When I was about fourteen there was a nest of hatchlings under the eve of my house. I took one of these babies and raised him by my own hand. I invented a formula to feed my hatchling. He thrived on this formula, and he grew into a strong fledgling.

I kept him in a nest that I made inside of an aquarium and kept it next to the television in our family room. The aquarium was his Heaven, and the family room was his reality. The television was on in the mornings, in the afternoons, and into the evenings. He was a Black Bird and a Black Bird can imitate sounds very well, and so he heard the voices, and he imitated them. It sounded like the TV from a distance or tiny little people mumbling, where you couldn't quite make out the words. It was an excellent imitation but it really didn't make any sense.

Words are universal symbols and they mean exactly what one would think that they mean, each time they are used. I have no doubt that he knew exactly what he was talking about, even if others misunderstood him. I taught him to fly but had not yet taught him to hunt. He would fly around the neighborhood exploring, sometimes landing and talking to dogs, cats, squirrels, rabbits, or whoever would listen. He would come when I called him and I called him "Baby."

He went further and further away as time went by, and he would sometimes land somewhere to explore and talk. Speaking of the wonderful love of his heaven, his father, and the wonders he had seen there. He really loved life and I loved my fledgling very much.