Ode To Wellie-Part Three (Free Wellie)

One of the last photos of Wellie. Jacqueline took it while Wellie stuffed a piece of kibble in her shoe

Jacqueline took a walk, as she does every day with her dog and her daughter. As she passed the barn, she noticed a woman standing next to the main barn gate. Jacqueline had never seen this particular woman before so she changed direction and approached her.

The woman, whose back was to Jacqueline, turned around. When she turned, Jacqueline saw that Wellie was perched on the woman’s index finger.

The woman said, “Look at this bird. It landed on my finger. I can’t believe it.” Jacqueline burst her Dr. Doolittle bubble and told the woman that the bird’s name was Wellie and briefly explained why she was so tame. Jacqueline then continued on her walk.

All the time Jacqueline was on her walk, this strange woman was in the back of her mind. Who was she? She seemed a little off. She said she had birds. She said she had a budgie and a cockatiel and she said she wished she had a bird like Wellie.

Jacqueline wondered if she had made it clear that Wellie was hand-raised by her and that Wellie belonged in the neighborhood. But this woman seemed smitten with Wellie. She wouldn’t take Wellie, would she? She understood that Wellie was happy and free and should never live in a cage—didn’t she?

Jacqueline, feeling a bit panicky about her bird’s safety, walked swiftly back toward the barn.

The woman was gone and Wellie still flew like a happy lunatic dive bombing, shrieking and squawking. Jacqueline could breathe again. She had no idea that this was her last day with her beloved Wellie.

Wellie slept outside but came inside every morning for breakfast. The next morning Jacqueline opened up her kitchen door and there was no sign of Wellie anywhere. I was reading her blog that day and she had written a piece called “Worry.” I saw the title and decided not to read it. I had a feeling what it might be about and I didn’t want to know.

The same day Wellie went missing, the strange woman showed up again and inquired about her. Jacqueline told her that she hadn’t seen Wellie. Jacqueline talked with the woman, who had some silly excuse for being in the neighborhood, an excuse that made no sense. Again Jacqueline felt a weird vibe from the stranger. She thought it eerie that the woman showed up the very same day that Wellie went missing.

So as she searched for Wellie, she also did some sleuthing about the weird woman.

Jacqueline walked over to the sculptor’s studio down the drive, and learned that the woman had shown up unannounced at the studio the day before. She knew no one and gave the sculptor and his assistants a creepy feeling.

This gave Jacqueline a stomachache.

She called me later and told me the story. “Do you think she took Wellie?” I said. “I don’t know, it just seems strange that she showed up the day that Wellie disappeared.”

“I think so too.”

Jacqueline had gotten the woman’s address from the sculptor who had no need for it.

Jacqueline and I came up with a devious plan to spring Wellie form the psychopathic bird-thief—a plan that would require cocktails.

As we sipped our Chiginis (a drink I made up and named after myself—a combination of Vodka, grapefruit juice and maraschino cherries) we plotted.

We would drive over to the deranged fledgling rustler’s apartment and knock on her door and offer her a cell phone, telling her that we thought that she had left it at the barn. We would then make some sort of remark about how cute the caged birds she owned were and push our way into her living room. We would then scan her apartment for any signs of Wellie.

Jacqueline then asked what we would do if she was there. How would we get Wellie out of the apartment of the ornithological kleptomaniac? Feeling the effects of the two Chiginis I had just put away I looked at Jacqueline and said, “If she’s there, I’ll just take her.”

So we jumped in my Volvo and drove to the bird burglar’s apartment. It was one of the fourplex complexes with an alley that runs behind all the units for access to the apartment carports. Over every carport was a corresponding apartment number and by this we could tell she wasn’t home, oh so convenient.

We parked about five fourplexes away on the street and walked back to the alley. From there we walked along until we got to her unit. Luckily it was one of the two ground floor units. We had consumed too much alcohol to make a stealthy ascent up the cement-treaded iron staircase to the top units.

I felt like a teenager spying on my first crush, sneaking out with my best friend without our parent’s permission.

Our quarry’s windows were dark.

First we moved past her windows toward the street. We tried not to disturb the neighbor across the way. When we realized that no one had seen us, we turned and headed back toward the apartment again. I walked right up to her window and stuck my face against it. I could se one bird in a cage and it was the budgie. Jacqueline looked into her other window, she thought she saw the cockatiel but she wasn’t sure.

Jacqueline wanted answers—and knowing there was another bird in the kidnapper’s apartment only added to her conviction.

She moved over to the bush I was standing in while trying to get a better vantage point and said, “I’m going to try the door.” Our crime was about to change from voyeurism to breaking and entering.

As Jacqueline reached for the front door of the apartment, I grabbed her hand. “Jacqueline, I don’t want my kids to read about me in the paper tomorrow.”

She really, really wanted to bust in and free her wild birdie friend, but I stopped her and she thought better of it. I suggested that perhaps Jack-in-the-Box would be a better place to go. I needed something greasy and salty to soak up all the alcohol in my stomach.

My mind had drifted away from Wellie and onto a double sourdough bacon burger.

We would come back in the morning (when birds are active) hoping to hear Wellie. Wellie was not shy—if she were in the apartment we would hear her.

The next day was bright and blue, crisp and clear. We drove back over, did the alley loop to see if the birdnapper’s car was there. Her car was still not there.

We walked past the apartment calling for Wellie, but we heard nothing except a little budgie chatter. We looked for the windows again and we saw were the budgie and the cockatiel sitting in their cages—alone.

So there it was: The psychotic bird-rustler was just some lonely middle-aged single woman searching for a friend and we had been the ones who acted crazy.

We just didn’t want to believe that Wellie was gone. She was so full of life that she filled us up too.

As we walked out of the complex, we saw a crow taking a walnut and placing it in the street in hopes that a car would run over it, crushing it so that the crow could pick out the meat.
 
I walked back towards crow and stomped on the walnut. I walked away and the crow bounced back onto the walnut and started to eat it.

“That’s for Wellie.” Jacqueline shouted.


Wellie helping jacqueline's son with his homework.

Comments

[Jacqueline]

Sniffle. Love it.

[chigiy]

Jacquelline,
I'm sorry Wellie is gone.
I would like to think she followed a really handsome Jay somewhere up into the open space. I'm sticking with that story. xox