“Still hanging out with humans, eh Liana? But I get it. Friends are friends, even if they don’t have feathers, there’s a bond which cannot be broken without fouling one’s nest. But this Great Horned Owl by the name of Ruby Eloise Veronica, is hoping you haven’t forgotten about the Great Sing-off, less than a week away. So tune up those pipes and strike up the band. Rehearsals start now!”
“I haven’t forgotten, Ruby, not at all. “Let’s find a tree with good acoustics.” Actually, I wanted to go back inside and congratulate everyone, especially Molly and Armantrout. But I’d promised. We flew to a pine tree ruffled with tufts of new growth and stood high on its top-most branches.
She looked at me with eyes as wide as a lighthouse and beamed her concern. “What are we going to sing?”
I’d never been able to sing a lick, instead, had memorized many songs. There was one in particular that always gave me a lift, a cheerful reminder to forget the slings and arrows that had been directed my way by unfeeling people. Cleo liked to hum the song, especially as she melted candlewax over the fire, stirring her pot. “So we’re doing a duet together?”
“I thought we’d already agreed to that, or must I to repeat myself a dozen times?”
Ruby often got prickly when she got nervous. “Okay, let’s get down to business. Do you know, When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bob, Bob Bobbing Along?”
“Everyone’s knows that,” Ruby said. “But why are we singing about robins when I’m an owl and you’re…actually, what kind of bird are you, not that it makes a difference?”
“An irregular,” I said, “a hybrid.”
“Makes our entry stand out more. Ruby, the Great Horned Owl and Liana, the Hybrid Bird. Hope you don’t mind my getting top billing; it’s better that way.” She didn’t bother to explain how. “Okay, back to the robin stuff. So tell me, why are we singing about a red breasted bird? How’s that going to help our cause?”
“It demonstrates how we’re non-partisan, able to sing outside our comfort zone, embrace all bird families, not just our own. Plus, it’s the only song I know, which is another good reason.”
She gave a low whistle. “If that’s what we have to work with, then let’s give it a try.”
“Okay, at the count of three…” We began. One thing immediately became clear. Ruby could only produce two notes, soft and moderated, occasionally forceful and stirring. The sound resonated up through my claws.
“What’d you think? I was pretty good, right?”
“A good range and a strong tone, but why don’t we try changing it up?”
“But you’re really telling me any aspirations I might have of becoming a real singer are perfectly laughable? Right? Right? Please, don’t pity me. All my life I’ve just wanted to sound like a songbird, but no matter how hard I try, it’s been no use.”
“Ruby, pull yourself together. You’re allowing the competition to get to your nerves.” She looked at me with those large lighthouse eyes. “Look, I have an idea. You can be the bass and keep our time by tapping your talons. Do you who-whoos in a regular pattern. That’s what you do best, so stick to that. Why fix what’s not broken? I’ll sing melody. You do bass. Let’s take it from the top and see how it sounds.”
She lifted her beak and agreed with the bravery of a wounded soldier.
I began singing:
What if I’ve been blue,
Now I’m walking through fields of flowers,
Rain may glisten, but still I listen for hours and hours.
I’m just a kid again, doing what I did again, singing a song,
When the red, red robin comes bob, bob bobbin’ along.
Ruby got the idea, sang her two notes behind me, and gave the song a syncopated, bouncy feeling. An audience of birds gathered in a facing pine tree. Everyone began to sing along with us.