The Eagle's Egg

The space at the Kentucky Fish and Wildlife Farm that contained two bald eagles resembled a prison cell with Plexiglas windows in place of steel bars. It cost three dollars to get inside the aviary. A placard with a description of the specimen's habitat, diet, and mating behaviors stood in front of the pane of each room.

Bob, the district supervisor for the park, nicknamed the female eagle "Infertile Myrtle." He hadn't named the male yet. Myrtle sat on a nest in the deadwood limbs that rested on two metal joints mounted to the left corner of the room. She made it from straw scattered on the floor the day they brought her from the nursery to "her new home." Beneath her, the male toddled among the dried branches that lined the floor.

Bob stood in front of the eagle display peering at the male who had waddled over to the water trough and had begun to dip his beak into the artificial stream. Bob took his beige windbreaker off and rolled up the sleeves of his blue oxford. He did not have to work at the farm that day, but he liked to come to aviary to make sure that no one was slacking off and to check up on the new hire. While Bob watched the male drink, a balding man with a dark ring of remaining hair who was wearing a Hawaiian shirt, digital camera, and Bermuda shorts sauntered over to the eagle exhibit. He aimed the lens of his camera at the female and snapped a shot. The tourist and Bob were the only two people inside the eagle exhibit; it was early and few people had paid three dollars to see captive eagles when they could have seen them in the wild at various spots in the Land between the Lakes.

"Wow. Genuine bald eagles," the tourist said aloud.

Bob glanced at him. "What an idiot. Of course they're genuine. What did he expect shuttle cocks stuffed with cotton?" Bob thought.

The male cawed and stretched his wings. He eyed a branch a few feet above him and then he hopped, fluttering his wings for guidance and struggling to stay airborne, and landed clumsily on the limb.

"Why can't it fly?" the man asked.

"Because his wings have been clipped," Bob replied. "This guy has to be kidding. What does he think? The bird forgot how to fly?" he thought to himself.

"Why would someone clip the wings of our national bird?" the tourist said.

"Because there isn't enough room for them to fly and because both of them broke their wings before they came to us," Bob retorted.

"You work here?" the man asked feeling proud of his powers of deduction.

"Yes, I'm off duty," Bob said.

"Oh. You come to work even when you're off? Are you a workaholic or what?" the man asked.

"I had to pick up something I left here on Friday," Bob said. "That sounds believable," Bob thought to himself.

"How did they break their wings?" the tourist asked.

"The male flew into an power line and the..."

"Wow! A power line, that must have hurt. What a shocking experience." The man said laughing at his insipid joke. Bob didn't laugh. He didn't even feign a smile. He simply studied the tourist. Uncomfortable, the tourist said in a very serious tone, "Doesn't that say something about how civilization is screwing up the environment?"

"No," said Bob, "it says something about how eagles can't see in all directions when they're pursuing prey."

"And the other one. How did he break his wing?" the tourist said.

"It's not a he; it's a she.