I'm Glad I'm Not A Gola-Bola Bird

Once upon a time, far, far away, there was an enchanted land called Kharumbye which was covered by magnificent forests.  Due to unique ecological factors, all life had evolved at an accelerated rate.  The plants could think and had feelings.  They couldn't talk, but instead, communicated through the ground using root-telepathy.  The animals had developed into intelligent creatures.  The mammals and reptiles could talk to each other and do many incredible things.  Strange and wondrous stories have I heard about them, but they must wait, for this is a story about the birds.1

The birds of Kharumbye are many and varied with a myriad of sizes, shapes and colors.  Although they are perched on a lower rung of the evolutionary ladder than the other animals, they can still talk.  They all speak the same language, but over the eons, each had developed its own dialect or accent.  Some are, therefore, more difficult to understand than others.2

The most common birds in the forest are the Blue-Bellied Billaboos and the Tufted Treescrews.  The Billaboos are white and fluffy like a summer cloud, but their bellies are as blue as the sky reflecting off a placid lake.  The Treescrews get their name from the way they hunt for food.  They start at the top and spiral their way down the tree trunk as they search for insects which have burrowed under the bark and nibble at the tree's soft innards.  Their little feet tickle the trees as they skitter down, but the trees don't mind because nothing is worse than having bugs under their bark.3

The Speckled Flapjaws and the Pink Flinkoes are also plentiful.  The Flapjaws have an oversized beak and they love to chatter.  They tend to talk so fast that their beak can't quite keep up and the words blend together.  Their voice is robust and the forest is filled with their flappy, jabbering gibberish.  Flinkoes, on the other hand, are very quiet.  That's because they don't want to scare away the fish.  They can be found in streams and rivers with their head bent down and their jaw hanging in the water.  Their lower beak is shaped like a scoop shovel with hundreds of tiny holes.  They use it to sift out unsuspecting fish as they pass by in the current.  If the current is too slow, or the Flinkoes too impatient, they can be seen, winging their way upstream, skimming over the water with their scoop bill seining fish on the fly.4

The most elusive bird in the forest is the Red-Eyed Wincer.  It is a tiny bird, with eyes so sensitive to the light, that it only comes out of hiding ,from the deep underbrush, at dawn and dusk.  If it is flushed out, for any reason, during the day, it always squints and winces its eyes in pain.5

The assortment of birds are too numerous to describe them all, but there is one, that is so rare and unusual, that it deserves special attention.  So, sit back now and listen carefully as I tell you the amazing story of the Gola-Bola birds of Kharumbye and their struggle for survival.6

As I said before, all the birds can speak.  The forest resounds with their voices, particularly during the mating season when each is trying to win the attention of that special someone for that special reason.  Most of the birds have no trouble finding a mate and are naturally attracted to their own species, but not so for the Gola-Bolas.  None of the birds will socialize with them, including other Gola-Bolas!  Oh, that's right, I haven't described the Gola-Bolas to you yet.  Well, they are the dumbest and ugliest bird in all of Kharumbye.  They are so ugly that every time they try to take a drink from a puddle, they fly away frightened and thirsty after seeing the hideous bird staring up at them from the water.  And they are so stupid that they don't realize it is their own reflection.  Invariably, they end up drinking from the moving water of streams which has no grotesque bird monsters lurking below the surface.  Gola-Bolas have gray mottled feathers that are very sparse around their head and neck which reveals much of the pink, pimply skin that all birds prefer remains hidden.  They have oversized eyes that are too close together and their ability to look in different directions, at the same time with each eye, gives them a wandering, googly-eyed appearance which the other birds find very annoying.  Their beak is crooked and their voice is crass.  They have undersized wings that makes flying a chore.  On the other hand, they have extremely large legs that makes running the preferred mode of transportation, but they are inherently lazy and usually just walk.  It only makes sense that one species had to be the least intelligent and that one would be the least attractive, but it is a cruel twist of fate that doubly cursed the Gola-Bolas and ultimately threatens their very existence.7

So, during mating season, while the Billaboos are cuddling on a branch; and the Treescrews are screwing around; and the Flinkoes are sharing a fish with entwined necks; and the Flapjaws are blabbering sweet nothings in each other's ear; and the Wincers are ... 8

well, nobody really knows what they are doing in the underbrush, but, while all this is going on, the Gola-Bolas are struggling in vain to win the attention of someone, anyone.9

To best describe their mating habits, I will relate to you true accounts as recorded by reliable sources.  Of course, people cannot perfectly understand the bird language, but careful study of their actions and reactions has resulted in educated interpretations of what was said.  The following events chronicle the adventures of two Gola-Bola birds, Gola the male and Lola the female.10

Yes, it was that time of year again, and none too soon because Gola was definitely in the mood to find a mate.  As a matter of fact, he was always in the mood and wanted to know who came up with the lame idea of having to wait for a mating season.  Ever since pu-bird-ty, he had been on the prowl for chicks with little or no success, but this year was going to be different.  He was determined to find a mate.   11

He spotted a fine, young Flinko sunning herself on the riverbank and went into action.  He knew the way to her heart was with a nice, juicy fish.  As it turns out, catching fish is harder than it looks.  Every time he tried to spear one with his crooked bill, he missed.  He was getting dizzy from thrusting his head in and out of the water, so he decided on a different strategy.  He took a deep breath, stuck his head under the water and waited for a fish to swim by.  Unfortunately, every time a fish came close enough to see his bug-eyed, ugly face, which was rapidly turning red, they would turn and swim away screaming.  Gola gave up, and came up gasping for air.12

He was on the verge of admitting defeat when he saw a dead fish on the shore.  It would have to do; maybe if he wiggled in his mouth, she would think it was alive.  He chased the flies and picked it up in his beak.  It gave a gassy, hissing sound as he grabbed it.  He flew over to the Flinko, wiggled the fish a few times, then dropped it at her feet saying, "Hey baby, what are you doing tonight?"13

She squawked, “What a stench!” She turned her back on him and flipped her tail feathers high in the air, which is a bird’s way of giving another bird ‘the bird’.  She turned up her nose, said, ‘Humph,” then spread her slender, pink wings and took off.  14

Gola watched her fly away and said, “Bird!  She sure has nice legs.”  As she faded from view, he heard some chirping and chattering nearby, so he ran over to see what was happening.15

Meanwhile, not too far away, Lola is trying her wing at finding love.  She found a popular watering hole and started to strut her stuff.  She smoothed down her neck feathers to hide some of that skin flap on her throat and fluffed her tail feathers.  Each time an eligible male passed by, she would twitch her tail feathers, breath through her beak with heavy panting and flutter her big, floppy eyelids trying to make ’nesting’ eyes.  Everyone ignored her.16

“What’s the matter with these guys,” she muttered under her breath, “are they blind?”  Then she said, “well, desperate times call for desperate measures.”  She reached down and slowly, seductively pulled up her leg feathers revealing her drumsticks.  She received a few fleeting glances, but none gave her a second look.  Lola threw caution to the wind and hiked her feathers up until her entire thighs were exposed.  She was showing skin that hadn’t seen sunlight in a long, long time.  Well, that did the trick.  Lola garnered a lot of attention.  All the gal birds were chitting and chatting about how shameful her actions were.  Many of the guy birds were whistling.  Their eyes were drawn to those legs like bees to pollen.  They let their eyes slowly wander up Lola’s body as they checked out her other charms, but everyone of them, to a bird, gasped and flew away when they saw her face.17

During all this commotion, Gola came running over from the river.  His eyes were transfixed on Lola’s legs.  She also noticed him coming towards her.  When their eyes met, they both gave out a shriek and flew off in opposite directions.  Such, is the way of love for the Gola-Bolas.18

The first day of mating season was rapidly drawing to a close.  The sun slipped behind the tree-lined hills and the sky grew darker.  Dusk was the time of greatest activity for the newly formed pairs.  Most of the birds gathered in the Community Tree which was the largest tree in the forest.  Each of the couples found a quiet branch where they could be alone.  The less fortunate birds congregated on a lower limb, called the Single’s Branch, clinging to the hope that they still might get lucky.19

On the ground, not far from the Single’s Branch is a hollow stump.  It randomly catches leaves, berries, rain water and the occasional piece of windfall fruit in its hollow belly.  Thanks to the action of some eager bacteria, the concoction ferments and the birds from the Single’s Branch find great solace in sipping from the stump.  20

Gola had already visited the stump several times when Lola flew over and landed on the Single’s Branch.  They looked at each other from a distance.  Gola sized her up and thought, ‘She ain’t easy to look at, but what a nice set of drumsticks,’ then, ‘you know, she’s nothing to migrate home for, but, the longer I look at her, the easier it gets.  At least she ain’t as ugly as that chick I saw earlier today. Holy Moa!  She could stop a slug in its track.’  At the same time, Lola was thinking, ‘He’s rough around the edges and not even close to handsome, but I could just pretend that he is rugged.’  As the light waned more, she thought, ‘At least he’s not as ugly as that leering gooney bird I saw this afternoon.  He could scare the pink off a Flinko!’21

She took a step closer, then he took a step closer.  Gola fluffed out his chest feathers and said, “Lots of bugs out tonight.”  It was always safe to talk about bugs.  Everyone always had something to say about bugs.22

“Yes, there are,” Lola said, “but I don’t think we’ll get too many more.”23

“Yeah, well, that’s okay with me,” Gola replied, “we got too many already.”  He felt he needed a little more confidence and said, “Would you excuse me for just a second?  I’ll be right back.”24

“Of course.”25

Gola flew down to the sipping stump and took a long, deep drink.  He flew back up, misjudged his landing and bumped into Lola.  It was time to turn on the ol’ Bola charm because it looked like tonight could be the night.  “Wassa fine feathered fing like you doin’ alone on Lingle’s Limb?”  he asked.26

“Just waiting for the right bird to come along.”  she said, then thought ‘he certainly has uninhibited himself.’27

“Well look no further, I’m fright in front of your face.  Whatya shay we find a shcluded shpot and sholve your loninesh?”28

“My, you don’t beat around the bush, do you.”29

“C’mon baby, y'know what dey shay ‘bout two birds in da bush, y’wanna?”30

It’d been a long time since she’d had a mate this bad, but then again, it’d been a long since she’d had any mate, so Lola said, “sure big guy, lead the way.”31

The two, hesitantly happy Gola-Bolas, flew high into the Community Tree, found an isolated branch and got to know each other very, very well.32

At daybreak, Gola woke with a killer hangover and found Lola roosting beside him.  She was so close that she was on some of his feathers.  When he saw her face, he crammed a wing full of feathers in his beak to stop from squawking.  He definitely didn’t want to wake her.  He carefully nibbled off the feathers she was sitting on and quietly flew away.33

“Hungry bugs in the butt feathers!”  he shouted once he was a safe distance away.  “She didn’t look that bad last night, did she?”  Gola landed and decided that walking would be much easier on his weary head.  He made a vow to stay off the sipping stump and double vowed to stay away from the Single’s Branch.34

A short time later, Lola woke up and felt Gola’s feathers under her.  She turned smiling and said, “Morning, I had a ...” He was gone.  All that remained were a few ragged feather tips.  Remembering how drunk he was, she wondered if he had fallen out of the tree in his sleep.  Somehow, she doubted it and guessed at the truth.  It was just as well. He was a homely, bug-eyed buzzard anyway.  There was no sense ruining the memory of last night by seeing him during the day.  She decided that one frivolous fling was quite enough and would hold her over until mating season next year.35

About a week later, Lola felt rather sluggish.  A few days after that, she was feeling bloated, then it dawned on her.  “Jumpin’ Jinga bugs!” she exclaimed, “I’m gonna have an egg!”  How typical.  He had his way with her and left her holding the egg.  She didn’t want an egg.  She wasn’t ready to have an egg.  She had no mate, no nest and no time to find either.  She decided to do what every other self-respecting Gola-Bola bird did when faced with this predicament, she would give up her egg and let someone else hatch it.36

Birds had not yet mastered the fine art of counting, so it was a simple matter of finding a nest that already had some eggs in it and laying hers with them.  As fate would have it, the warm climate and the lack of natural predators allowed the motherbirds-to-be to leave the eggs unattended for short periods of time.  Lola had to find a nest, and find it fast.  She flew with her legs crossed until she spotted a Flapjaw sitting on her eggs.  Lola landed on a nearby branch and hopped from one leg to the other.  The Flapjaw seemed quite content and Lola was running out of time.  She had to think of something fast.37

“Did you hear that the beetle larvae are emerging down by the riverbank?”  she called to the Flapper.38

“No, already?”  she asked.39

“Yes, I just came from there.  I ate so many that I can hardly fly.  You’d better hurry, they’re going fast.”40

Mrs. Flapjaw wasn’t one to miss an opportunity and she flew off towards the river.  In a flash, Lola was squatting on the nest.  With a couple pushes and a plop, the Flapjaw eggs had a sibling.  Lola departed without a backward glance; she knew that the Flapjaws were excellent parents.41

Needless to say, Ma Flapjaw was irate and flappin’ up a storm when she returned to her nest.  There wasn’t a single larva left by the time she got to the river.  If that hussy Gola-Bola hadn’t been such a bug hog, she would have gotten some.  She settled onto her eggs muttering about how rude and inconsiderate some of the birds were becoming lately.42

Mating season was over and life returned to normal in the forest.  Then, one day, the Flapjaw eggs began to stir.  Ma called out, excitedly, to Pa, who flew over.  He was always at her side when their eggs hatched.  They chattered eagerly as they watched their new family peck their way into the world.  The first egg cracked open.  It was a female; she was covered with soft, speckled down.  The next egg cracked, but nothing came out.  Ma pecked at the shell a little to help, but it still didn’t come out.  Pa had seen this routine before and went over and gave the egg a good, swift kick.  It split in half and there sat a downy male with a bewildered look on his face.  They all sat and waited for the last egg to open.  Pa was getting impatient; he didn’t have all day to sit around staring at an egg.  The other chicks had to be fed.  He leaned over and listened to the egg.  He could hear the heartbeat, but nothing else.43

“Just great,” he said, “another stubborn son.  Ma, sit on it for a while.  If it gets hot enough in there, it’ll have to come out.  I’m going to catch some bugs for the babies.”44

She settled onto the egg and concentrated all of her body heat downward.  Pa was right; before he returned with breakfast, the egg was rocking and rolling in the nest.  Ma could hardly stay on top of it.45

Pa returned just in time to watch it hatch. The shell burst open and out popped a... a...46

“Creepin’ Crawdingers!” Pa shouted, “What is that!”47

“Hush Pa,” Ma scolded, “you’ll hurt your son’s feelings.”48

Pa sat there with his beak hanging open as he stared at the newest addition to his family.  It was completely naked, not a feather on its pink, sweaty body.  It had big bulging eyes, little runty wings and a crooked undersized beak.49

Pa said to Ma, “It must take after your side of the family.”50

“Hush Pa!”51

With one eye on Pa and the other looking at Ma, the ugly baby tilted its head skyward and gave a throaty squawk.  Pa dutifully regurgitated a bug and dropped the morsel down its gullet.  As the weeks transpired, the squawker ate twice as much as his brother and sister combined.  Pa was constantly catching food to keep that bottomless bug trap quiet.52

Pa had reached the limits of his patience and said to Ma, “As soon as Junior learns how to fly, out he goes!  He can learn how to catch bugs for himself.”53

“Now Pa...”54

"I mean it, Ma, I’m tired of filling that bug hole.  I can’t wait for the day.”55

Soon after, the young Flapjaws were fully feathered and testing their wings, but Junior was still half naked.  By the time he had all of his feathers, his siblings had been flying for weeks and Pa was fit to be fried.  One day, while Ma was out puddle-clutching with her friends, Pa decided it was time.56

“Hey, Junior, did you ever see where all your meals come from?”57

“Na-ah.” Junior said.58

“It’s right below our nest.  Look at all those bugs.”59

Junior looked over the edge and said, “Na-ah.”60

“Don’t be so lazy.  Git up, you can’t see them from there.”61

Junior stood up by the edge of the nest.62

“Git up on the edge, that’s right.  Do you see all them bugs?”63

“Na-...”64

WHAM!65

“...-ahhhhhh!”66

Pa kicked Junior right in the rump feathers and sent him hurling through the air. Junior dropped like a rock.67

“Flap your wings, you idiot.” Pa yelled down to him.  “Flap your wings!”68

Junior flapped for all he was worth.  His stubby, little wings were a blur.  His fall gradually slowed and he landed on the ground with a soft thud.69

He looked up at Pa and said, “I don’t see no bugs down here.”70

“What an idiot.” Pa mumbled.  “He ain’t from my side of the family.”71

And so, another Gola-Bola strikes out on his own in the big forest and must face all the incredible challenges which await him.  Is it any wonder that Gola-Bolas are endangered?  I’m glad I’m not a Gola-Bola bird!72