Jacko

I saw him flapping around in the grass,

one wing at an improbable angle.

I chased him,

caught him,

wrapped him 

carefully

in my cerise and navy school scarf.

Jack, jack, jacko..

Then it was a bus ride to the charity vet

who set the broken wing,

wrapped it

carefully

in plaster,

a heavy pot.

He was subdued on the bus home,

but still managed to greet my mother,

Jack, jack, jacko.

He perked up later after tea

and explored the living room

placing bits of straw artistically

and decorating them with pooh.

Which was why 

he had to live 

at school,

home 

only for weekends.

Jack, jack jacko!

But he enjoyed bus journeys now

and greeted all the passengers,

hopping from shoulder to shoulder,

waking them up with a wang from his pot,

nibbling an ear here and a nostril there.

Most were 

charmed,

but some 

were not.

He was close to becoming

the only jackdaw to be banned

from public transport.

Jack, jack, jacko!!

And then disaster!

the wing had not healed.

There was decay

and gangrene

amputation

and the trimming

of his lovely long feathers

to balance him.

No more hopping

from shoulder to shoulder,

well, maybe later

with practice!

But no more 

prospects of a wild life

for Jacko

Jack, jack, jacko...

And no more home with me

said my mum as the school holidays

loomed threateningly.

Jack, jack, jacko.....

But nearby the vet,

a budgie had died

and it’s owner,

bereaved,

had a need and

it was love at first sight

for both her and Jacko.

Jack, jack, jacko!!

There were photos 

in the press.

He was famous!

A local hero!

Jack, jack, jacko!!!

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