One day Jackdaw got caught in a trap. He’d spotted some chunks of crusty white bread scattered on the ground and—never one to spurn a free meal—had flown down to help himself. But the bread was bait, and Jackdaw realised his mistake too late.

The hunter found Jackdaw hopping up and down, pecking at the wire mesh, desperately trying to affect an escape. Amused by the bird’s antics, the hunter decided to give it to his son as a present. (This happened many years ago, before phones or video games or any of that.)

He tied a string tight around the Jackdaw’s leg and set him on a perch in the corner of the room. His son was delighted with his new pet and giggled as he made the bird skip awkwardly along the wood dangling seeds and berries and chunks of crusty white bread above him.

Jackdaw accepted his fate. He was lucky to be alive and making a young boy laugh was a small price to pay, he told himself. He even refined his act, adding spins and turns and raucous calls to the performance. But the boy grew tired of the bird all the same.

Deprived of his daily bread, Jackdaw flapped and jumped and squawked for attention. But this did not amuse the household and only made things worse. The hunter warned his son to get the bird under control or he would have to wring its neck. His son shrugged.

Jackdaw knew then that he had to escape. He tried—discreetly—to unpick the string which kept him prisoner. He tried through the night and eventually found that by swinging upside down he could loosen the knot beneath his perch.

It was not a moment too soon.

The hunter came to dispose of him the next morning, but when he put his bruising hands on the bird, Jackdaw was able to squirm from his grasp and escape in a flutter through the open door, the frayed piece of string trailing behind him.

© Richard Parkin 2022