Birds of a Feather

A story about a stork that delivers babies.

B-9, the stork of Marbleville County, woke up groggigly at the behest of his alarm clock, staring at it in disbelief. Five minutes late already! He beat his wings rapidly as he rose from his nest and put on his blue cap, which was adorned with his name in white. He took his fluffy bag in his beak and flew out the open window. On his belt was his cell phone, which, curiously, hadn’t been called that day. B-9’s mind was assaulted by unbidden thoughts of the Boss’s red face and table-striking fist. Thankfully, he didn’t live far from the local baby factory.

Looking down, he saw a cat running gracefully, a piece of paper in its mouth. On it, B-9 knew, was a list of all the qualities its human customers wanted to see in their baby. The cats were friendly towards everyone but him, it seemed. However, their quiet coldness was no match for the baby factory workers, all invariably frogs who enjoyed croaking heartily at B-9’s incompetence.

The stork entered the pick-up station and waited by the tube marked “Marbleville, 221 Lemon Drive.” Other storks waited by him impatiently, stealing dirty glances at him. A green light turned on, followed swiftly by a giggling, rosy-cheeked baby sliding out of the tube. He took the baby by its diaper and dropped him in his bag, then headed out to take to the sky once again.

As the stork dropped in altitude, to his dismay, it started to rain, and he knew thunder was on its way as well. It made for lousy travel, and he knew he’d be even tardier now.

B-9 spotted the house with the matching address and spiraled downwards. The house was fairly large, with a pillared patio. This was a fancy neighborhood. In his experience, the wealthy humans were among the most difficult to please. He tapped the doorbell once with the tip of his beak, the bag that carried to baby rocking back and forth. When the door opened, the man standing inside didn’t look happy. He was grimacing at his watch.

“A half an hour late,” said the human, “What kind of stork are you?”

“I’m s-sorry, s-sir,” B-9 could only say.

The man snatched the bag, looked inside, and slammed the door. As if on cue, the stork’s cell phone rang. He answered it with trepidation.

“Report to my office, now!” roared the Boss. Click.
As he headed back to the baby factory, thunder pealed, almost as if to presage the trouble he would have to face. When he arrived, he walked into the office with his head down.

“Late again!” the Boss, a burly man, bellowed at him.

“I o-o-overslept, sir.”

The Boss banged his fist on the table.

“You don’t say?” he said, “That’s the fourth time this month! And, what’s more, a couple called me last week saying that you gave them a baby with polar opposite specifications! Apologize to the couple in 488 Mohawk Avenue and then go home! You’re fired!”

The bird wanted to say, "I got the addresses mixed up," but he didn't dare.

The Boss yanked off B-9’s cap, bag, and cell phone, and threw all three on the floor.

“Did you hear what I said? Out!”

The stork flew out into the open air as quickly as he could. Tears filled his eyes. For the better part of his life, he’d felt defective. Now he had proof. There was no room in this perfect world for someone as imperfect as himself.

Thankfully, Mohawk Avenue was not a dwelling place for high society. Still, he was dreading the imposed interaction. The house was pale yellow with blue trimming. He pecked at the doorbell and waited for what felt like forever.

A woman came to the door, one with surprisingly kind eyes.

“Hello, Mr. Stork,” she said, “Can I help you?”

“Um,” said the bird, “I’m B-9. Last week I delivered you a dark-haired baby. Your specifications were ‘blond and freckled, like my--your--husband. I’m sorry. It was my mistake.”

The woman frowned.

“Oh no,” she said quietly, “You don’t have to do that.”
Her husband came to the door, cradling the baby in his arms and cooing to it. He looked up at the B-9 and smiled.

“We know we called your boss,” he said, “We were a little confused at first. But this baby happens to be the one we really wanted, even though we didn’t know it. Right, honey?”

“Yes,” his wife said, slowly smiling, “We love his doe eyes, and his laugh...and he’s a fast learner, too! You don’t have to apologize, Mr. Stork. It was a happy accident. His name’s Alex.”

B-9’s troubles seemed to dissipate with the news.

“Say,” said the paterfamilias, “You didn’t get fired, did you?”

The stork nodded, sadness creeping back in.

“Well,” said the man, “You can stay with us. We’re in your debt, after all.”

B-9’s eyes widened.

“You really mean it?”

“Yes,” said the woman, beaming at him, “What’s your name?”

“B-9. L-like my father before me.”

The human couple looked at each other and shook their heads.

“You wouldn’t mind the name Alphonse, would you?” she asked.

The bird smiled the first smile he’d had in years.

And they lived happily ever after.