“But we’re not going to be in the sun.”
“Oh, great balls of Fiorenza, I’ve got my reasons.”
The girls knew it was useless to argue with Grandma, so they put their ropes and her beach umbrella in the back of the truck.
“Okay, a baby bird kit …” Keisha started to count off on her fingers. “One, there’s a cardboard shoe box and a bag of shredded paper by the recycling pile in the garage. Aaliyah can find that. Hmmm. Two, Wen, a bottle of filtered water and a syringe from the shed in the back where we keep the animal supplies.”
Wen and Aaliyah had done this before. They knew where everything was. Keisha headed to the office.
“Don’t forget the eggshells,” Grandma called from the truck. “Baby crows need their calcium.”
“Yup.” Keisha ran to the office desk and pulled out the bird file, flipping through it until she found the section on crows. Baby birds need very different food. They aren’t like puppies, for instance. Puppies all eat pretty much the same thing.
Mama said puppies were always on Keisha’s mind. She said Keisha was a puppy magnet. If there was a picture of a puppy in the newspaper or a commercial on TV with a puppy or even a puppy hanging out the window of the car next to them, letting its adorable little tongue taste the breeze, Keisha would see it and call it out for everyone else to see.
But as she scanned the fact sheet about baby crows, Keisha knew there was another reason to be thinking about puppies, and that was because one of the things baby crows like to eat was mashed-up puppy food.
She ran down to the basement and took a handful of puppy chow out of the bin by the freezer. She also grabbed a little plastic bag of frozen crickets. Back upstairs, she got a hard-boiled egg from the fridge. She put two crickets, a quarter cup of water and the puppy chow in the microwave for ninety seconds. Then she sliced the whole egg in half, scooped out the yolk and crackled up the shell. She dumped everything in the animals’ food processor and whirled it around. Yum. Crow food! She dumped it all into a plastic tub and stuck on the lid.
Daddy was warming up the truck. Grandma was in the front, and Wen and Aaliyah were in the back in ABC order. Aaliyah always called ABC order so she could sit by a window.
She handed the shoe box full of shredded paper to Keisha, who used her fist to make a well in the center, kind of like a nest.
“It doesn’t seem very soft,” Wen said. “Cotton balls would be nicer, don’t you think?”
“Don’t you remember from our last Wild 4-Ever meeting?” Aaliyah said. “Big Bob said you can’t use anything that gets caught in their feet. Cotton balls and crow talons are not a good mix.”
“That’s good recall, Aaliyah,” Daddy said. “And it’s true, too.”
Aaliyah patted her braids. She liked it when Daddy said nice things about her memory. “They make messy nests, too. Remember the—”
“I need your eyes, ladies,” Daddy interrupted.
“Look for the big brick posts,” Keisha said. “That’s where you turn in.”
Aaliyah grabbed Keisha’s knee. “Wen wants to do freestyle, but I think we should do double unders. What do you think, Keisha?”
“Explain them again,” Daddy said. He could never keep it straight.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Grandma sighed. “It’s not that complicated.”
When Keisha was little, Grandma was a jump rope judge. But now that Keisha was competing, Grandma couldn’t concentrate on judging anyone else, so she became the oldest Langston Hughes Steppers cheerleader. She even had a megaphone.
“There are four forms, and all have equal weight in judging,” Grandma told Daddy. “One-minute speed jumping, three-minute speed jumping, double unders and freestyle.”
“‘Double unders’ means the rope goes underneath your feet twice, right?” Daddy asked.
“Yup.”
“Mr. Rose said that with Aaliyah coming up this year, he’s thinking about entering the Langston Hughes Steppers in the triple-under competition.” Wen patted Aaliyah’s leg. Aaliyah was the only one in the school who could do a whole minute of triple unders.
“Oops. Sorry, Daddy. That’s where you turn.… See that big brick post?”
“Hold on!” Daddy turned the wheel sharp, and the jar of baby crow food bounced from Keisha’s lap to Wen’s. Wen held it up. “Looks like miso paste,” she said.
“Do you eat miso paste?” Keisha asked.
“We make soup with it,” Wen said.
Whatever miso paste was, Keisha was in no hurry to try it.
Daddy parked in the driveway.
“Hey, I know this house,” Aaliyah said. “She’s at the community center sometimes. Moms brought her some soup. We could practice in this driveway.” Aaliyah hopped out of the truck and ran down the driveway.
“Aaliyah, no!” Keisha was too late. Aaliyah ran right near the mailbox. The crows in the trees hub-bub-bubbed, as Razi would say, cawing loudly to each other. Two crows dove down toward Aaliyah.
Aaliyah covered her head and ducked. “Birds, don’t mess with my braids!” She ran bent over back to the truck.
“You silly girl. That’s what the umbrella’s for!” Grandma shouted out the window.
“For cover,” Daddy said. “Mom, what a splendid idea.”
“Well, if we’d had a CFC, I would have told you.” Grandma liked it best when she got to go over plans beforehand at a Carter Family Conference.
“Is that Mrs. Sampson?” Wen asked, pointing to the lady in the window.
Keisha nodded. Mrs. Sampson was in her same spot by the second-floor window. How much time does she spend there? Keisha wondered.
Daddy got out of the truck and went to the front door. Keisha followed him.
“Unplug me, Wen,” Grandma said. Wen jumped out of the truck.
“They got their little crow toenails in my swirl!” Aaliyah said, patting the top of her head. “Moms is gonna die.”
“It looks fine,” Wen said, helping Grandma with the seat belt. “They didn’t get that close.”
“I felt their hot crow breath. It was like sour cherries.”
“Where’s your crown, drama queen?” Grandma said, laughing as she scooched herself over to the open door, grabbed Wen’s hand and stepped out of the truck.
Daddy knocked on the door and called out: “Carters’ Urban Rescue! Here about a baby crow.”
Mrs. Sampson opened the door. “I’m old, but I’m not deaf.”
Grandma came up the walk. “It’s me,” she said. “I’m the deaf one. He can’t adjust. Alice Carter.” She took Mrs. Sampson’s wrinkled hand in her own.
Daddy pulled out the family card that read, WHATEVER THE DILEMMA, IF IT’S GOT FUR OR FEATHERS, THE CARTERS ARE THE ONES TO CALL! 555-7803.
“I understand you have a baby crow in the mailbox,” Daddy said.
Mrs. Sampson nodded. “There was a cat. I don’t move that fast. The mailbox was the first thing I came to.”
“This baby needs help, Mrs. Sampson. If he stays in your mailbox much longer, he’ll likely starve. We feed our baby crows every twenty minutes.”
“Oh dear. I put some seeds in the box, but now I can’t get near it.”
“Crow-diving is hard for the balance,” Grandma agreed.
“But we do have a rescue plan.” Daddy glanced back at the truck, where Aaliyah was shaking her head no. “I have three strong girls here. You’ve met my daughter, Keisha. And this is our friend Wen.
“They will transport a beach umbrella to the mailbox and I will transfer the baby to this temporary nest.” He held out the shoe box filled with shredded paper.
“Then we can either drive him back to our place, or …” Daddy craned his long neck to see into Mrs. Sampson’s house. “We could examine him right here and begin treatment immediately.”
Mrs. Sampson turned her head to follow Daddy’s gaze. “I wasn’t expecting company.”
“Just a few minutes at your kitchen table will do the trick.”
“I sup
pose … Better use the dining room table. There’s more light in there.”
“Excellent.” Daddy seized the moment. “Keisha, Wen, get the umbrella. Mom, why don’t you stay here on the porch with Mrs. Sampson? There might be jostling and I notice you didn’t bring your cane.”
“I can walk just fine without it.”
“Maybe so, but you promised to have it with you on all rescue operations.”
“But it’s so OL,” Grandma complained. “OL” meant “Old Lady.” Grandma didn’t like anything that made her seem old.
“Not the pink one,” Wen said. Wen loved pink.
There are beach umbrellas and there are beach umbrellas. Some make only enough shade to cover your towel for an hour before you have to move it to keep off the sun. But others, like Grandma Alice’s, are big enough to shade a family of six at Millennium Park for most of the day. Daddy said that Razi should never hold on to that umbrella in a breeze or it would lift him right up into the clouds.
Keisha jumped into the back of the truck. Putting her hands around the big folds of fabric, she hoisted the umbrella over the lip of the truck bed. Wen took it by the handle and stood it up. Together, the girls unfastened the umbrella and cranked it open.
“Whoa!” Keisha grabbed it as high up as she could reach; Wen held on to the middle by the crank. But still, the umbrella teetered.
Daddy rushed over. “Okay, ladies, ready for Operation Baby Crow Rescue?”
“Ready,” the girls said together.
“On the count of three, I’ll grab up here and we’ll all walk together.” Daddy only had one hand free because he had to hold the box with the nest in his other hand.
Already the big crows were bouncing on the branches above and cawing like crazy, even though the rescuers weren’t close to the mailbox yet.
“This is worse than the Langston Hughes auditorium during a free-throw shoot in overtime.” Aaliyah had rolled down the window and stuck her head out.
“Once we get close in, they’re going to dive-bomb us, ladies, so be prepared.”
“What does that mean?” Wen asked. She was ducking already.
“Like what happened a minute ago,” Keisha said, “only they’ll hit the umbrella and not the top of your head. Just hold tight.”
“One, two … three!”
They set off. At first, the bottom of the umbrella got going faster than the top, and that made it tip to the left. Then the girls pulled it in the other direction and it went too far to the right.
“Maybe if we do a chant, we can find our rhythm,” Keisha shouted over the sound of unhappy crows.
“Good idea.” Wen began: “I like coffee, I like tea. I want Keisha to jump with me.”
“I like coffee, I like tea. I want Wen to jump with me,” Aaliyah shouted from the truck.
It worked! They were moving.
Just when Daddy was saying, “Almost there, girls …”
Boom! Poom!
It felt like Marcus, the star basketball player at their school, had landed a double pump right on top of the umbrella.
“Watch out!” Aaliyah screamed.
“Whoa!” Wen stumbled.
“Hold on, girls,” Daddy said, leaning down toward the mailbox. “We’ve got an incoming crow mama and daddy!”
Chapter 4
“Don’t be afraid, Wen. The crows are just trying to protect their baby,” Keisha said, struggling to keep the umbrella straight up. “Don’t pull us over, Daddy!”
Daddy had bent over to open the mailbox and taken his end of the umbrella with him. He let go now so he could use his free hand to pull the little crow out by its feet.
Poom! Poom!
“Hold tight, Wen, we’re almost there.” Keisha could see how weak and frightened the little bird was because it kept its head turned away and its feet up and didn’t even try to defend itself.
“Okay, girls, let’s beat a retreat.”
As they moved away from the mailbox, the diving crows stopped just as suddenly as they had started. Keisha wondered if they thought their baby was still in the mailbox. If so, Carters’ Urban Rescue hadn’t solved Mr. Sanders’s problem.
“On the count of three,” Daddy said when they reached the front walk, “drop the umbrella and run. One, two, three …”
The girls dropped the umbrella and ran. Grandma held the door open until they got through it and into the dark hallway. They were panting by the time they reached Mrs. Sampson’s dining room table. Sometime during the rescue operation, Aaliyah had scooted from the truck into Mrs. Sampson’s house. Now she was examining the top of her head in Mrs. Sampson’s front hall mirror.
“Well, I’ve never seen such a crow-motion,” Grandma said, slamming the door. “Here, use my sweater, Fred.”
Daddy spread Grandma’s sweater on the table and laid the baby crow on top of it. “Please step back, everyone … all but Keisha. I need a little help examining the patient.”
Aaliyah, Wen and Grandma were familiar with this part of animal rescuing, too. They knew how stressful these situations were for the birds and the other animals, and so they stepped back and stayed quiet.
“I was an army nurse,” Mrs. Sampson said, standing behind a dining room chair and turning off the overhead light. There was plenty of light coming through the window. The baby crow was as big as a twenty-ounce soda bottle, with eyes the color of the blue rock candy they bought at Charley’s candy store.
Daddy took hold of the crow’s head. Cradling it in his fingers so the crow couldn’t bite him, he turned the little head back and forth. Keisha watched closely.
“It doesn’t look like a baby,” Aaliyah whispered as Daddy pressed his fingers along each wing to check for injuries.
“Crows grow quickly, Aaliyah. When a bird this big can’t fly, people think it’s injured, even though it may just be young.”
The little crow opened its mouth and gave a baby-crow-sized caw.
“You’re hurting it, Fred,” Grandma whispered.
“No, Mom. I think that’s a good sign. He’s scared, but he’s hungry.”
Even though the Carter rescue team had stepped back, Mrs. Sampson leaned forward to examine the patient. Keisha noticed her nose was very close to the crow’s beak.
“I served as a nurse in the Sixty-eighth Women’s Army Corps, arriving 1943, in Cairo, Egypt. I was stationed at the medevac hospital there.” She leaned back and polished her glasses. “There’s nothing wrong with this crow that a competent nurse can’t fix.”
“You may be right, Mrs. Sampson. Keisha, can I get some help?” Daddy took the crow in one hand and put out his palm. Keisha removed the lid of the Tupperware container. The strong smell of egg/cricket/puppy chow that had sat in a hot truck filled the room.
“That’s quite an odor,” Mrs. Sampson remarked.
Keisha noticed Aaliyah was plugging her nose.
“Maybe it smells good to a crow,” Wen suggested.
“Crows don’t have a sense of smell,” Daddy added. “When you think about it, that probably comes in handy with some of the things they eat.”
“Don’t tell us any more until after lunch, Mr. Carter,” Aaliyah pleaded. “I’m begging you.…”
Daddy nodded to Keisha, who began making pea-sized lumps out of the food in the container. She lined them up on the edge of the table. “Aaliyah, will you get a glass of water to fill this syringe?”
“I have some distilled water in the fridge,” Mrs. Sampson said. “That would be more hygienic.”
“That’s even better than our filtered water. I’ll get it. Which way is the kitchen?”
Mrs. Sampson pointed, and Grandma disappeared down the hall. As Keisha watched her go, she noticed the clothes draped over the chairs and the old newspapers piled up in the corner. All these things meant that Mrs. Sampson’s home was not in tip-top shape, something the Carters had to make their home every Sunday morning before church. Mrs. Sampson’s house probably hadn’t been tip-top for some time.
Daddy shifted t
he little crow so he could hold up its head while keeping its wings pinned to its body. “I pronounce this crow healthy … and hungry. Keisha?”
Keisha had a lot of experience feeding baby birds and her fingers were smaller than Daddy’s, so she usually got the job of stuffing the bird food mush down the birds’ throats. Then, after the birds weren’t so frightened, Keisha or Daddy could use the syringe to get some water in them.
She pressed one of the blobs of food onto her pointer finger and waved it near the crow’s eye. As she moved her finger, the little crow became very interested. Suddenly he tilted his head back and opened his beak wide. Keisha quickly stuck the plug of food deep in his throat.
“Goodness,” Mrs. Sampson said. “You’ll choke the poor thing.”
“That’s how the mama does it,” Daddy said. “When you get that far down, it stimulates the little guy to swallow.”
“What if he bites you, Keisha?” Aaliyah asked.
“It doesn’t hurt that much,” Daddy told Aaliyah. “Plus, he wants this food, just like baby Paulo.”
“And the crow doesn’t have teeth,” Keisha said, remembering how much it hurt to get her fingers near Paulo’s mouth when he was teething.
Wen started to ask a question, but she was interrupted by the crow’s squawking.
“What does that mean?” Aaliyah asked. “He’s not happy.”
Daddy stroked the feathers at the little crow’s throat. “It sounds bad, but it means he feels good, Aaliyah. Loosely translated, he’s saying, ‘Yum. Keep it coming.’”
Keisha got into a rhythm with the little crow that sounded like “squawk, shlump, glump.” When he started to slow down, Daddy added a few drops of water with the syringe in between plugs of food.
After a time, the crow closed his mouth and turned his head away. Daddy set him in his nest box, which he then set inside a larger box they’d brought along. Quick as a wink, he took a dish towel that had been sitting over the back of the chair and tossed it over the box.
“We don’t want to encourage that,” he said as he smoothed the material over the sides.
“What? Encourage what?” Aaliyah had just stepped in closer to get a better look.
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