The gift of the Mynah
He was a mynah but we called him Nevermore after Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven.” And from the onset he was a raucous little fellow.
The farmhouse caretaker woke up one morning to a racket of angry and alarmed chirping and saw that a boa constrictor had managed to slither up the birds’ nest. The snake wound up around the mother who must have been caught unaware and squeezed her until she was lifeless. Although the pinkies’ eyes were barely open, all five knew that peril was afoot. Screeching loudly for dear life, they were fortunate to have been heard and saved from certain death.
The tiny bald birds turned out to be a hardy bunch. Each muscled his way to get the lion’s share of the soaked pellets administered through the tip of a medicine dropper with end sliced off. The four more aggressive fledglings grew quickly, and each bird was soon strong enough to fly away. Eventually, only one bird remained.
Nevermore was the runt of the bunch. But without the need to fight his way to get to the food, he grew bigger and stronger. Endowed with a fearless and sociable nature, he quickly became a family favorite. Perched on a person’s hands while being fed tidbits of food, the tiny black baby bird with white wing tips and yellow beak seemed to listen intelligently. He cocked his head sideways and looked the person in the eye. When the humans had finished talking, it was his turn to converse. He chirped loudly, merrily and endlessly until one said loudly and firmly, “Nevermore, enough. Quiet please?!” He listened and followed. There was no doubt in anyone’s minds that the little bird understood.
The mynah was a mimic who learned words and sounds on his own. One of his first words was “Doyle,” spoken in an overly affectionate tone as our mother said it. The oversized, overweight and somewhat crazy pit-bull Doyle danced in frenzied ecstasy when he heard his name. He took it as summons for another special and tasty treat. But like all the other dogs, he was puzzled when Nevermore imitated their barking.
Mom was “doctora” to both the household help and the bird. Every morning, Mom went to the box where Nevermore slept, and encouraged him to perch on her finger. “Good morning. Say ‘good morning’ Nevermore,” she tried to teach him. But to no avail. The mynah seemed to smile as he stubbornly called doctora, Doyle and barked loudly.
When the Baguio weather turned too cold, Nevermore stayed in the bedroom where there was a heater. But the novelty of having him in the room soon lost its appeal because the gregarious pet demanded too much attention. He chattered along with the television set, copying the random loud snoring. He also quickly learned to laugh, cough and make loud farting noises. One’s sense of humor grew thin with the noise and sleepless nights. Thus, Nevermore was relegated to the bathtub; his cage covered with a blanket to keep him warm and to force him to go to sleep.
Discovering that he could fly was a shock for the bird. Before this, his usual mode to get around was to perch on someone’s hand or shoulder. When set on the floor, he hopped and skipped to wherever he wanted to go. But on one occasion when people walked away too fast, he panicked and, he discovered the use of wings. But he was clearly startled. With a bothered look in his eyes, accompanied by frantic and endless chirping, he held on tightly to our hands and refused to let go when we picked him up. He hurried back into his open cage and refused to go out for a couple of days.
It was then decided that it was time for him to socialize with other birds. Part of his daily routine was to sit in the terrace where the wild birds in the surrounding trees congregated. Although the wild ones ignored him initially, they were soon lured near the open cage by the overflowing feeding tray. We discovered that our mynah purposely pushed his tray outside and overturned it so that birdseed scattered, before retreating into his cage. After eating his fill of a ripe banana, he also pushed this out of for the wild ones before retreating into a corner of the cage.
Among the visitors was a small flock of mynahs who visited regularly. It did not take long before the wild ones entered the open cage, perhaps to convince their compatriot to venture outside. Soon enough, Nevermore flew away.
A couple of years have passed and we are sure that it is our inimitable bird that has come a-visiting as we sit in the balcony. A full-grown mynah, accompanied by a couple of juveniles, perches in the tree branch a couple of feet way. The adult bird is fearless and flies within touching distance. Is this really Nevermore? We look into his eyes as he fearlessly looks back. We are certain it is he (or she,) but hesitate to hold out our hands for fear of startling the sleek black bird away. It hops nearer until it is an inch away from our feet. But the juveniles chirp and the adult is distracted. The mynah stops, stares and cocks his head sideways and chirps a final time before it flies away.
Like the young mynah, humans can be beset by eleuterophibia, or the fear of freedom. We sometimes hesitate to venture away from what is typical, comfortable and familiar. However, the gift of the mynah is the lesson that we build character by taking steps towards becoming what we want to be despite uncertainty and discomfort. And as parents and protective guardians of our children, it may take an even greater courage and faith to let go and allow our offspring to live their lives and fulfill their destinies.
