Archibald – no-last-name, no-middle-initial – the half-ounce chickadee who got sucked into an MRI machine several weeks ago and was mysteriously inflated to a hefty three-pounds, two-ounces – wanted to tell you this story himself.

Fellow chickadees, of course, understand the ins and outs of his “fee bee dee dee dee” chirrups. However, through no fault (or conscious effort) of my own, it seems that I am the only human who can grasp his speech. Therefore, I have been elected to be his interpreter. So, in Archie’s own words, this is what happened to him after we first met.

ARCHIE SPEAKS:

I was still unsteady on my wings when I few away from the lady writer outside the clinic. You would be too, if you had undergone such a transformation. One minute, I’m as light as a feather. Even my feathers were as light as a feather. Next, I’m as heavy as Moby Dick.

The book. Not the whale.

Imagine being a 731-page novel hinged with two delicate wings. Outrageous!

Nevertheless, I kept trying to fly. Wobbly at first. Then gradually, I adjusted to my new dimensions. Each day, I got better and better and, within a week (Yes! It took that long), I was able to navigate air flow patterns and wind currents as well as I had done when I was normal-sized.

As can be expected, I returned to the garage where I lived, settled in beneath the warm air vent among the rafters, and began to consider my options.

I thought and I thought and I thought. What, I asked myself, AM I?

I became disconcerted (to say the least), when I realized that instead of an answer, I was presented with a predicament. The minuscule – but powerful – original me weighed less than an ounce, ate mostly bugs, and needed only 10 calories a day (about the volume of two strawberries) to survive.

NOW, monster-size that I have become, my daily food requirement is one pound eight ounces. Which means that from dawn to dusk, I have to consume the weight-equivalent of three hamsters, four billiard balls, or half a human brain … in spiders, insects, peanuts, or sunflower seeds. Needless to say, I’m not talk talking about LITERALLY eating a human brain.

Consider, also, that the expression “Birds of a feather flock together” is no meaningless claptrap. Chickadees like to socialize. Sometimes in the winter, we even huddle together for body warmth. But …

But … I WEIGH OVER THREE POUNDS! If I attempted to flock or huddle, I could crush one of my best friends. To say nothing of the romantic implications of my suddenly increased size.

Yes, indeed. A dilemma.

So, I thought and I thought and I thought. Until the pressure of all that cogitation gave me a whopping big headache, forcing me to exit my garage, eager, at first, just to get away from all of that brain activity, and breathe some fresh air.

Once outside, I began to feather my flight this way and that, not knowing where I was going, but certain that if I flew long enough and looked hard enough, I would glide smack into something (anything!) that might be a source of inspiration.

So … fly I did. First, on Route 12, past a small village containing a gas station, a coffee shop, a liquor store, and a barber. Three miles north, I turned west on Hillside Road, bypassed two towns displaying the usual assortment of churches, diners, and sandwich shops until, at the corner of Chestnut Street and Nosebleed Road, I saw a barnlike structure bearing a sign that said: REPURPOSED GOODS.

Not sure if I had hit a jackpot or was in for a huge disappointment, I waited until a truck pulled into the driveway, and a heavyset man with stooped shoulders and kinky gray hair exited the vehicle. When he opened the door to enter, I flew in right along with him.

“Repurposed goods.”

Humph. What do you … or any of us … know about such things? Maybe that we can turn an empty wine bottle into a candle holder, or a tin can into a flower pot. But what else?

Quite a lot, I discovered as I swooped, dipped, soared, and dived from shelf to shelf, examining those transfigured items. Most, I discovered, were pretty shabby, and did little to inspire confidence in the imaginations of those who had effected the change. Like postage stamps turned into earrings, t-shirs turned into shopping bags, or detergent jugs turned into watering cans.

But some were borderline inspired. My favorite, displayed on a mantlepiece, was a beautifully embroidered Persian slipper filled with tobacco. Beside it was a small, handwritten note stating, “Homage to Sherlock Holmes.”

Other interesting items included a brightly painted automobile tire, hanging by a thick rope from the ceiling at the back of the store, repurposed to be a child’s swing; an old oak ladder with wide steps, transformed into a bookshelf; silver spoons reconfigured into coat hooks; a big oyster shell qua ring dish painted with tiny blue forget-me-nots; and vintage seed packets for poppies, pansies, morning glory, daisies, zinnias, and dahlias, laminated and turned into Christmas tree ornaments.

Hmm, I thought as I fluttered from shelf-to-shelf, not realizing until the smell of smoke (someone was burning trash) alerted me that I had flown right out the door, and was outside.

Hmm. Hmm. Hmm.

I don’t know if my mind was racing, or if it was numb from … what’s the opposite of sensory deprivation? Whatever it was, ideas were doing a tarantella in my head as I began my flight home. And they were all good ideas. Inspired. Imaginative. Exhilarating.

I had hope.

If OBJECTS, I mused, could be repurposed, then why couldn’t a three-pound, two-ounce chickadee be repurposed, as well? I was big. Too big for where I had come from and who and what I was supposed to be. When people saw me, then didn’t know whether to drop their jaws in shock, laugh, cry, or run away.

Perhaps, though, like Sherlock Holmes’ Persian slipper, I, too, might have an alternate destiny. Despite my size, I could redefine myself. I would not allow myself to become repellent to strangers. I would not allow others to hate me. Not other chickadees and not people. I had a new goal and a new purpose for the new me.

I would become likeable.

More than likeable.

I would go home. And somehow … in some way, I would figure out how to be … cute.

Copyright © Shelly Reuben, 2025. Shelly Reuben’s books have been nominated for Edgar, Prometheus, and Falcon awards. For more about her writing, visit www.shellyreuben.com