"Go On Sweet Bird and Soothe My Care"

A grumpy badger babysits a canary.

The badger sat at his desk and used a pair of tweezers to carefully fit a diamond into a necklace.  His nerves were hot and twitchy, for it was difficult to focus on his work with a chirping canary in his shop.  His temper simmered like a pressure cooker, and might explode at any moment if he didn’t get a little peace and quiet.

         Agreeing to babysit the Buttercup’s canary while they were out of town was the most brainless thing he’d ever done.  Now he would have to listen to that blasted canary chitter from now till Kingdom come. 

The canary hopped to the side of the birdcage that hung from the rafter, and watched the badger working below.  Just as Mister Grimsley was about to secure a diamond into its setting, the bird whistled so loudly that it startled the badger and the tiny diamond popped from the tweezers and skidded across the desktop.

The badger launched from his chair like a rocket and stared into the birdcage.  He was so upset that steam nearly poured out of his ears.

“That’s enough, you little tweet box!” Blustered the old windbag, and his bushy gray eyebrows bristled like two hairy caterpillars at the canary.  “One more peep and I’ll ring the dinner bell for the alley cats!”

The canary stopped peeping and didn’t dare to ruffle a feather.

Mister Grimsley gave a curt nod of approval and sat back down at the desk.  At once the unwelcome presence of guilt buzzed in his brain like a horsefly and nipped at his conscience.  But he soon shooed the feeling away, and worked the rest of the day in an uneasy silence.

         That evening when Mister Grimsley dozed by the fire and listened to the wind moan around the windowpane, his den felt strangely lonesome.  The little bird was not such a nuisance now that his work was done. Come to think of it, there was something rather pleasant about the little fellow.

Mister Grimsley leaned over and peered at the canary in the birdcage.

 “You now have permission to sing little maestro,” he said generously.  

The canary did not sing, however, but sat mournfully on its perch. Something told the badger that the canary might never sing again, and it made his heart sink a little.

By and by, the badger’s eyes grew heavy with sleep, and he shuffled off to bed.  Under his goose feather blanket, he tossed fitfully while the scene from that morning replayed in his mind.  He recalled again and again how he had blown his stack and how the canary’s sweetness had turned to melancholy before his eyes. What a sorry excuse for a bird sitter he had been!  He now yearned for the canary to charm his dreary heart with a carefree chim-cheroo, but his temper had ruined the little fellow. 

Back and forth the badger tossed upon his bed until he could stand it no longer.  He flung off the covers and shambled down the corridor to the birdcage. 

With a glowing candle, he peered in at the canary. The little bird looked at him with doleful eyes and edged away along the perch.  Grimsley felt a lump in his throat as a great sorrow welled from within, and a single tear slid slowly down his cheek.

“Little fellow,” he rasped quietly, and sniffled. “I am sorry.”

The badger turned to shuffle away.  As he honked his nose into a handkerchief, he heard a faint chirp from behind.  He hurried back to the cage, and as soon as his lip had stopped trembling, he gave a little whistle.  Then, bless your soul, the canary chirruped in reply! It warmed the very cockles of his heart, my dears, for he knew all was forgiven.

The day came when the steam whistle of the Pinecone Express blared it’s arrival at the train station.  In a few minutes the entrance bells jingled.

When Mister Grimsley rounded the corner from the workshop, wiping his greasy paws on a rag, the fur on the back of his neck stood up.

 “Move it, Henry,” Misses Buttercup bawled at Mister Buttercup, who fumbled along behind with all of the luggage.

The old lady mole trundled to the counter.  Her wig, which looked like a big orange beehive, was off-kilter; and the way her wide mouth turned downward into a colossal frown reminded Mister Grimsley of a toad.

“Grimsley!” she croaked, sneering up at him through a pair of horn-rimmed glasses. “Bring me the little pest.” 

Mister Grimsley regarded her with a look of steel over the top of his spectacles.  “You mean the canary,” he corrected, with a low voice.

 “What difference does it make what the little vulture is, go fetch him. I want to get home to soak my bunions in Epsom salts.”

 “Alright,” growled Mister Grimsley. “Keep your hair on, Alice.” But instead of fetching the bird, Mister Grimsley stood as still as a lamppost, as if deep in thought about something.  After a few moments, he said bluntly, “How much will you take for the bird?”

 “Out of the question,” she said dismissively. “It’s not for sale.”

He persisted steadily,  “I am willing to offer you double what you think the bird is worth.”

The mention of cash seemed to perk the old wurzel up and she replied, “I suppose I could be persuaded to let you take the bird in trade for some of your merchandise.”  Then she added shrewdly, “And I want a real whiz-banger now, Grimsley, not some dime store bauble.”

“Name your price,” he said firmly.

Her eyes darted to the display case on the right and fell upon the Jim-dandiest diamond necklace in the entire shop. The white, lavender, rose, and yellow diamonds, glittered in the sunshine and sent colored stars dancing about the room like fairy lights. 

 “Give me that one there, Grimsley,” she said, “or the bird comes home with me.  My mind’s made up.”

Mister Buttercup had managed to set down the luggage in a heap and he waddled over to peep through the glass at the elegant necklace. 

“But, Dear,” he sputtered conscientiously, “It’s worth as much as a house!”

“Can it, nincompoop,” shushed Misses Buttercup.  Then she said, “Well, Grimsley, is it a deal or am I going to take my bird home with me?”

Mister Grimsley did not hesitate.  Without a word, he placed the treasure carefully into a velvet box and handed it over the counter to the loathsome mole.

After the taxicab arrived and drove the Buttercups home, Mister Grimsley went back to the workshop and peeked into the birdcage at his little yellow treasure.  The wonderful yellow bird�"his yellow bird�"hopped to the side of its swing and watched him fondly.

Sitting at his desk, he picked up the tweezers and began to carefully set a diamond into another elegant necklace.  He found the canary’s enchanting melody, as it flitted playfully in the birdcage, as soothing as a nerve tonic.

 

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