Introduction
Humans. Sometimes that's all you really need to say. Humans.
First, just because I have a high voice compared to them, they get the bright idea of calling me Pavarotti. They couldn't even tell that I have a deep, rumbling, you'd lock up the ladies if they'd let you, bass voice. Call me Paul Robeson, that would make more sense. Heck, call me Barry White. But no, they called me Pavarotti. Speciesist, that's what it is, downright speciesiest.
But then, when you're one of the Badass Beaks Bird Brigade and you're sent on assignment, you've got to do what you've got to do. Even if it means putting up with humans. I infiltrated the canary community at Dalton, sent the one I look most like back to the Canary Islands, and settled into the condo that those humans like to call a cage. Like I couldn't use a twig and have that door open faster than a teenaged human's hormones.
Oh, and speaking of teenaged hormones, do not get me started on that. Just don't. And they use the phrase "bird brain" like it's a bad thing.
I wouldn't get caught in last season's feathers any more than James Bond would get caught in Smurfs boxers, and my latest human staff member was getting all worried about the fact that unlike humans, we quiet down when we're changing, saving our energy for something meaningful.
Another human staff member told him not to worry about me, but then a message came over the magnetic waves that we birds mostly use for migration but also for any really hot gossip or even emergency broadcasts like this one.
"Sure enough, he's on the move. You were right, Code Name Pavarotti, he's headed for Ohio."