The Missing Bird Concert

Puschel and Flauschi reached the bend where they had often paused in spring. Back then, songs and whistles had sounded from many branches at once. Today, dry leaves made most of the noise. Puschel raised a paw to his ear and waited.

Puschel“The bird concert has been cancelled. I hope we didn't need tickets.”

Flauschi stood beside him. First they heard the wind. Then they heard a little crunch beneath Puschel's foot as he shifted his position. He brought his paw down and stood still. They waited a little longer. A short sound came from a bush.

Puschel“There! Somebody is testing an instrument.”

Flauschi“Perhaps we're hearing a call. Not every bird sound is a long song.”

Puschel looked carefully toward the bush. He could not see a bird, and they did not push the branches apart. Soon a little great tit hopped onto a clearly visible branch higher up. It was yellow and black, with white cheeks. It moved much more quickly than either Wusel.

Puschel“That one is still here. I thought perhaps they had all flown away.”

Flauschi“Some birds move to other regions in autumn. Others stay here. And some come to us from colder places.”

Puschel looked up at the tit. The woods had not simply closed for the season. Different birds did different things, and the season changed which voices they heard. Flauschi explained that many birds sang especially often in spring, when they were seeking a mate or showing their territory. After that period, things were often quieter.

Puschel“Then perhaps today isn't a big concert. More like a little conversation among the branches.”

They decided to listen quietly again. At first Puschel wanted to copy the tit. Unfortunately, he had no beak, and all that came out was a rather crooked whistle. The tit changed branches. Puschel immediately rested his paw against his tummy.

Puschel“Right. I'll listen instead. My performance needs more practice.”

Flauschi“And we'll let the bird choose where to fly. We won't call it over to us.”

Another short sound came from farther back. Puschel did not know whether it belonged to the same tit. Instead of darting his head wildly between trees, he simply remembered the direction. Listening suddenly felt different: less like waiting for a grand performance, more like gathering little clues.

Puschel“Today I can hear wind, leaves and two bird calls. That's quite a lot.”

Flauschi nodded. They could stand here another day and compare. The time of day and weather could make a difference too. One quiet minute could not tell them everything about a woodland. Eventually the tit flew among the branches, and they let it go.

Puschel“The concert hasn't disappeared. It just has a different programme.”

On their way home, Puschel's steps rustled through the leaves again. This time he did not mind the quiet programme. When Flauschi stopped, he stopped beside her at once. Perhaps there was another little sound they had missed before.