It began a wild attempt to scratch its head with one claw and remain upright. Then, abandoning all dignity, it rolled to its side and scratched furiously to satisfaction. After that, it began what looked like a hopeless attempt to right its awkward body, legs struggling in the air and back bumping around the ship.
I couldn't help remembering Uncle Izzy after a meal, slim and suave, lighting up a tapered, perfectly packed cigarene and blowing out one round, shapely smoke ring that hovered before his light, sardonic grin like a comment on his thoughts.
An uncomfortable comparison. I shook myself to life.
I righted the bird, no small problem, for he weighed almost two hundred pounds.
"Well," Rene finally said, coming out of his mood, "now that you have this bird, what are you going to do with it?"
"I had thought it might lead us to Uncle Izzy's fortune," I explained.
The bird obviously had no such intention. It was getting ready to take a nap.
"A night bird," I told it reprovingly, "shouldn't take a nap in the middle of the night."
"All you're proving is that he has no self-respect," Rene pointed out. "Why don't you look to see if he's got a note tagged to his leg or something?"