The Way of Birds: Fiction Prompt #157

I'd love to help but it won’t be me scolding the lumbering cows. The two lapwings will stand their ground against the lurching muscle that's a thousand times their own weight. Wings spread and “kecking” loudly. Just a single step from scrambling eggs the cows will look up, say “what the…!” and change direction. Even the fractious bull will reluctantly step away after a tense few seconds of indignation.

And neither will I chase away the scouting harriers that float over the field with such beautiful menace. Sorry, lapwings, love stops me doing that. You are beautiful but birds of prey are beyond stunning. So please stay alert and persuade the harriers to hawk some other field yourself.

Last year the cowman stepped inches from the eggs without realising. I almost called out but was worried he might take them for supper instead. The lapwings didn’t challenge him either. He is scarier than the bull.

“She might have eggs already.” Sue glances up, happy for me but poised mid-type. “Want to check?” I say with a grin. She lightly snorts and turns back to her message.

After the cows have been led home, I wheel my barrow around the field spading up what they left behind. We should get a lot of bananas this year thanks to them. I carefully avoid the lapwings but edge too close and they take flight giving me a guilty chance for a very quick look. Both birds dive at me but twist away still metres from contact. It's half-hearted on their part. I may be less scary than the cowman but I am still human so their mobbing is brief. So is my visit. Two mottled eggs nestled on the ground in a sparse nest barely hidden in the grass. So vulnerable. So perfect. The nestlings will break my heart again this year.

But what about the dog? That lovely russet mixed-breed who barks annoyingly whenever I walk close to the fence. The cowman usually leaves him to guard the cows that have been his companions since birth. He wasn’t here today and wasn’t even alive last year. He and the lapwings have been ignoring each other but perhaps the nest changes things.

“Hon.” Her tone makes me stop. “I need to go to Bangkok.” I put down the wheelbarrow of manure and walk towards her. “Ben’s been in an accident.” Saying it makes her crumble and I jump to catch her.

My own voice cracks as I ask, “How is he?”

She wipes her eyes with her hand and answers, “He’ll be okay. Just a broken leg. But…”

The distance. Sharing his home for his first six years showed me a love I never knew about. I had no choice but to care and then cope with the irrational worry that came in tow. Moving away was difficult. To care so deeply about somebody else’s son was never in my plan. For Sue, now having so little involvement piles fuel on her burning worry. She was on-call to raise Ben's mother as her own whenever it was necessary and it was almost the same with Ben himself. Patching without parenting.

I drive her to Bangkok and we stay close to the hospital for two days. Ben is uncertain at first, almost embarrassed. We smile, joke and ruffle his fluffy head. His father escaped with less damage but his motorbike did not. Good riddance to it. But none of us points a finger. We just spoil the little treasure, make promises of future trips and sign his cast.

On the way home we fill the empty feeling with the radio. Ben’s father is a problem we can’t solve.

I check the field immediately. The dog barks at me then wanders away to sniff the snouts of his cow friends. I can see a lapwing sitting on the ground so everything’s okay.

With one eye constantly on the field next door I lose myself in the garden's needs. Raking mats of dry cut grass around the fruit trees is tiring and I pause often.

The dog wanders too close to the nest and the reaction of the parents makes me smile broadly. It starts with the female calling sharply. The dog stops and looks up as she quivers her wings. A quick dart and she would be in the dog's mouth but the swoosh of wings within inches of his head as the father dives from behind sends the dog running for cover with its tail firmly buried between its legs. Both parents swoop after it with piercing calls as I cheer them on.

Happiness enters our home after we pick up Ben. His parents need to work and our air is so much better for recuperation than Bangkok's. His arrival coincides with the hatching. We watch with adoration from the veranda. Two gorgeous tiny balls of feathers on their overly long gangling legs delicately tiptoe around the field dabbing at flies. Their parents are ever watchful and the dog stays well away.

Ben laughs as the chicks dodge the confused cows. He is reminded of the little clockwork toys still in a box somewhere. He fetches his aunt and together the three of us silently marvel at the exquisite darlings. That evening as the sun slowly fades to crimson our home glows so warmly.

The next day Ben is disappointed that the chicks have gone. "They ate all the flies and wandered over there," I say vaguely pointing with my nose.

"Let's go look for them." He reaches for his boots but winces as he stretches.

"No, sorry Ben, you can't jump fences with your leg. Maybe they'll come back. Anyway, their mummy and daddy are with them."

"Hmm, okay, but can I still name them?" His eyes are heart-breakingly bright.

I swallow then reply, "Sure, I think they'd like that. Come up with any ideas yet?"

He already has the answer, "Tittapots and Dreebert." I laugh, loving his unhindered imagination, but glance at Sue who is looking at me. She has read me and knows what I am not telling him. I can see her sadness for the two lost chicks. After Ben's accident, a reminder of the fragility of life is not what she needs.

But she steels herself for him, "So, Benny, tell me about Tittapots and Dreebert. What are they eating right now do you think?"

"Cheese and worms. But not with toast, it's too crunchy for them." Stories and drawings follow. He will be okay. She will make sure of that. I grow bananas from dung, she grows people.

I have forgiven the harrier that drifts above the field on angled wings. It is as fragile as the rest of us.

Image and text my own.