More communication, fewer conflicts

When I arrived home from school, night was falling. A call came from the public: a bird of unknown species was being attacked by a group of noisy children in his front garden. He scared them off and grabbed their victim. I immediately called for my classmate Jack to the spot.

We were standing in front of a stranger’s house in an unfamiliar street, rescue box in hand. My head full of instructions to follow. “The bird would be our first test as a volunteer wildlife rescuer!” Jack said excitedly. We had completed the two-day intensive training course the previous month and learned the basic skills of rescuing animals in various situations.

But we were anxious, too. After all, it was the first time for us to rescue a bird. Would I be able to transfer the bird neatly into my rescue box? Many worries flashed in my mind. Sensing my unease about the act ahead, Jack said, “These things are pretty easy to deal with!”

I was wondering what kind of bird it was when a kind-looking man appeared and led us inside to see our very first patient. I lifted the edge of the shoe box very slightly to see an angry-looking bird standing to attention on very thin and long legs, together with a slice of banana and a small dish of water. He didn’t know its true name but the folks called the creature Red Fan. “It’s eaten some banana,” said the man proudly. The poor soul seemed rather nervous, so l decided not to grab it by hand but just transfer the whole shoe box into my rescue box.

Back home, we could only see some minor injuries in the left wing, but there was no blood on its feathers. Jack managed to treat the injuries with some iodophor (碘伏药水). We assessed its condition to find out if it was appropriate to release the bird the next day. How could we help it spend the night peacefully? We hadn’t seen this species of bird before, let alone its habits.

“Why not do a search on the Internet?” suggested Jack.

The next day, we were glad to see the bird was well enough.

That day, I was going to skate a clean freestyle program for the first time in a year. I determined to land the axel (前外一周半跳) in competition.

“I can make it!” I thought as I skated to the center ice. When my music sounded, I started my program with a circular step and a bright smile, followed by a beautiful combination spin. Flying camel, sit spin, layback spin. Perfection. The jump! The axel!

I could do it when I practiced off-ice, but I’d only landed it on-ice approximately fourteen times in my entire life. So I was a little nervous. I’d leave it out if I could, but my Olympic dreams depended on it. My coach, Geena, put it early in my program so I could do it while my legs were not tired. Taking a deep breath, “I can succeed!” I thought.

I was on the right back outside edge of my skate blade (冰刀), ready to turn forward and launch into the axel. My nerves were back, working against me. “I can do this!” I thought. I stepped into takeoff and I did… a waltz jump (半周跳). It is a jump I’d been doing since I was pretty young. It is only one-half a rotation (旋转) instead of the one and one-half that I need for the axel.

I glimpsed Coach Geena’s questioning eyebrow as I glided past the door and imagined the disappointed looks on my parents’ faces. “It’s not over,” I reasoned to myself, glancing into the bleachers (露天座位). “I’d just replace the next jump with the axel.”

However, it didn’t work out the way I’d hoped. I fell, and I kept falling. Never one to give up, I replaced every jump in my program with the axel, but I didn’t land one. I spent so much time on the ice that it’s like I was making sure the ice was clean for the next skater. The two minutes, fifteen seconds of my program felt like an age. By the time I was done, my dress was soaked through and I was seven seconds behind my music, so I finished skating to silence.

As I skated toward the exit, I felt everyone was looking at me with pity.

The performance going on, I rose up from the bleachers, determined to go home but my parents held me up.

When we lived on a farm, a black-and-white Border Collie mix showed up at our gate one day. My young son Alec fell in love with this dog instantly, and within an hour, he had named him Oreo.

Within a day, I could see how he would make a house in a mess. The great outdoors itself barely seemed enough space for him to run. When he was let out of his fence, he became a mass of black-and-white fur rushing all over the place at breakneck speed. He never seemed to be tired of running, of jumping on people, or of barking. His high energy was entertaining, but also wearing (令人疲惫的). So it was usually my husband Gary’ s job to leash (栓链子) him up for walks.

One day in late summer, Gary, Alec, and I walked with Oreo to the edge of the field and loosed the leash. He took off on his normal run across the juicy, green fields and soon disappeared over the top of a hill. My family walked on the path along the fence at a much slower pace, looking for four-leafed clovers (四叶草) when suddenly we heard barking behind us.

We turned to see two unfamiliar dogs speeding toward us, and they did not look friendly. Ears back, teeth bared, they flew toward us over the dirt path. Gary pushed Alec and me toward a tree with some low-hanging branches. “Get Alec in the tree,” he ordered as he picked up a heavy stick. Heart pounding, I lifted Alec onto a branch, and Gary squared off (摆好架势) to face the attacking dogs and give us time to get into the tree.

Suddenly, a black-and-white ball shot over the hill and hit the bigger of the two dogs.

I was still hoping Goldie might come back. But it was the day after the race and there was no sign of her. I was sitting in Grandad’s garden, staring into the sky.

“Come on, Goldie, come on, Goldie.”

Sometimes racing pigeons turned up days after a race. They got lost, or hit bad weather. But that never happened to Goldie. She always came home, right on time.

I had known Goldie ever since she was an egg. I had known her since she was a pink baby pigeon. I helped Grandad look after her. I had held her in my hands after a race and felt her little heart beating. She was beautiful. She had got shiny green and blue feathers on her neck.

“Come on, Goldie.” I couldn’t stop saying that. I had been whispering it ever since I woke up. But it wasn’t working. It wasn’t bringing Goldie back.

What was I going to do? I wanted my Grandad to get better. I wanted him to come out of hospital. But when he came out, he’d come straight to his pigeon cage to see Goldie. “Where’s my champion racer?” he’d ask me.

Suddenly I got a sick feeling in my stomach. I remembered what Grandad had said about the falcons (老鹰) in the old quarry (采石场). I hated those falcons. They probably killed Goldie. I could feel myself getting really angry. My fists were bunched up. Now I knew exactly what to do.

It only took five minutes to run to the old quarry. My chest was burning when I got there and I was gasping for breath but I didn’t stop. I slid down through the trees to the quarry floor.

I wanted to get those falcons. I wanted revenge (复仇), for Goldie. I wanted to be able to tell Grandad, “Take it easy, Grandad. You don’t have to worry any more. I’ve taken care of those falcons for you!”

But I couldn’t see any falcons. Where was their nest? I looked around the quarry walls. That must be it. It was on the deepest side of the quarry.

“I’ll get you, falcons!” I shouted to the nest. My hands were bleeding. But I didn’t feel the pain. Finally I was there.

“Got you!” I reached out my hand to sweep the nest away but I saw the baby bird, so lovely and so gentle. _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Music is playing an important part in our study and daily life.

In a word, music should make life better and help people become happier.