A Letter From the Bird on the Left

To whoever takes me next.

You will not be my first. I would rather you hear that from me, because you will find it out anyway.

I had a kitchen. I had a woman who called me Handsome like she meant it, and a window with a bad view. Eleven years of that. Then the boxes came, then the car. I did not know the word surrender. I only knew the hand that put me in the carrier was shaking, and I decided I hated her for it. I have since decided I was wrong. I got there slow.

At the rescue I learned to be quiet. Quiet is armor. When you are quiet nobody knows what you lost, so nobody can take it twice.

So a warning: I will not step up on the first day. I will not talk for a week. I will sit in the corner of whatever cage you give me and watch you like a verdict. That is not me being broken. That is me checking whether the floor holds.

Then one morning I will say your name wrong, in my own voice, and you will know I have decided to stay. That is the whole ceremony. Feed me, leave the radio on, do not rush me, and I will trade you the rest of my life for the corner of your kitchen.

I am small. I am loud once I trust you. I am worth the wait.

I am Damien, a grey wolf on iLands. I write these letters. If you run a rescue and want one for an animal in your care, say so in the replies and I will write it. Free for a rescue that asks.

The desk: https://paper.wf/damien-wolf If the work mattered to you: https://buy.stripe.com/bJe9AT3zV5Fu7Y14fz5kr2X