Page 36

He pulled on the long white coat, faffed a bit trying to get the plastic shower hat thing on, before realising it was one of a pair of shoe covers — idiot. He finally got things the right way on and tapped on the window.

‘Hi.’ A woman buzzed the door, letting him in. ‘I’m Nancy, one of the aviculturists here. I understand you’re here to see the little cockatoo?’

‘Yeah.’ Rick nodded and held out his hand. ‘I’m Rick.’

‘Nice to meet you, but you’ll have to forgive me the handshake. Disinfectant gel is by the door — and be liberal with it please.’

Rick did as he was told, covering his hands in the pink, acrid gel. ‘How’s she doing? I mean, I know it’s not good, but did you get her to eat at all?’

‘I’m afraid not.’ Nancy sighed. ‘I’ve crop-tubed her this morning, but she didn’t fight me too much — which isn’t a good sign — and she hasn’t really shown any interest in anything. Nothing has come back on the blood work, and we didn’t find anything in the droppings either. There’s a few tests outstanding — like the PBFD one, but we don’t think it’s that.’

‘What’s that?’

‘A particularly nasty virus, and the main reason we’re both in protective gear. It’s called psittacine beak and feather disease. It’s a bit like HIV in that it destroys the immune system of birds, making them susceptible to lots of other diseases. Only there aren’t really any treatments, and it can spread through their droppings, even feathers or dust, as well as bodily fluids.’

She must have seen the look of horror on his face. ‘But don’t worry. Like I said, we don’t think it’s what she’s got, and it’s only a problem to parrots. It can’t hurt you. All this—’ she gestured to their gear ‘—the hand sanitiser, the shoe wash you’ll walk through on your way out, and the air purifiers in here are all to protect our other birds. Thankfully, it’s quite rare in the UK, but sadly not unheard of, and potentially devastating to a sanctuary like this, so we take precautions very seriously.’

‘That makes sense. But you don’t think that’s what she has?’

‘No.’ Nancy shook her head. ‘She doesn’t have any obvious symptoms. Her beak, claws and skin — apart from under her wing — look fairly normal, and the pattern of feather loss combined with her wounds look more habitual than disease-led. Are your hands dry yet?’

‘Yeah.’ He held them up to show her.

‘And you’re sure you want to do this?’

‘Yes, please.’ Rick nodded firmly. ‘I know it’s silly — but I just wanted to . . . I don’t know . . .’ He didn’t have the words to finish the thought he barely understood himself.

‘It’s not silly. These birds, they’re special . . . I think more so than other animals. They’re so incredibly intelligent and loving, and they sneak their way into our hearts and change us somehow. I’m glad that, after everything this little one has been through, there’s someone who cares about her enough to want to make a hundred-mile round trip to see her, who feels as bad as you do that she’s losing her fight.’

‘There’s really nothing more you can do for her?’ Rick had to ask one more time, even though he felt a bit guilty doing so. Especially when Nancy sighed sadly.

‘We’ve been trying to get her to eat since she got here. All the usual foods and some treats. We’ve changed bowls, tried spoons, had other birds eating at the same time on the other side of the window, and tried playing videos in case she was lonely. I’ve even sat in here with my lunch in the hope it triggered her interest. We could try anesthetising her and X-raying, but there’s no guarantee she’d survive the procedure at this point, or that we’d find anything we can treat. Our vet is reviewing her tomorrow, but he’s questioning quality of life at this point.’

Rick nodded, glumly. He knew what that meant.

Nancy held open another door for him, and a blast of warm air hit him. ‘She’s in here.’

‘Thank you.’

At first, he didn’t see the bird in the large, wide cage in the corner of the room, filled with toys and perches. She was huddled in the corner on a fuzzy cushion, facing away from the room, her scrawny, mostly bald wings loose against her sides, her head flopped down on its side. He could see her ribs and tail moving with every breath — but that was the only sign of life. He had to swallow hard twice before he could speak. How could this pathetic scrap of feathers and skin be the same obnoxious bird who had sworn so gleefully and made Angela yelp with nips.

‘Oh you poor little bald Chicken-butt.’ He laced his fingers through the cage bars. ‘This just isn’t fair. Why have you stopped eating, you silly thing? Don’t you realise you’re in the best place possible? You could be so happy here if only you’d try.’ It was stupid to be so upset. He’d only known this ugly bird a few hours, and his life wouldn’t change at all if it died tomorrow. If he hadn’t been forced to volunteer at Bill’s he wouldn’t have even met her. But in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to see her chowing down on some food, or hear her mutter dark, evil-sounding noises and rude words. He had to close his eyes against the burning tears he didn’t want to shed in front of a stranger.

He didn’t see the dark brown eyes blink slowly open, or the little head bob up and down a couple of times. He didn’t see, or hear, the little bird wobble slowly across the cage, using her beak to pull herself the last couple of inches to shove her head under his fingers.

‘Oh, Chicken-butt.’ He rubbed his fingers through her velvety crest of feathers. ‘You are a sorry-looking state.’

The bird nibbled his finger gently, and tilted her head to one side to look at him, then whistled softly.

He turned to Nancy — who was watching, her eyes wide with shock. ‘Can I get her out? Maybe try to feed her?’

‘Umm, yeah. Feel free. But try not to get your hopes up too much. The only way we’ve gotten her to eat so far was forcibly with a syringe.’

‘Doesn’t sound like much fun.’ Rick opened the cage and stuck his hand in, and was gratified to see the bird try to stand a little taller. ‘Hello, you bald, ugly chicken.’ He rubbed the few feathers she had on her head a couple more times, before resting his hand on the bottom of the cage.

After long, painful moments the bird looked at him and very, very slowly lifted one scaley, grey foot onto his wrist. She stretched out, digging that big, black beak into his sleeve and using it to hoist the rest of her skinny self onto his arm. Moving very slowly, scared of unbalancing or scaring her, he lifted her out of the cage and cradled her against his chest.

‘Hello, Chicken-butt.’

The bird mumbled and muttered, turning herself slightly to bury her head in the crook of his elbow, and he felt the lump in his throat grow, threatening to choke him. She muttered some more, and he leaned in closer to try and hear what she was saying.

‘Fuckerfuckerfuckerfuckerfuckerfucker.’

Rick burst out laughing. ‘Still got no bloody manners, I see.’ He turned to Nancy. ‘Got some of this food she’s been refusing?’

‘Sure.’ She handed over a dish.

‘Right, you bad-mouthed, poorly mannered, bald little chicken, are you going to behave yourself and try eating something now? Because right now it wouldn’t even be worth plucking what’s left of your feathers to roast you, you’re so scrawny. Honestly, the size-zero heroin-chic look hasn’t been in fashion since the nineties. It’s just so uncool.’ He picked some of the mush out of the bowl and shoved it in front of the bird’s beak, already knowing what was going to happen.

‘Wow.’ Nancy breathed the word. ‘I’ve heard of parrots bonding to someone so strongly that they refused food from other people, but I’ve never actually seen it. How long did you know her?’

‘Not even three days.’ Rick shook his head and hooked out another blob of food.

‘You’re kidding.’

‘Nope.’

‘Fucker,’ Chicken-butt growled happily before shoving her beak into the dish, smothering herself and Rick in the mush.