The Amazing Life of Birds Read Online Free PDF

as a bratwurst, a ringworm-type bald spot on the back of his head, a nose splatted all over his face, and zits.
    And I think the bird looks silly.
    But … he does. His mom and dad bring him bugs constantly and he eats them as fast as they can shovel them in. The parents are starting to look bad. Feathers missing, scraggly looking, tired; I swear I saw the mother lean against the window to take a break.
    Meanwhile Gorm tried again. What is the definition of insanity? (I'm not so sure I want to know this.)
    It's if you keep doing something the same way but expect different results.
    Gorm once again tiptoed out on the limb. Then, stretch, reach, miss, gravity, plummet, dent in the flower bed next to the house, stagger away. At least he did the cat thing and landed on his feet. Like somebody'd dropped a four-legged anvil. He hit so hard I heard it on the second floor,
through
the window.
    Plluumppffhh!
    The birds weren't excited this time. I guess they knew he wasn't a problem. They just kept cycling back and forth with bugs for Junior.
    I've never seen anyone eat like this guy. Not even when Willy ate ten corn dogs at the Kiwanis Fair.
    Junior did one thing that made me feel good. Or at least not as lonely. He moved to the side of his nest to go to the bathroom and when he came back to the center he tripped.
    Plain as day. Tripped and fell on his head.
    Puberty bird.
    I called Willy.
    “Hey.”
    “Hey.”
    “The cat tried for the bird again and fell.”
    “Cool.”
    “How was your day?”
    “I leaned down in science lab and caught my hair on fire with the Bunsen burner. Just one side.”
    “Did it stink?”
    “Yeah.”
    “How's it look?”
    “Bad.”
    “Join the club.”
    “Cool.”
    “Yeah. See you.”
    “See you.”
    These little talks do wonders for me. Just knowing Willy is having some of the same problems …
    Although I did make one error. For a second I felt just a little superior. A least I hadn't done anything like set my hair on fire.
    Big mistake.

Day Thirteen

    Let's talk about ringworm, shall we?
    I thought the false ringworm scare was all over. But I hadn't figured on school administrators, parents and rumors.
    I think this is what happened: One kid went home and told his parents that Duane Homer Leech had been checked for ringworm.
    And apparently that set of parents called another, who called another and yet another, who finally called the school administration and demanded to know why a child …
    Named Duane Homer Leech.
    … had been allowed to come to school and start a ringworm epidemic.
    The nurse said I didn't have it, but the principal ignored her and brought in a team from a clinic that checked every kid in school: every boy, every girl. They used a little whirring machine and took a tiny snippet of hair from every kid, which left a little— very tiny—bald spot.
    Much smaller than the bald spot on me.
    Duane Homer Leech.
    Who brought the epidemic to school.
    Things went rapidly downhill from there. Even though there had never been ringworm in the school, not a single case, because of the rumors science teachers were instructed to devote time to studying socially transmitted diseases.
    Ringworm. Measles. Chicken pox. Influenza. Bubonic plague. Leprosy. Ebola. AIDS.
    We learned that a single boy could bring one of these diseases to school and start an epidemic.
    Any boy.
    Duane Homer Leech.
    It didn't matter that they didn't find a single case of ringworm. Or that I didn't even have ringworm or any other disease.
    All that mattered were those little bald spots. Less than a quarter of an inch in diameter, easily covered by hair.
    The bald spots caused by Duane Homer Leech.
    I'd walk down the hall and the other kids would part around me like water around a rock in a river. I was like a giant, moving booger.
    At two-thirty, just before the last class, the principal came on the public-address system: “Now that the ringworm scare is over, I want you to tell your parents that there is nothing