say good-by when a person goes into the pantry.” The parrot bobbed its head and began to walk sideways across the mop handle, circling the handle with its feet. “You say good-by when someone’s going out the door. The door!” He pointed to the door and then disappeared into the pantry.
“Where’s Papa?” the parrot screamed.
“You know where I am.”
“Where’s Papa?”
“He’s in there,” Sammy said. He sat down at the white table with the chipped porcelain top. He leaned forward on his arms. He remembered how much trouble it was to make spaghetti—his mother took all afternoon doing it—and so he said, “Don’t go to any trouble on my account.”
“It ain’t no trouble.” His grandfather came out of the pantry with a can of spaghetti in his hand. “Unless you want it heated.”
“No, I don’t want it heated,” Sammy said quickly. “I like it cold.” He watched his grandfather open the can of spaghetti and divide it into two soup bowls. He wiped spoons off on a towel.
“Here you go.”
Sammy took his bowl and set it down.
Suddenly his grandfather glanced up. “Here comes the owl,” he said. “Remember I was telling you about him?”
Sammy had not heard anything. He looked around quickly and saw the owl flying to the back of the chair by the door. It was a silent mothlike flight. The owl rested there a moment and then swooped over to the table. The underside of his wings were white in the dark room. Startled, Sammy put up his hands. “He ain’t going to hurt you,” his grandfather said.
“I know that.” The owl landed in the middle of the table and stood looking at Sammy. He stepped forward on his stiff legs and glared. He was a small owl, gray, about eight inches high, but he seemed bigger because of his large broad head and the ruff of feathers around his yellow eyes.
“He has eyelashes,” Sammy said, “long ones.” It was the first time he had seen an owl up close. “What is he looking at me for?” He laughed uneasily. “Have I got his bowl or something?”
His grandfather was bent over, eating. He ignored Sammy’s question and said, “I figure we’ll have to force-feed the crane at first.” He shoveled spaghetti into his mouth like a man stoking a furnace. “We’ll just make up a liquid mixture and pour it down.”
“That’s what I figured too.” The geese were under the table. Their soft bodies rustled around Sammy’s legs. He drew his feet behind him under the chair. The geese didn’t bother him as much as the owl, who was still staring. Sammy said again, “What’s the owl looking at me for?”
Spaghetti was beginning to stain his grandfather’s mustache orange. He pointed at Sammy with his spoon and said, “We’ll feed the crane as soon as we finish lunch. If he’s blind, he hasn’t been eating good.”
The owl was gazing intently at Sammy. All of a sudden his head began to swing back and forth. He half raised his wings. Sammy said quickly, “But what’s this owl up to? Is he going to do anything to me or what?”
“Don’t worry about the owl. He’s always coming up on something or somebody and getting them in his sight and staring at them for ten minutes or so and then flying off. He does that to the parrot. He does that to my shoe. One time he stared at nothing in the corner of the room for fifteen minutes. It don’t mean nothing.”
The owl made a low noise. “Ooh.”
Sammy said quickly, “Does that mean anything?”
“No. He’ll get used to you.”
The owl continued to stare. “Does he come to the table all the time?” Sammy asked.
“He’ll come, but not to eat. He don’t have any interest in food that don’t move. He’ll walk right across your plate.” His grandfather looked at the owl and said, “His eyes are fixed. That’s why he stares.”
“I thought so.”
“Watch here.” His grandfather reached out and began to scratch the owl at the base of his bill. Slowly, contentedly, the owl closed both pairs of
“Where’s Papa?” the parrot screamed.
“You know where I am.”
“Where’s Papa?”
“He’s in there,” Sammy said. He sat down at the white table with the chipped porcelain top. He leaned forward on his arms. He remembered how much trouble it was to make spaghetti—his mother took all afternoon doing it—and so he said, “Don’t go to any trouble on my account.”
“It ain’t no trouble.” His grandfather came out of the pantry with a can of spaghetti in his hand. “Unless you want it heated.”
“No, I don’t want it heated,” Sammy said quickly. “I like it cold.” He watched his grandfather open the can of spaghetti and divide it into two soup bowls. He wiped spoons off on a towel.
“Here you go.”
Sammy took his bowl and set it down.
Suddenly his grandfather glanced up. “Here comes the owl,” he said. “Remember I was telling you about him?”
Sammy had not heard anything. He looked around quickly and saw the owl flying to the back of the chair by the door. It was a silent mothlike flight. The owl rested there a moment and then swooped over to the table. The underside of his wings were white in the dark room. Startled, Sammy put up his hands. “He ain’t going to hurt you,” his grandfather said.
“I know that.” The owl landed in the middle of the table and stood looking at Sammy. He stepped forward on his stiff legs and glared. He was a small owl, gray, about eight inches high, but he seemed bigger because of his large broad head and the ruff of feathers around his yellow eyes.
“He has eyelashes,” Sammy said, “long ones.” It was the first time he had seen an owl up close. “What is he looking at me for?” He laughed uneasily. “Have I got his bowl or something?”
His grandfather was bent over, eating. He ignored Sammy’s question and said, “I figure we’ll have to force-feed the crane at first.” He shoveled spaghetti into his mouth like a man stoking a furnace. “We’ll just make up a liquid mixture and pour it down.”
“That’s what I figured too.” The geese were under the table. Their soft bodies rustled around Sammy’s legs. He drew his feet behind him under the chair. The geese didn’t bother him as much as the owl, who was still staring. Sammy said again, “What’s the owl looking at me for?”
Spaghetti was beginning to stain his grandfather’s mustache orange. He pointed at Sammy with his spoon and said, “We’ll feed the crane as soon as we finish lunch. If he’s blind, he hasn’t been eating good.”
The owl was gazing intently at Sammy. All of a sudden his head began to swing back and forth. He half raised his wings. Sammy said quickly, “But what’s this owl up to? Is he going to do anything to me or what?”
“Don’t worry about the owl. He’s always coming up on something or somebody and getting them in his sight and staring at them for ten minutes or so and then flying off. He does that to the parrot. He does that to my shoe. One time he stared at nothing in the corner of the room for fifteen minutes. It don’t mean nothing.”
The owl made a low noise. “Ooh.”
Sammy said quickly, “Does that mean anything?”
“No. He’ll get used to you.”
The owl continued to stare. “Does he come to the table all the time?” Sammy asked.
“He’ll come, but not to eat. He don’t have any interest in food that don’t move. He’ll walk right across your plate.” His grandfather looked at the owl and said, “His eyes are fixed. That’s why he stares.”
“I thought so.”
“Watch here.” His grandfather reached out and began to scratch the owl at the base of his bill. Slowly, contentedly, the owl closed both pairs of
Similar Books
