People often resort to prayer when they encounter a major problem in life, something utterly beyond their control. But prayers are sometimes answered in simpler matters, as was amply proven to my son last fall by a saint and a little bird.

Ned sure loved his parakeet, "Budgie." After school, he would let her out of her cage to fly around the house. Even our cat would leave the bird alone, mainly because Budgie was usually out of reach, sitting on someone's shoulder. I often warned Ned that some day Budgie would go out the door riding on a human perch. That advice, like most parental advice to a teenager, went unheeded. When I told him the bird might be lost forever, he confidently stated, "She would come back."

One chilly fall afternoon, Ned arrived home from school and promptly released Budgie from her confinement. She immediately landed on my shoulder as I worked in the kitchen. I repeatedly swatted her away, to little avail. Finishing my handiwork, I headed toward the door, intending to pick up my youngest child at school. Unbeknownst to me, Budgie hopped on my shoulder as I stepped outside and then flew off into the blue sky, savoring her fist taste of real freedom. Ned was truly stunned at seeing this microscopic speck of life frolicking in the sky. The search began in earnest.

Listening for her characteristic chirp, interspersed with an occasional "pretty bird", he tracked her to a large tree in a nearby yard. I joined in and we stood and called. Budgie sat on a twig in the treetop and chirped. Hours passed. Seeming to enjoy her independence and unaware of Pennsylvania weather, she continued to survey her dominion, disregarding the pleas of her land-bound family. Suddenly, she sprang into the air and moved to another tree some distance away, where the process was repeated. Twilight came and went. We had no success, despite the assistance of many neighborhood volunteers. The temperature began to drop and eventually, her chirping stopped. The silence was deafening.

I explained to Ned that we would never be able to retrieve his pet without her cooperation, adding that his recent behavior had been similar in many ways. I said, "That little bird up so high has been enjoying her first opportunity to come and go as she pleases. She is thinking only of the present and, having no experience to guide her, has no knowledge of what a dangerous situation she is in. Her family is down here on the ground, trying to get her to do what is right, but she will have none of it, just like you." I explained that the bird might not survive the night temperatures, but if she did, she would become active only at dawn. I also told him of a prayer that has been part of my spiritual armamentarium since childhood: "Dear St. Anthony, please come around. Something's been lost and cannot be found." We left the cage under the tree, illuminated by a spotlight, and went home. Ned checked the tree periodically but finally fell asleep with the prayer on his lips.

At 4:30 AM, Ned awakened me with a question: "What was that payer again?" I sleepily reminded him. He then walked off into the morning darkness, lips moving. It wasn't long after sunrise that he again heard that familiar chirp. Budgie had made it through the frigid night! After moving from tree to tree for a few hours, she quietly lifted herself aloft, circled a few times and landed on my son's shoulder. Without any hesitation, she hopped into her cage. Ned was late for school but his excuse was well accepted.

When he arrived home that afternoon, I asked what he had learned from the experience. He responded, "My Dad knows more about parakeets than I thought he did." I think he learned much more than that.

Edmund W. Boyle

Used with permission by Mr. Boyle