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Doodle was born when I was seven and

was, from the start, a disappointment. He seemed all head, with a tiny body that was red and

shriveled like an old man's. Everybody thought he was going to die.

So I dragged him across the cotton field to share the beauty of Old Woman Swamp. I lifted him

out and sat him down in the soft grass. He began to cry.

When I made him touch the casket, he screamed. And

even when we were outside in the bright sunshine he clung to me, crying, "Don't leave me,

Brother! Don't leave me!"

Finally one day he stood alone for a few seconds. When he fell, I grabbed him in my arms and

hugged him, our laughter ringing through the swamp like a bell. Now we knew it could be done.

At that moment, the bird began to flutter. It tumbled down through the bleeding tree and landed

at our feet with a thud. Its graceful neck jerked twice and then straightened out, and the bird was

still. It lay on the earth like a broken vase of red flowers, and even death could not mar its

beauty.

I screamed above the pounding storm

and threw my body to the earth above his. For a long time, it seemed forever, I lay there crying,

sheltering my fallen scarlet ibis.

Doodle was born when I was seven and

was, from the start, a disappointment. He seemed all head, with a tiny body that was red and

shriveled like an old man's. Everybody thought he was going to die.

So I dragged him across the cotton field to share the beauty of Old Woman Swamp. I lifted him

out and sat him down in the soft grass. He began to cry.

When I made him touch the casket, he screamed. And

even when we were outside in the bright sunshine he clung to me, crying, "Don't leave me,

Brother! Don't leave me!"

Finally one day he stood alone for a few seconds. When he fell, I grabbed him in my arms and

hugged him, our laughter ringing through the swamp like a bell. Now we knew it could be done.

At that moment, the bird began to flutter. It tumbled down through the bleeding tree and landed

at our feet with a thud. Its graceful neck jerked twice and then straightened out, and the bird was

still. It lay on the earth like a broken vase of red flowers, and even death could not mar its

beauty.

I screamed above the pounding storm

and threw my body to the earth above his. For a long time, it seemed forever, I lay there crying,

sheltering my fallen scarlet ibis.

Doodle was born when I was seven and

was, from the start, a disappointment. He seemed all head, with a tiny body that was red and

shriveled like an old man's. Everybody thought he was going to die.

So I dragged him across the cotton field to share the beauty of Old Woman Swamp. I lifted him

out and sat him down in the soft grass. He began to cry.

When I made him touch the casket, he screamed. And

even when we were outside in the bright sunshine he clung to me, crying, "Don't leave me,

Brother! Don't leave me!"

Finally one day he stood alone for a few seconds. When he fell, I grabbed him in my arms and

hugged him, our laughter ringing through the swamp like a bell. Now we knew it could be done.

At that moment, the bird began to flutter. It tumbled down through the bleeding tree and landed

at our feet with a thud. Its graceful neck jerked twice and then straightened out, and the bird was

still. It lay on the earth like a broken vase of red flowers, and even death could not mar its

beauty.

I screamed above the pounding storm

and threw my body to the earth above his. For a long time, it seemed forever, I lay there crying,

sheltering my fallen scarlet ibis.