp of delight, Maggie Rose lifted her hand even higher. Casey flew into the air!

  “Look, Dad!” Maggie Rose shouted. “Casey’s flying!”

  I sat with the rope toy in my mouth and watched as Casey soared far up into the sky. He flew in a big circle, flapping his wings. Maggie Rose was clapping, and Mom and Dad were smiling. Then Casey came gliding out of the sky and landed at Maggie Rose’s feet.

  I barked excitedly, dropping the rope toy in the grass. Then I jumped on it. We were all having such fun!

  Dad turned to Mom. “Oh, boy,” he said. “This isn’t good.”

  Just like that, the joy left my human family, even though I was shaking that rope toy like crazy.

  I hoped Casey understood what was going on, because I sure didn’t.

  That evening, I lay under Bryan’s feet at the dinner table. Bryan will sometimes hand down a piece of dinner for me to snack on while I am lying there, waiting for everyone to finish and practically fainting with all the wonderful smells. Maggie Rose is my girl, but Bryan and Craig are part of the family, too, so I love all of them. I love Bryan a lot if he is eating.

  “I’m worried that Casey’s become domesticated,” Dad said. “That doesn’t often happen with young birds, but he didn’t seem to want to fly off. Maybe he’s gotten too dependent on us giving him food.”

  “Maybe he just needs to find a crow family,” Mom said.

  “Yeah,” Craig agreed, “like playing soccer. You can play by yourself, but it’s much more fun with a team.”

  “Well,” Bryan replied, “not more fun for Maggie Rose. She’s such a little runt that no team would want her.”

  “That’s just not a very nice thing to say, Bryan,” Dad replied gruffly. “I think maybe after you apologize to Maggie Rose you should do the dishes for the rest of the week so you can think about what it would take for you to be nicer to your sister.”

  Bryan groaned and kicked his legs and did not feed me any more treats.

  “Maggie Rose, you are such fun. Would you like to play ball with me after dinner?” Craig asked sweetly.

  “Yes!” my girl said.

  I jumped up. Ball?

  Dad laughed. “Okay, that sounded pretty fake, Craig.”

  Then everyone laughed.

  Except Bryan.

  The next day was not a day where people said school. Instead, we went for a car ride! Dad drove, and Craig sat next to him. Casey was in his cage in the very back, and I was in the second seat w
ith Maggie Rose and Bryan. The three of us in the second seat were mostly watching out the window for other dogs to bark at.

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense to release Casey up in the mountains?” Maggie Rose asked. “There are lots of crows up there.”

  “Good question, Maggie Rose,” Dad answered. “But a flock of crows in the mountains is much less likely to accept a strange crow than a flock in the city. No one knows why, but I suspect it has to do with the birds all being more crowded here. The crows in cities are much more used to seeing strange birds. So we’re going to take Casey to a big city park where I know there are lots and lots of crows hanging around, and I hope they accept him.”

  “But what if they don’t like Casey?”

  “Well, we can keep trying. Maybe we’ll find another flock. Or Casey might just fly off on his own. Lone crows are not uncommon, especially males, but they’re always safer in a group. Do you know what a flock of crows is called?”

  “I know!” Craig called out.

  “Let’s see if your sister or brother knows,” Dad replied.

  Bryan rubbed his chin. “A crow flock?”

  Dad laughed.

  “I don’t know,” Maggie Rose admitted.

  I saw a squirrel out the window and wagged.

  “Craig?”

  “A murder?” Craig replied.

  Bryan laughed.

  “Actually,” Dad replied, “Craig is right. A group of crows is called a murder of crows. No one’s sure why. Maybe just because they’ll surround a dead animal to eat it. But there are people who think that crows are evil and bring death.”

  “Casey isn’t evil,” Maggie Rose objected. “He’s friendly!”

  “I did a report on crows,” Craig said. “They’re smart. When a crow dies, the other crows will all surround him, because they’re trying to figure out what happened. If it was an animal attack, they try to learn from it.”