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able to control him. Could I get some help?”
    â€œCertainly, what do you need?” Major Brown asked.
    â€œJust somebody to hold him while I perform the examination.”
    â€œI’ll get somebody right away.”
    â€œWhat about this young man? He’s been here from the start.”
    â€œJed? Would that be all right with you?”
    â€œYeah … I guess so,” I replied cautiously.
    The vet nodded. “Good. You aren’t going to get too many chances in your life to hold an eagle. Come over here and take him in your arms.”
    I stepped forward, held out my arms and braced myself to take on the weight of the bird. Carefully, he placed the eagle with its hooded head toward mine.
    â€œIt’s as light as a feather!” I noted in amazement. “It must be practically starving to death.”
    â€œNo, he’s not in bad shape. People are always sur–prised at how little an eagle, or any bird, really weighs. A full grown eagle weighs between ten and twelve pounds.
    They have to be built light to fly. Only land birds like ostriches or sea birds like penguins are heavy.
    He started running his fingers through the bird’s feathers, over the length of its body, working his way from the talons up to the head. I thought it would be pretty interesting to be a vet.
    â€œNo obvious injuries … good muscle tone … no ab–scesses … hello, what do we have here?” His fingers probed the side of the head where the feathers were stained. “A small crease in the skull. No point of entry. Undoubtedly a very close shave from a bullet that just skipped off the side of the head. Major, can you come here?”
    The major came over and stood directly in front of the vet. “Could you please take the wing after I stretch it out?”
    He proceeded to pull the injured wing out. It ex–tended at least three feet, maybe more. This bird, which stood almost three feet from talon to beak, was probably almost seven feet from the tip of one wing to the tip of the other. The vet placed one of his hands at what I figured was sort of the bird’s elbow and his second hand went to the tip. He then felt his way along the length of the limb, carefully exploring.
    Holding the eagle was like having a pillow in my hands. The soft feathers lightly moved with each shal–low breath it took. I eased off my bottom hand and felt one of the talons pricking my skin.
    â€œWell, I can’t detect any obvious break,” the vet said.
    â€œIf the wing had been broken we would have had to put it to sleep.”
    I felt a surge of relief flood over me. I didn’t want them to kill it.
    â€œBut, why can’t it fly?” I asked.
    â€œI suspect it has a torn muscle, probably sustained in the fall after the bullet grazed its head, knocking it out of flight. As well, although it’s hard to tell how much of a factor this is, it does seem to be missing a number of prime wing feathers on the injured wing, which would make flight difficult.”
    â€œWhat will be the treatment?” Major Brown asked.
    â€œWe have to wait.”
    â€œFor what?”
    â€œTo see what happens. If it’s just feathers and a torn muscle, then time will allow both to repair and it should be able to fly again.”
    â€œExcellent,” Major Brown replied.
    â€œUntil then, you’ll have to keep it fed, watered and safe from further injury.”
    â€œWe’ll try. I have somebody in mind who might be able to take good care of it,” Major Brown said, look–ing at me. “Somebody who’ll take very good care of it … right, Jed?”

.5.
    â€œCome on, if we move fast we can stay ahead of my sis–ters,” Tadashi said as he came up to me on the path. I fell in beside him and took up his pace.
    â€œIt will be different walking through the woods with–out your sisters giggling at our heels,” I commented.
    â€œYeah, they can be