"Where are we going, again?" Bruce asks as we all get out of the cars.
"An aviary!" I respond excitedly.
"Then why are we at a park?" Tony asks.
"It's in the park," I respond simply and point across the parking lot.
"Why are we going to some dinky little aviary?" Tony bugs me.
"To check in on my bird friends, of course."
"Bird friends?" Pepper says.
"Wouldn't these be different birds?" Natasha points out.
"I make bird friends wherever I go. I don't know if they will be the same birds; that's part of why we're here." I start walking toward the entrance to Tracy's Aviary.
"And the other part?"
I stop and turn to Clint. "Because birds!" I respond, waving my hands enthusiastically. I turn back down the path. "Also, I need a new Picasso original."
"I thought we're going to an aviary, but now you're talking art!" Tony exclaims.
"They sell paintings made by the birds. The macaws are all named after famous painters."
"Oh. Why do you need a Picasso painting?"
"Because it's funny. And also, because birds!"
"You really like birds," Loki says amusedly.
"Yup."
We make our way into the gift shop to buy our tickets. "Twelve dollars a person, huh?" Steve remarks, looking at the sign.
"Not a bad price," Tony says and counts out a number of twenty-dollar bills. He hands the cashier close to two hundred dollars and continues toward the entrance into the aviary.
I follow him through the gift shop and out the door. "If you were feeling cheap today, at least one of us is a senior," I tell him with a grin as we wait for everyone to follow.
"My military status gives me the same price; no need to pull the old card." Steve rolls his eyes but smiles.
"Yeah, but do you have a military ID?" Bruce asks him.
"Who's the other senior?" Pepper asks me.
"Well, technically Loki is like my age, but he is over sixty-five."
"Wait, he's your age?" Tony exclaims. Clint coughs.
Loki turns to me. "How do you figure?"
"Well, assuming your natural life span is equivalent to that of an aesir and that the aesir life-cycle is comparable to that of a human, we are, relatively speaking, about the same age."
"So much makes sense now," Tony says, grinning.
"Shut up," Loki warns him, but with an eye roll.
"So, how old is Thor?" Natasha asks.
I shrug. "His age wasn't given, so I don't know."
We all turn to look at Loki. "We are very close in age," he says vaguely.
—
"Hello!" I call cheerily to the macaws as we approach. I skip over to the sign and look over who's who of the macaws. I frown.
"What is it?" Natasha asks.
"They have the same names, but not with the same types of macaws; Picasso was a blue-and-gold." I shrug. "Now we know."
I turn back to the birds. "Hello!" I call out again. One of the great greens tilts its head. "Good morning. How are you today?" I ask it. I examine the markings. This one is . . . Rembrandt.
"Do they talk?" Loki asks me.
"They should have a decent vocabulary. Hookbills and corvids like being talked to and played with." I turn back to Rembrandt. "Do you dance?" I ask him. I bob my head up and down.
"Hello!" he calls and bobs in response.
I shuffle side-to-side a little. "Wanna dance?" I ask. He calls 'hello' again.
Another macaw comes over, one of the green-wingeds. "Hello!" I greet it. "Hello, pretty bird! Hello, Picasso!" She bobs her head. I lift my shoulders and elbows up, bringing my head down in an exaggerated bob.
"What are you doing?" Tony asks, laughing.
"Playing with them," I state simply. I repeat the motion, asking Picasso, "Wanna dance?" She bobs a few times and shuffles along the branch to the right, and then back.
"You got it to dance!"
"She's a bird whisperer!"
Picasso and I take turns shuffling from side to side.
"Hello!" Rembrandt calls out. He hops off the perch and onto the side of the enclosure. He bobs his head at me wildly, calling "Hello!"
I turn to Rembrandt. "I didn't forget about you, pretty baby! Hello!"
A third macaw whistles at us from above. Clint whistles back. The other great great, Rousseau, squawks and cocks her head so she can look at him with one eye.
"Did I upset it?" Clint asks me.
"No, you got her attention. Bob your head and whistle again." Clint obeys. The bird hops onto the cage, climbing over until she's about a foot above Clint's head. She squawks at him, and Clint jumps back a little.
Tony chuckles. "You pissed it off!"
"That was a good squawk," I reassure Clint. I turn to the new bird. "Hello, pretty bird. How are you today?" I bob my head. She cocks her head. I mirror her. She tilts her head to the other side, and I follow suit.
She bobs her head and whistles.
I bob my head. "Hello!" I call, then whistle back.
Clint whistles back, too. Rousseau mimics Clint's whistle, and soon they are playing copycat.
We play with the macaws until some kids run over and the birds retreat further into their enclosure.
"How did you do that?" Steve asks as we move on to another exhibit.
I shrug. "I like birds, always have. Between owning a few and watching and feeding wild ones, I've managed to pick up on a lot of their body language."
"Can you talk to all birds?" Bruce asks me.
"I don't really speak their language; I just communicate with them better than most people do. And no. Hookbills have different behavioral patterns than corvids, and corvids prefer different stimuli than waterfowl. Not to mention that birds all have individual personalities."
We come up to the keas. They are reasonably active at the moment.
"What kind of parrot are these?" Clint asks.
"They're from New Zealand," I reply and point to the sign. I turn to one that is watching us. "Hello!" I greet it.
It bobs its head before running over to an overhanging branch. It hooks the inner curve of its beak around the branch, not biting it, and slowly lifts its legs. "Wow!" I golf clap. I would clap normally, but that would be more startling than encouraging.
"Wow? I don't get it," Tony remarks.
The kea lowers itself and bobs its head at us, then hooks its beak over the branch and performs its balancing act again. "Wow! Nice trick!" I golf clap enthusiastically.
"Is it showing off?" Natasha asks.
"Yes, it is," I respond as the bird lowers itself again. "Be excited!"
Natasha and Clint start telling it 'good bird' and 'nice trick'.
The bird performs its trick repeatedly over the next minute, getting more excited the more we clap and cheer it on.
A little girl skips over. "What's going on?" she asks us.
I point to the bird. "This kea is doing a trick for us. It's very proud of it." The kea performs its balancing act again. "Good job! Nice trick!" I golf clap. The girls joins in. "Keep clapping for it and it might keep performing for you," I tell her. She nods happily and we move on.
"Good job! Smart birds!" I hear the girl call as we walk away.
"Okay, so macaws and keas really like you."
"Macaws and keas are hookbills. Parrots and most common pet birds are all called hookbills because of their beak shape. These birds like to talk with you and to play. Sometimes they just want to be talked to. They like attention and interaction."
"You mentioned corvids earlier, too," Bruce says.
"Corvids include crows, ravens, jays, and magpies. They also have highly developed mimicry capabilities and are extremely intelligent and curious. They won't usually play with you directly though — they like toys better — but they also like attention and to be talked to."
"Can you play with any other birds?" Pepper asks.
"Like, in general, or me personally?"
"You personally."
"You seem more capable than 'in general'," Bruce comments.
I blush. "Like I said, I just understand how birds communicate better than most. You can always get more interesting interactions after building rapport with an individual bird. But, um," I think to other birds I interact well with, "I'm also pretty good with ducks."
"Define 'pretty good'."
"There was a duck back at the pond at BYU that would sit in my lap and dig in my backpack, looking for treats. He didn't like being pet, but didn't mind if I accidentally bumped him."
"He sat in your lap?"
"Yup. But I went to the duck pond all the time. I'm pretty sure the regulars recognized me after awhile."
Clint shakes his head. "Okay, so you're good with hookbills, corvids, and ducks. Any others?"
"I do well with swans, ibises, geese, and storks, too; when I visit my grandparents in Florida, we go to a lake that has all of those birds. I figured out that the storks are pretty friendly if you bring them sardines. Flamingoes can be pretty fun, too, if they are more adjusted to direct human interaction."
"Flamingoes?" Natasha says, surprised.
"Yeah. They can be cuddly and playful. I played with on in Busch Gardens in Florida."
"Okay, are there any birds that you're bad with?" Bruce asks me.
"Songbirds tend to be too skittish for anyone to interact much with. My experience with chickens and turkeys is very limited, so I haven't picked up on much of their behavioral differences. I don't really have any experience interacting with birds that aren't songbirds, pigeons, corvids, hookbills, or common duckpond goers."
"But there aren't any birds that you just don't click with?"
"Not any that I have enough experience to really say that about, no. The birds I haven't 'clicked with' have all been against interacting with people in general. I even tend to get along pretty well with people's pet birds that are more antisocial." I shrug. "I'm just a bird person, like some people are cat people or dog people."
"Cat and dog people don't necessarily get along with wild cats or wolves, though," Pepper points out.
"That's because domestic animals are different than wild animals. Different breeds and species have different cultures and communication methods; certain behaviors even have opposing meanings to different species. You just have to behave with the animals on their own terms and hope they accept you."
"No, you just need to be magical. She's using magic, isn't she?" Tony asks Loki, exasperated.
"As far as I can tell, Paige is just really good with birds because she understands their communication patterns. She isn't using magic."
"I'm calling bull. You can't be that good with animals just by understanding their behavior. She hasn't even properly studied their behavior!" The Dog Whisperer guy does it, and he was good even before formal study.
I turn to Tony. "You know how you can start picking a language up just by being around it, without learning it in school? It's not all that ridiculous."
Loki backs me up. "Paige is right. You just have to work with the way the animal processes and interacts with the world around it."
"You have to work on their level, with their tools and methods," I continue. "Some animals will even meet you halfway, especially domesticated species."
"You two are insane," Tony says, shaking his head.
Natasha pipes up. "They aren't insane, just more empathetic. Understanding how someone's mind works is extremely helpful in interacting with them; that's a skill we learn as spies."
"That's what psychologists do," Pepper adds. "That's something parents of autistic children and children with special needs learn to do."
"Really, it's something parents tend to learn regardless of what their child is like, because children think differently than adults," I comment.
Bruce speaks again. "So, you're good with animals because you can understand minds working in different patterns."
"I guess that's how you'd put it."
"Is it because you're gifted?" Natasha asks.
"You're gifted? Like gifted and talented?" Tony looks interested again.
"It could be that." I shrug. "It might be because my dad is high-functioning autistic and my mom suffers from manic depression, so I grew up having to adapt to very different patterns of behavior and thinking. I think the gifted part has really helped me understand my dad and autistic children I've babysat, though."
"What about other kids?" Clint asks.
"I do really well with little kids, and kids in general up to about age eight if they aren't too energetic. It's not like I understand everyone, though."
"Are you good with languages?" Bruce asks. "Human languages, I mean."
I rub the back of my neck. "Reasonably. Guys, I'm not a savant or anything."
"You're just flexible in your patterns of thought," Loki comments.
"Maybe? Just because I acknowledge that minds work differently doesn't mean I understand how all minds work." I skip ahead to the next exhibit. "Oh, you have to see the hornbills."
Everyone takes the hint and goes back to enjoying the aviary (to various degrees). We decide to break up into small groups, agreeing to meet back at the gift shop at a specified time.
Loki sticks with me. So does Clint, because "We are now bird bros." I smile and lead us around.
Eventually, I lead Loki and Clint into the rainforest building. The main room consists of a winding path through a simulated tropical forest. Most of the birds can fly around the room freely. We carry a laminated paper identifying the different bird species that can be found in the room. No one else is in the building, so we go up and down the path several times, trying to find all of the birds. Clint spots most of them first.
I point to a white blur coming down from the rafters. "There it is! That's the last one on the list, a," I look down at the card, "an oriental magpie robin, male." It lands in the tree above us. "So lovely," I whisper.
Loki looks around the room carefully. "Um, right here?" Clint tells him, pointing to the bird, which has hopped down to about eye level.
"I know," he mutters. He scans the room once more before turning to me with a smirk. "Just making sure we're alone." I tilt my head in question, but instead of elaborating, Loki turns toward the bird we found.
"Creep," Clint mutters.
Loki shushes him, then puts a hand out. He whistles to the bird. It cocks its head then hops a little closer. Loki whistles again, and the bird flies over and lands on his hand. Clint and I go still, hardly daring to breathe as we watch Loki and the bird whistle back and forth.
"Paige, put your hand out," Loki says without turning from the bird. I slowly reach a hand up, finger out for a perch. Loki whistles to it once more, and the bird flits over to my hand.
I whistle at it. It cocks its head to the side again, then puffs up and lowers its head. I start to reach my other hand up reflexively, thinking of my cockatiels, but I stop myself. The bird taps my finger with its beak, then lowers its head back down. I slowly reach up and gently run a finger over the top of its head. The bird tilts its so its ear is under my finger.
"Are you . . . petting it?" Clint whispers.
"It asked me to?" I whisper back, rubbing the bird's ears.
"Loki, what did you do?" Clint asks.
"I let him know that she is nice and good with birds."
"Can . . . can I hold him?"
"That's really up to him." Loki shrugs, then whistles to the bird. The bird looks up from getting pet and examines Clint with one eye. Clint puts a finger out, and the bird flies over to him. Before he can pet him, though, we hear someone enter the room, and the bird flits away.
Clint turns to Loki. "Was that magic?" he whispers.
Loki smirks. "A bit. Just enough to communicate more specifically."
"Add that to the lesson plan," I say, eyes wide. We leave the exhibit to meet back up with everyone.
At the gift shop, I pick out a new painting. It's another Picasso.
—
"Welcome to Cascade Springs." I lead everyone around a bend and gesture out toward the springs. Clear water gently cascades down a hill, forming several pools at different elevations, all connected by miniature waterfalls.
"This is beautiful," Pepper says.
Clint turns to me. "Paige, how did you find out about this place?"
"Oh, um," I rub the back of my neck, "my ex-boyfriend was from the area. He and his family brought me here."
"You didn't— I mean, when you came here . . . . You two weren't together when you ended up here, were you?" Tony asks. Steve looks sad.
"Oh! No. No, I broke up with him months ago. It didn't last very long."
"Oh. Good. Well, not good. Good you weren't with someone when—"
"Tony, it's okay. Really."
"I knew you lost your family, but it never occurred to me that . . . ," Clint trails off.
"What?" I furrow my brows. "That I could've been in a relationship?" So, what?
"Well, you're mormon, and went to a mormon university, and it just clicked that you could have been engaged," he finishes sheepishly.
"Or married," Bruce mumbles.
My cheeks get really warm. "Oh, guys, no! Just because I am LDS, or was, I suppose, doesn't mean— I'm not like that, okay? I didn't really date and it's just . . . ." I shake my head and sigh.
"Was?" Tony asks.
"It's, um . . . . Not here, okay? Let's just enjoy the scenery. I don't want to talk about it around," I look around and notice a few people eavesdropping, "you know." Mormons. I don't want to talk about it around any Utah mormons.
Pepper walks up to me. "It's okay, sweetheart. You don't owe us any explanations. Let's go." I nod, and the two of us quietly lead the group down the path.