I did. He didn't.
"I think this whole thing is crazy," Rene said, "but since he's a talking bird, you might ask him a few questions. Maybe he's trained to say something else."
"Where is Uncle Izzy's fortune?" I asked, when I had tugged at the dodo's feathers until he opened one eye.
He closed it.
"Do you have a message for me?"
He drew away from me irritably and closed the eye again, ruffling down into his feathers.
"He may be keyed to respond to certain phrases. Try your uncle's name—he obviously knows that," Rene suggested coldly, wanting no part of this but unable to hold down the suggestion.
"My name," I screamed at the somnolent dodo, "is Isadore Summers."
He reared back and pecked the hell out of me.
I picked the book up off the floor and flipped through the bent pages until I found "The Dodo." Maybe there'd be something in that.