Benny

The house is sold, I'm on the road, and I didn't think I'd see this day. I left Minnesota on October 2nd, 2006, watching the Twin Cities slowly shrink in my rear-view mirrrors.

My traveling partner for this trip was named Benny. He was an orange canary that I had promised to deliver to my girlfriend's daughter in Laramie, Wyoming. Benny would stay in Laramie while I continued on to my girlfriend's home in Oregon. We would pick him up in a few weeks on our move from Oregon to New Mexico.

Benny acted a little agitated as we drove away from the Twin Cities. I put his cage in the passenger seat, so he could sit on his highest perch and look out the window. He flew around his cage, chirping and hopping from perch to perch until I shoved in a music CD, Los Lonely Boys. When the music started to play, Benny calmed right down. He squatted down on his perch and his eyes closed the way birds do when they sleep. I think the music got us both settled in for the long drive that was ahead of us. The miles started rolling by, and Benny sat contentedly on his hightest perch, looking out the front and side windows. I tried to keep food available for him. Before we left town, I bought red leafed lettuce and a sweet potato, both his favorites. I poked bits of veggies in the side of his cage where he could sit on his perch and nibble away.

As the day wore on and dusk started to fall, I noticed that Benny once again was becoming agitated. He flew off his perch and circled right back to the same spot. He couldn't fly far in the confines of his cage. He kept looking toward the back window of the pickup cab. He chirped and shuffled from side to side on his long perch. It looked like something in the back of the cab was bothering him. I craned my head around to look in the small dark area behind the seat. My bags and clothing were stacked behind the seat to the bottom of the rear window. Only a small, dark space was left behind my head. Then I realized the Benny was looking for a place to roost for the night. He wanted to fly into the small, dark area behind the seat to go to sleep. I didn't let him into the back of the cab, but I did pull over and then place the cloth cover over his cage. I left a small opening where I could peek into his cage to check on him as we drove into the night. That did the trick. I could see him in there, perched on his regular sleeping place. He was quiet the rest of the night.

I drove late into the night, and then pulled off the side of the road to sleep a few hours. After I woke, I drove to the next town and pulled in for gas and coffee. I found a free advertiser in the news stand and used it to reline Benny's cage. I normally clean his cage every day, but in the chaos of the last night of packing and the morning of closing on my house, Benny's world had been neglected. I found fresh water for his bird bath and cut fresh vegtables for his breakfast. Benny had a fresh cage, the pickup had a full tank of gas, and I had my coffee. We were ready for the road again.

On the final leg of the trip to Laramie, Benny acted like a seasoned traveler. He sat on his perch, against the side of the cage, as close to me as he could get. He gave me his little sideways look, the way birds do, and I could almost see him smiling. Then I realized I was smiling too. So that's the way we rode, on the last leg of our trip together from St Paul, Minnesota to Laramie, Wyoming.

I missed Benny after I left him in Laramie. As I drove toward Rawlins, I kept looking over to see how my little orange friend was doing. He wasn't there. All I saw was an empty seat. It's funny how I had made friends with that little bird. I popped in a CD, Los Lonely Boys, and settled in for the drive.