The fact is, I am (observe me standing at attention, chin up, shoulders thrust back) an extremely focused and purposeful individual. However…

From time to time, I get fed up with self-discipline, and all I want to do is go out for ice cream. Which is the mood I was in after our “war council” and Special Agent Clayton Yonder had gone home. Although I didn’t discuss it first with my Giant Chickadee buddy, I assumed that Archie, too, must be sick and tired of all the up-against-annihilation-angst we’d lately been experiencing. So, I sibilated in his direction, “Psst.”

He rotated his adorable head to meet my eyes.

“Oh. Hello,” he said.

“Hidy Ho and Up She Rises,” I sang out in my best imitation of a drunken sailor.

“You’re in a good enough mood,” Archie commented.

“No. I’m not. I’m faking it. ‘Fake it until you can make it,’ my father always said.”

Archie studied me thoughtfully. “Something’s on your mind,” he observed.

“Uh huh.” I responded, still cheerful. “I propose an excursion. An escape from the here and now. An…”

“Where?”

“There’s a cute little ice cream shop about a mile away.”

“Would they let someone like me come in? I’m not exactly inconspicuous. Anyway, I don’t eat ice cream.”

“I know. But we can do take-out, and eat in the car. They top off all their Sundaes with walnuts. So, I was thinking a big bowl of walnuts with blueberries on the side. I don’t know if you like strawberries, but…”

Suddenly, the mood in the room lightened, and Archie sang out, “I’m in!”

Within minutes, I had a scarf thrown around my neck, a song in my heart (I know. But I can’t help it. I’m corny), an extremely large bird buddy parked in the passenger seat of my car, and we were on our way.

Oh, yes. Oh, yes. Oh, yes. It was a most enjoyable afternoon. I started out with some recent reminiscences.

“Do you remember what you said to me on that first day you came to my house?” I asked.

“No. And if it was stupid or embarrassing, I really don’t want to remember it.”

Ignoring his rejection of the subject matter, I began, “Well, for starters, you are certainly no longer an insecure chickadee having an identity crisis just because he had gained a few pounds.”

“Insecure?” my fine feathered friend expelled a huff of contempt. “I was no such thing.”

I bowed in Archie’s direction. Then, accurately mimicking his voice, I said, “I’m afraid that I’ve turned into such a monster no one will like me anymore.”

My Giant Chickadee inquired innocently, “I said that?”

I nodded, “Now look at you! You’re second in command to Clayton Yonder. You’re the Grand Poo-Bah of a mixed flock. You’re big. You’re beautiful. And you even have a girlfriend.”

Archie sighed happily. “Daffney is wonderful, isn’t she?”

“She sure is. And you’re still adorable, but I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Archie laughed. And just as he was about to peck another walnut from his bowl and I was aiming a spoonful of butterscotch ice cream toward my mouth, we heard a noise coming from the backseat. It was a single sound, but it seemed to amalgamize into a shallow honk, a humble squeak, and cat-like meow.

In the same instant, Archie leaped from where he was sitting and hopped to the headrest of his seat, and I thrust my head over the top of my driver’s seat. We both glared into the back of the car. There, perched stubbornly upon the armrest, sat our teeny, tiny, itty-bitty, regally minuscule swan.

“Florence!” I exclaimed. “What in the world are you doing here?”

She stood up and waddled forward on the armrest. Then, she began to talk. I don’t remember why Archie no longer had to interpret for me, but from that moment on, I was able to comprehend bird twitter all by myself. When Florence spoke, I understood. When Rochester and Stella spoke, I understood. When Nigel and Gwyndolyn spoke, I understood. I even understood Byron’s infrequent clicks and snorts. And don’t quote me on this, but I’d swear that the same thing was happening to Special Investigator Clayton Yonder. For, as the leader of our entire avian army, there came a point when he was able to transmit orders, not only directly to Archie, but also to whomever was near enough to receive and follow his next command.

Back to Florence.

After a bit of coaxing, and sounding quite dejected, she complained, “You don’t need me to help you fight the Terror Bird. You don’t need me at all. I am nothing to my friends but a burden and a nuisance.”

Archie turned to me, bewildered, and said, “Huh? What?” But I, too, was at a loss.

Sagging unhappily like a child’s discarded toy, Florence sort of … drooped. Gravity, with a merciless disregard of beauty, disfigured the elegant curve of her neck in a most un-swanlike way. And seeing her so disheartened, I was suddenly awash with comprehension. In fact, Special Investigator Clayton Boyfriend had anticipated Florence’s hurt feelings and prepared me for them.

So, I looked directly into her eyes, and asked, “Did you ever hear us mention Daffney when we discussed our military strategy?”

She thought a moment. And then shook her head.

“Or Byron?”

Again, she shook her head.

“Florence,” I said gently. “We all have jobs to do. I can’t talk about Daffney’s and Byron’s because theirs…”” I lifted my finger to my lips and twisted a pretend key. “Secret stuff.”

She nodded in understanding. Then her voice changed and she added plaintively, “I get it about Daffney and Byron, but what about me? I can’t just stand still while you are all in danger. I want to DO something!”

Archie hopped from the backrest to sit beside his tiny friend and demanded, “Yeah. What about Florence?”

I hesitated for a moment. Then I took a small card out of my pocket. The exact size of the ones on which Clay always writes his Churchill quotes. But this time, he was quoting someone else. Anticipating Florence’s feelings, he had written a fragment of poetry he thought would perfectly justify the tiny swan’s assignment.

I read aloud, “They also serve who only stand and wait.” I glanced up for a second to look at the tiny swan. Then I added, “It’s from John Milton’s poem Paradise Lost.”

But she was unappeased. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked begrudgingly.

I was about to convey what I thought were Clay’s intentions, but before I could say a word, Archie exclaimed excitedly, “I get it! I get it. I get what Special Investigator Yonder – our boss … our leader – is trying to say. It’s that you are too small, Florence. No. Don’t get mad at me, because it’s true. You are too small to engage in physical battle. But you are exactly the right size for what you will have to do.”

She snorted. “And what’s that? Stand and wait?” Then she added sarcastically, ““Oh, joy.”

Archie paused to study his tiny friend. “Florence. Dear. Precious. Perfect Florence. Not only is your job vitally important, it will mean everything to us who are going to war. You … your beauty, your sweet disposition, and your safety … represent what life was like before The Coming of The Terror Bird.”

Tears formed in his eyes, and in mine, too, as Archie added, “We need something to believe in.”

Then, his voice softening, the last thing he said before we pulled out of the parking lot was, “So buck up, Florence, and accept your responsibilities. Because you, Little Buddy, are our reason for coming home.”

Copyright © Shelly Reuben, 2026. Shelly Reuben’s books have been nominated for Edgar, Prometheus, and Falcon awards. For more about her writing, visit www.shellyreuben.com