The Smallest Sound

By Rae (2005)
(originally published in the zine, Like Water, Like Fire)

The sound was so small that the first time Starsky heard it he ignored it. He was about to go back indoors, but he heard it again and stopped, listening hard. It was some kind of squeak. Not a mouse, not mechanical or a sticky hinge. It sounded distant, but maybe not. Hard to tell.

It was gone. He went in.

There were things he wanted to get done. He gathered up laundry, put away clean dishes, ran the vacuum, and, because he couldn't get it out of his head, took his last cup of coffee back outside and listened for the sound he'd heard earlier.

Somewhere up the canyon there were people on horseback. He could hear the occasional chink of metal on stone, and chatting voices. Straight up overhead vultures wheeled, beautiful and ominous. Something dead somewhere. Well, if it was something human, it wasn't his trouble. He had the whole Memorial Day weekend off, and he had plans. He wasn't going to answer the phone, nor go anywhere that someone from Metro might spot him.

He sat on the top step where he could see the Torino. It looked good, but it was on the list. Car wash, groceries, laundry. Get it all out of the way and still have two good days. An auto show, a swap meet, and maybe some late evening disco and a chance to get lucky. Depending on how that went, he'd either spend Monday in bed, or else he'd see if Hutch was up for some beach time, or maybe a drive up to Santa Barbara for dinner at the Big Yellow House. Unless he'd gotten lucky. In which case a good book, at least two naps, a six-pack, and later he and his little charcoal grill could meet up with some fine sirloin. And to top it all off, they didn't have to be back at work until three on Tuesday. No matter what, it was going to be a good weekend.

Sitting around drinking coffee wasn't getting any of it done. He tossed the last little bit over the railing, and turned toward the door. There it was again.

It wasn't something he'd normally give a second thought to, but there was a quality to the sound that compelled him. He didn't know why. He set the mug down and leaned out over the railing, his left ear turned down, eyes closed. There. It was there. He trotted down the stairs, across the driveway, into the band of trees.

It was some kind of animal, and it was in trouble. He'd gotten used to the idea of wild critters nearby since he'd moved out of the city, but that didn't mean he wanted to get up close to any. This one sounded small, though. And in trouble. He didn't stop to think about what kind of trouble, or what he could do about it. He just started hunting for the source.

He'd never bothered to walk around behind the house before. He enjoyed looking into the woods, and out over the craggy canyon, but he had no particular interest in exploring it. It was nice under the trees, cooler, and sheltered. He had an odd sense that he was welcome there. He shook off the thought as much too fanciful.

A few feet in front of him, under a tree with low limbs and a wide trunk, something moved. He saw a sudden flash of orange, then another, and a third. The orange flashes vanished, then reappeared, and then vanished again. What the hell was it? If it was a snake, he was going to go back to his old apartment, never mind if someone else had already moved in.

He crept closer, and bent down, seeing nothing but a carpet of leaves, leaves that peeped. There! It was a mouth, no, three mouths. Some kind of bird. Baby birds.

"Terrific."

What the hell was he supposed to do with birds? He looked around carefully—for a nest, for signs of a parent, for anyone else who might know what to do. All he could find was a small and sad pile of grey feathers, about three feet to the right. He thought of the vultures circling above.

"Was that your mom?" He bent down onto one knee. "I'm sorry about that. Hope you didn't see what happened."

They were small victims of a violent crime. He had no choice. He scooped them up. All three of them fit in his one hand. They began to shriek.

"All right, all right! I ain't a bird, you know. What the hell do you eat? What do you want?" He stuffed some leaves in his pockets and stood up carefully. "Okay, you're with me. Let's go."

What did baby birds eat? Worms? Seeds? He had some vague memory of reading about birds that upchucked dinner for their babies.

"You're out of luck if that's what you need."

They stared at him for a second, and then, as if on cue, opened their orange mouths and started in hollering again.

Up the stairs and indoors, and they shrieked the entire time. He began to feel a little panicky. He wished he were in some alley behind a dumpster, gun drawn, dodging bullets. He knew how to handle that. He didn't have any idea how to handle this.

First, feed them. Something. Anything. No, find something to put them in. He got out a white ceramic bowl that his Aunt Rose had given him when he'd first moved out. He used it sometimes for serving guacamole. Well, now it was a bird's nest. One-handed, he put some paper towels in it, then some leaves, and then the birds. They snuggled right up, looked at him expectantly, and started in again.

"Man, you guys are louder than a mariachi band."

The refrigerator offered nothing more than some leftover kung pao chicken, half a bottle of milk, three bottles of root beer, a six pack of Coors, and the ground sirloin and potato salad he had ready in case he had his cookout.

"Burgers it is, then. Hope you ain't vegetarians." Were there bird vegetarians? How was he supposed to know?

He broke off some small pieces of the meat and warmed them in his hands.

As soon as he held it out, three mouths whipped open. He dropped a small piece of meat into each. When they swallowed, and gaped again, he felt a sudden flood in his gut of some odd sensation, something he didn't recognize, because he'd never felt it before.

"You think I'm your mom," he said.

Their mouths were huge, almost as big as their whole heads. They had a lot of feathers, but there were patches of bare skin under the wings. How old were they? What kind of birds? He kept offering little bits of the food until they stopped opening their mouths, closed their eyes, and fell over into each other.

"Man, you guys sure can drop a load." They'd put out at least as much as they'd taken in.

"Now what?" He went to the phone and dialed Hutch's number.

"Hutch," he said. "I need help."

"Where are you?"

"Home. I—" He held the phone away from his ear and stared at it. Hutch had hung up. "Something I said?" He shrugged.

He dialed The Pits.

"Hey, Huggy. I need some help."

"Where are you?"

"Home. Why does—"

"Trouble?"

"No, I just need to know everything you know about baby birds."

"What?"

"Baby birds. Birds. Babies. What do you know about them?"

"Starsky, do I appear to you to be a person who knows anything about baby birds? At least birds of the avian persuasion."

"Well, do you know anyone who does? I've got three baby birds here, of the avian persuasion. What do I do with them?"

If Huggy didn't know what to do, he was screwed. Wait, maybe Perkowitz would know. They were traumatized orphans. She could put them in foster care.

"Never mind, Hug. I got an idea." He had a fleeting vision of Huggy on the other end of the line, maybe staring at the phone like it was Starsky's own face, looking at him like he was thinking of calling Cabrillo State and telling them where to send the guys in the white coats. He hung up on a laugh.

He had to hunt down his address book, but by the time he found it, the babies were awake and hollering again.

"What, already?" He got out some more hamburger meat. "It's only been fifteen minutes. You were starving, weren't you?" He fed them all again, feeling a little more sure of himself, and cleaned up after them, and changed the paper towel under them.

In the distance he heard a siren, drawing closer. Not a sound he'd heard out here so far. Maybe someone had fallen off their horse. It wasn't an ambulance, though, it was a police siren. A burglary? Robbery? He felt like hiding in the closet. No way was he getting sucked into work. He had plans.

The siren became deafening, it wasn't going by, it was stopping out front. He glanced at the babies, afraid they'd be scared, but they were sacked out, sound asleep. What the hell was going on? He was not going in to work. Absolutely not.

Running footsteps up his outside stairs. No way. No fuckin' way. He'd fake appendicitis. Concussion. Stroke. He was not going to work this weekend.

Hutch burst through the door, hair wild, breathing hard, arms stretched forward. This was not good. This was very bad.

"Hutch, what—"

"Starsky! What is it? Poison? I called for an ambulance; they're on their way. What is it, buddy? Talk to me!"

"Jesus, Hutch. I'm not poisoned. I'm fine. What's wrong with you?"

"You said . . ." Hutch looked around, a little frantic, and put a hand on his chest. "I thought . . ." He dropped his hands and leaned back against the wall. "You said you needed help."

That siren definitely sounded like an ambulance. They both looked out the kitchen window, down the canyon road.

"Shit." Hutch said. "You sure you're okay?"

"You want me to make something up?"

"I'll be right back."

Starsky watched him go out to meet the ambulance. He talked to the driver for a minute, and then the ambulance turned around and pulled away. Hutch leaned against the Torino and rubbed hard at his face with both hands. Then he took a deep breath and looked up. Starsky gave him a small wave, and he shook his head and started back up the stairs. He didn't know why Hutch was making him feel guilty. He hadn't done anything wrong.

The babies woke up. Hutch came in, pulled out a chair, and sat down heavily.

"What the hell is that noise?"

Starsky pointed to the birds. "Check it out. I rescued them."

Hutch peered at them. "What are they?"

"Birds."

"Starsky."

"I don't what they are. They're birds. Do you know?"

"Nope."

"You're the big nature guy. Don't you know anything about birds?"

"Nope."

"I gave them some hamburg but that can't be good for them." He demonstrated how they opened wide for him, and hoped Hutch was impressed at how good he already was at feeding them. He looked up, grinning.

"They look okay to me," Hutch said. "What are you going to do with them?"

"That's why I called you. You have to take them until I can find foster care for them."

"Foster care?

"Yeah, I'm going to call Perkowitz."

"I'm not taking them. I have plans."

"What plans? You said you were just going to sleep and eat and read all weekend. I have plans."

"Call Perkowitz, because I'm not taking them." He stood up.

Starsky moved fast and blocked the door.

"You can't leave me here alone with them."

"Get out of the way, Starsky. I'm not staying here."

"You're not going to just abandon me, are you? You wouldn't do that, would you?"

"Watch me." He tried to shove Starsky out of the way, but Starsky took up a stance and folded his arms across his chest.

"Some kind of partner you are," he said, glaring into Hutch's eyes.

"Don't try to manipulate me, pal. I know all your tricks."

Starsky thought fast.

"I'm scared, Hutch." That always worked. Always.

"You're not seriously trying that one on me, are you? They're baby birds. Give them food and keep them warm." He took hold of one of Starsky's arms and pulled. When he still didn't budge, he got a fistful of hair in one hand, and a belt in the other. A lift and a turn, and the doorway was clear, and he was out and down the stairs before Starsky could think of any way to stop him.

"I'll call you later," Starsky yelled after him.

"I won't answer," Hutch hollered back.

The birds began to wail.

He fed them again and cleaned them up. Their deposits were enormous and numerous. He dug out a heating pad from his bedroom closet, and put them on it, and then worried they'd be too hot. What was too hot? Too cold? There were too many things to worry about.

He called Perkowitz, not really expecting to find her at home, but she answered. He recognized that languorous tone in her voice and smiled into the phone. Odds on she wasn't alone.

"Hi, sweetheart," he said. "How are you?"

"Starsky? I'm a little busy. What's up?"

"Busy? It's nine in the morning. A holiday. You can't be that busy." He hoped he sounded cheery. "I got a favor to ask. I need your help, darlin'."

"Don't 'darlin' me, buster. I'm off duty. Call Marquette."

"No, it's not about work. I promise. C'mon, sweetie, I need you."

"This is not going to be something I'm going to want to do, is it?" She whispered something to whoever was with her, giggled and said, "stop it," and laughed again. "Just tell me what it is so I can say no and hang up."

"I've got some babies that need foster care. I'm desperate, here, Perkowitz. Come on. You gotta help me out."

Her voice changed. "You said 'not about work.'"

He waited. He heard her sigh.

"Babies? As in more than one? Infants?"

She was just as into her job as he and Hutch were. He knew he had her hooked now.

"Three. I don't know how old they are."

"Jesus Christ, Starsky, I'm off duty. Call someone else."

"No. I need you to handle this. It's, it's a special situation. You're the only one I trust on this." He lowered his voice a little. "Please, Perks, please. I'll make it worth your while."

"I'm uh . . ." She dropped her voice so he could barely hear her. "I'm not, uh, alone."

"Oh! Oh, man, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But this is an emergency." He knew now it was a done deal. "Tell him you're on back-up or something and you have to go in. He'll understand. I would." He paused for dramatic emphasis. "I'd wait for you to come home and I'd show you how much I'd missed you while you were off saving babies. I'd be so proud of you, you'd be glad you'd gone, because coming back would be so worth it—"

"Shut up, you asshole." There was a muffled sound, like she'd put her hand over the phone, and some smacking noises, and then giggling. He heard something that sounded like "thanks" and "sorry" and some more funny noises. "All right, I'm coming, but you're going to owe me. Owe me huge."

Starsky was pretty sure he could oblige. If she didn't turn right around and leave when she saw the babies.

He fed them again and watched them sleep. They had spots all over them that he hadn't noticed before, and some of the feathers on their chests were reddish. One of them opened an eye and saw him, and gaped its mouth wide, but before he could give it anything, it had fallen asleep again. They were so trusting, so certain that he would take care of them. In their world all they had to do was open their mouths and food would fall in. They had nothing else to do.

He wished he had a bird book. All he had were novels—thrillers and science fiction. Nothing about birds. He'd have to get one, see if he could figure out what kind of birds they were. Unless Perkowitz knew.

He remembered some show, maybe Wild Kingdom, where birds brought bugs and worms to the nest and dropped them into mouths. Maybe he should try to find some bugs. He didn't like the idea. But he got a paper cup and a plastic fork, told the babies he'd be right outside, just call out if they needed him, and went back into the trees.

The fork broke as soon as he tried to stick it into the ground. He went to the Torino and found a blackened screwdriver in the glove compartment. It made a pretty good worm digger. He dug around near the back of the house, and found quite a few worms, but they were huge. He took them back indoors, anyway. He could cut them up.

Where the hell was Perkowitz? She didn't live that far away, closer than Hutch, even. Maybe she'd taken some time to apologize to her lover. What were her priorities, anyway?

He started up the stairs and saw her ancient Datsun down at the bottom of the road. It disappeared and reappeared as it rounded the curves, and finally pulled up next to the Torino.

"What are you doing out here?" she said by way of a greeting.

"I was dig—, uh, I've only been out for a few minutes."

"You can't leave babies alone even for a minute."

"They were asleep."

She handed him some grocery bags and he looked in. Diapers, formula, glass bottles, rubber nipples.

Uh oh.

She grabbed his arm and dragged him up the stairs.

"How are you holding up?" she said. "Any idea where the parents are?"

"The parents. Well, the mother was brutally murdered, right in front of them. Father's whereabouts unknown. I don't really know anything else about them."

"Poor little guys. How'd you end up with them, then? I'm sure you didn't raise your hand and volunteer."

"No. But maybe you should just see them, and then you'll understand better." He opened the door and gestured for her to go through first. His stomach clenched up a little. This could be Armageddon.

She heard them immediately. "What the hell is that noise?" She looked at the kitchen table. "Oh my God in heaven. You've got to be out of your mind. Are you kidding me?"

He didn't dare look at her. He tugged her over to the table and sat her down near the little ceramic nest.

"Look at them, Perks, they need you. Look, this one's name is Amanda."

"You think naming it after me is going to make me melt?"

"Yep. It's working, right?" He got out some bits of meat. "Watch this." He fed them until they did their business and went back to sleep. "Cute, huh?" He changed their paper towel, and they never woke up. "You can find them a home, right?"

She stared at him. He grinned, and she stared at him some more.

"I'm going to kill you," she said.

It sounded not much different than if she'd said "nice day today," but he felt a little nervous anyway. He moved around to the other side of the table. He felt safer there.

"But you can find them a home, right? I have plans for the weekend."

As soon as he said that, he knew he shouldn't have. She stood up and turned to leave.

"Wait!" He tried the same tactic he'd used with Hutch. He blocked the door.

Luckily, this time he was the stronger one. She tried to get by him, not at all worried that she was maybe hurting his foot, or the skin on the inside of his wrist where she twisted it. He got an idea.

He snaked his right arm around her waist and his left hand under her chin, pushing up so that her head tipped back.

"Dinner at La Hacienda," he said, nose to nose. "Breakfast in bed."

"When?"

"You say."

"Wine?"

"And a flower."

"Chocolate chip pancakes?"

"With whipped cream. If there's any left by morning."

"Deal."

He let her go and she stepped back.

She smiled, but more to herself than at him. "I have to call Joe and tell him I'll be tied up for a while."

"Didn't know you liked it kinky."

"Don't push your luck, buster. Give me your phone."

He found some scissors and cut up a few of his worms, muttering "yuck" and "gross," and fed the babies again while she called, only half listening to her half truths about the poor little orphans.

"So who's this Joe guy?" he said after she hung up.

"You wouldn't want me to tell him about this Dave guy, would you?"

"I know him?"

"Let it go, Starsky."

"Lettin' go." He grinned.

"Where's your phone book?"

He got it out for her, made her a cup of coffee, and set it down near her.

"Do you know someone who can adopt them?" He almost looked at his watch, but changed his mind.

"I have some ideas, but don't get your hopes up too high. It's a holiday weekend. People aren't around."

He tried to be patient but it wasn't his strong suit. The birds woke up, and he fed them, almost without thinking about it. When they got full they just spit out whatever he dropped in. He thought it was kind of cute.

He listened while she spoke to someone at the local cat and dog shelter who gave her the number of someone who told her to call someone else who suggested she talk to the folks in the birds section at the LA Zoo who told her to call the local cat and dog shelter.

"I thought placing kids was tough." She held out her coffee mug for a refill.

The phone rang under her hand and she answered without thinking. She made a "sorry about that face" but it was too late. It didn't matter, though. He actually thought it was kind of nice. Domestic. His mind shied away from the concept.

She handed him the receiver. "It's Huggy. He didn't sound surprised that I answered."

"He wouldn't." He took the phone.

"Starsky, you in luck, brother. I got you the goods."

"I knew I could count on you, Huggy." Now he looked at his watch. Huggy had found a home for the birds, and he could get on with his day.

"You have to feed them worms, bugs, berries, and soaking wet dry cat food." There was an unmistakable grin in Huggy's voice. "You don't have to chew it up first, though. Oh and don't give 'em water, you could drown them. They get water from the wet cat food. But they gotta eat every twenty minutes. "

"What? Round the clock?" He felt a little saggy at the thought.

"Nope. Just sunrise to sunset."

"I thought you meant you found someone to take them." He shook his head at Perkowitz.

"You didn't ask me for that, man. You asked what to do with them. I got you that."

"Yeah. Okay, thanks." He started to say goodbye. "Hey, wait. Do you want the catering gig?"

Huggy just laughed, and hung up. Starsky handed the phone back to Perkowitz.

Outside he heard a rumble, and a minute or two later, footsteps coming up the stairs. Perkowitz, mid-dial, looked up, and he shrugged. A second later, Hutch came in without knocking.

"Hey, Perky!" He took a few quick steps and kissed her on the cheek. Then he took the phone out of her hand, hung it up, and kissed her on the mouth.

Starsky couldn't believe it.

"Hey," he said, indignant. "Hey! Not in front of the babies!"

Neither of them backed off, and in fact, neither of them seemed to hear him. The babies woke up and started yelling. Starsky fed them, and watched the show, grinning and feeling his jeans begin to tighten up. The birds were oblivious, unaffected. When they'd eaten their quotas and were sleeping again, Starsky tapped Hutch on the shoulder.

"Mmmm?" Hutch said.

"Mind telling me what you're doing here?"

Hutch lifted his lips off Perkowitz's, and she put a hand out behind her. She found one of the chairs, and sat down on it, hard, her free hand to her mouth. Hutch grinned after her, and handed Starsky a book.

"I felt bad," he said, "leaving you like that. Got you a book. I think they're robins."

He opened up the book to a page he'd marked, and they compared the picture of juvenile robins to Starsky's baby birds. Perkowitz came around behind and looked over Starsky's shoulder. He put a possessive arm around her shoulders and pushed her forward so she could see better.

"That reddish color on their chests," Hutch said, "that's robins." He put his arm around Perkowitz's waist, and pulled her toward him. She looked down at the birds, and grinned, and let herself be pulled.

Starsky, amused, let her go. He'd already made his deal; he had no worries. Right now, though, she had to keep up her end of the bargain.

"You had someone else to call?" He handed her the phone. The babies woke up and opened their mouths at Hutch. "You want to feed them, Uncle Kenny?"

"No, no. No thanks, no, that's all right. I'll just watch."

Starsky fed them, feeling a little smug about how good he was at it already. He removed their droppings without even making an "icky" face, and checked to see if Hutch had noticed. Hutch had, and was making an icky face of his own. Some nature boy he was. He'd probably never even changed a diaper. Come to think of it, neither had Starsky.

"I think they've grown since I found them." The biggest one suddenly stood up and flapped its wings. "Hey, look at that!"

Perkowitz hung up the phone. "You're one lucky mama. I found a suitable placement." She batted her eyes at Starsky a little, and grinned. "That's the good news."

Starsky grabbed her, and kissed her hard, watching Hutch over her shoulder. Hutch, blank-faced, flipped idly through the bird book.

"Might want to ask what the bad news is," Hutch said. "Just a thought."

Starsky thought maybe Hutch was right, but it would still be bad news in another few minutes. Might as well put it off a bit. He closed his eyes. Perkowitz was an excellent kisser. She did this thing with her front teeth and her tongue that just made him crazy.

"Excuse me," Hutch said.

"Not now," Starsky said.

Perkowitz said nothing, and put her hands around him, and started moving them downward. She tried to get one hand into his back pocket, why, he couldn't figure, but it was too tight a fit, and she couldn't manage it.

"Uh, Starsk, you might want to take a look at this."

Shit. He pulled back, away from Perkowitz's mouth, and glared at Hutch.

"What?"

Hutch pointed at the birds. Little Amanda had fallen out of the bowl, and Little Flapper was standing on the edge of it, ready for anything. Little Sleepyhead was awake, mouth open wide.

"Jeeze, Hutch, why didn't you say something?" He let go of Perkowitz and stepped around her fast.

"I did."

"Now what do I do?"

He had nothing else to put them in. And they needed something besides cut up worms and his grade A prime ground sirloin. And then he remembered.

"Wait. What was the bad news?" He didn't want to know. He was sure of that.

Perkowitz put a comforting hand on his shoulder. He fought an urge to push it off.

"The wildlife rehabber can't take them until Monday afternoon."

"What? No way. No way. I have things I have to do. What am I supposed to do now? She's got to take them today."

"It's a he, and he was very adamant. Not till Monday. He's swamped with animals, and he won't have time for them until Monday." She seemed to realize just how bad this news was. "I'm sorry, baby."

"Did the guy tell you anything else, like what I'm supposed to do with them all weekend? How am I going to do anything if I have to feed them every twenty fuckin' minutes?"

"He said you're doing fine, but stick with the worms and bugs, not the hamburger. You can get some dry cat food, and soak it so it's dripping wet and soggy, and give them that, too. He said that's the easiest and best thing."

"Yeah, that's what Huggy said, too."

Hutch put the book down, and stood up. "I'm going to come through for you, buddy," he said. "I'm going to go into town and get you a bird cage."

"I don't have any dry cat food."

"I'll pick some up."

"I don't have anything to eat."

"I'll pick up something for you, too."

"Something edible?"

"Yes, something edible."

"I have a ticket to the auto show."

"Take them with you."

"Are you serious?"

Perkowitz said, "The ladies will love it."

Huh. There was an interesting thought.

"No," he said. "That's exploitation of minors."

"You're a good man, Starsky." She kissed him. "I'll come over on Monday and drive you up to the rehabber's place. You can take me to La Hacienda after."

"What, you're leaving? Now?" He tried to grab her arm but she ducked away out of his reach.

Hutch gave him a smirk, and followed her out. Starsky felt compelled to look out the window, but he knew what he'd see and he didn't feel in the mood to watch anymore. And anyway, if Hutch saw him looking, he'd just make out with Perkowitz all that much longer. So he stayed away from the window and instead sat down at the table and fed the babies, and cleaned them up, and put them back in the bowl, and watched them sleep.

His brain was already adjusting to twenty-minute increments of activity. It was about his normal attention span anyway, so it didn't seem all that weird. He read some of the bird book with a fourth cup of coffee, and took the babies in their bowl with him to the bathroom when the coffee caught up with him. He carried them back out to the kitchen and set them down, and just before they started peeping again, he got their worm bits ready. When they started in, he fed them, cleaned them up, and put them down for their nap. He was an expert now.

Eventually he ran out of things to do that took eighteen minutes, and began to wonder if Hutch was coming back. It was already lunchtime, past lunch time, really, so he sighed, and made up some burgers, marinated them, and set them ready. He started up his little charcoal grill, and set the lid just right, and laid out his grilling tools, and hoped he could get Hutch to stick around.

He ran out of worms, and the meat was marinated. It couldn't be used for bird food anymore. Where the hell was Hutch? If he was going to stand him up, the least he could do was call and let him know.

The coals were ready. The hell with Hutch. He'd have a nice lunch, and put the birds in a box or something, and go and get their dinner himself. He put two burgers on, and ran downstairs to find some more worms. He discovered that if he looked in shadier places where the soil wasn't too dry, and if he picked up big rocks, he could find them pretty easily. He filled his paper cup with them and went back upstairs. All three of the babies were out of the bowl and on the table, and as soon as they saw him they put their heads back and opened their mouths wide.

"Hang on, kids. Gotta make you some bite sized pieces." Cutting up the worms didn't bother him at all by now. "Babies gotta eat, don't they?" He fed them. "My turn now."

His burgers were perfectly done. He set them on his plate, doctored them up the way he liked them, added a nice big dollop of potato salad, and held up the first one to show the kids what mommy liked to eat.

"Not all that different from what babies like to eat, huh?" They watched him for a while as he ate, but then sleep overtook them and they fell into each other again. What a life. Eat and sleep. It sounded really good.

Hutch's car had an unmistakable sound. Starsky put the second burger down, half-finished, and went to the window.

"Finally!"

Hutch looked up and waved, and reached into the back seat. He'd been busy, apparently, and loaded himself up with his purchases, grinning up at Starsky a couple of times, and making Starsky feel bad for doubting him. He went to meet him downstairs, and Hutch handed him a bag full of groceries and a large cage.

"Wait till you see what I brought," Hutch said. "You're gonna love it."

He helped set up the cage first, and they transferred the babies over, and unpacked the groceries. Plenty of food, enough for the whole weekend, and all apparently edible. Starsky reached for his unfinished burger, and saw the last of it disappear into Hutch's mouth.

"Sorry," Hutch said. "Want me to make another one?"

"Yeah, go for it. I'll cut up some of this fruit for you." There were some blueberries and strawberries. Good nutrition for the birds. He washed out the ceramic bowl, and put some of the dry cat food in it to soak.

"Look at this," Hutch said. "I got you tweezers. See? Rounded end, nice and safe."

Starsky was surprised and pleased. Not many guys would have thought of that. He smiled at Hutch, and cuffed him on the shoulder by way of a thank you. He wanted to try them right away, but the babies still slept. Next round would have to do. This would make feeding time easier.

"Be right back," Hutch said. He jogged down the stairs to his car, and came back a minute later, holding something behind his back. "Close your eyes."

"What is it?"

"You won't find out if you don't close your eyes."

"If I close my eyes I won't be able to see it."

"Starsky. Close your eyes."

He closed them, and held out a hand. Something rough and lightweight. He opened them. It was a wicker fishing creel.

"What's this for? You going up to the lake?" Was this Hutch's way of telling him he was taking off on him?

"No, moron, it's for the birds. So you can go to your show, and take them with you." He opened the lid. "I washed it out, and it's got leaves and some pine needles in it. It's perfect."

"I don't know what to say. I could kiss you! This is perfect." His world opened back up, and, though he'd gotten resigned to missing out on all his plans, he felt a lot happier now. "I owe you, pal. This is great."

The birds woke up and begged for some lunch, so Starsky tried out the tweezers with some bits of blueberry and the soaked cat food.

"Much better," he said. "Want to give it a try?"

Hutch took the tweezers and leaned over the table next to Starsky, touching shoulders, and dropped bits of food into their mouths until they stopped opening them. He grinned at Starsky, and then back at the birds.

"Who's your mama now, babies?"

"Fun, isn't it?"

"It is."

"But now you have to do janitorial services." He handed Hutch a clean paper towel. "I should have asked you to pick up more towels. I've gone through a ton already." He handed Hutch a fork. "Want some of the fruit?"