I’ve been sitting here for what seems like hours trying to think of something to write about for this week’s column. I considered writing about suspenders, but that idea didn’t hold up. Then belts came to mind, but that story had too many holes.
Looking into the refrigerator at lunchtime, I thought I might write about leftovers. Perhaps chicken soup, maybe meat loaf or Chinese food, but none of those satisfied my hunger for a proper subject. Glancing at my newsfeed on my phone, I spotted the headline… “Flaco died.”
In case you have not been paying attention to the news from New York City (and why would you?), Flaco is an owl, a Eurasian eagle-owl to be precise. A rare bird in these parts. The majestic bird had become the talk of the town in the Big Apple recently. It seems that Flaco, a resident of the Central Park Zoo, had escaped a year ago, thanks to a vandal who cut the protective netting surrounding his home of the past 14 years.
Flaco, wanting freedom but perhaps a bit nervous about venturing from the city he knew from birth, took up residence in and around the park. He – I presume he was a he – became the darling of the city folks and tourists as well. Flaco’s adventure took on a life of its own. TV stations did stories about him. He even made the national news. Newspapers wrote editorials about him. Some people with little else in their lives said he had become a symbol of their own desire to escape the confines of their wretched lives. (Aw, come on!)
Anyway, upon his untimely demise (he died of severe head trauma from flying into a high-rise building), even the governor and the mayor memorialized him. I’m sure the mayor was particularly upset because of Flaco’s contribution to reducing the rat population, the bird’s primary source of food, in the city. A New Yorker article said that he was “a neighbor they could look up to.”
I’m sure a statue of Flaco will soon be erected somewhere in Central Park.
This would not be unprecedented. Some years ago, a cow escaped execution right here in Massachusetts. A slaughterhouse in Hopkinton had plans to turn the bovine into steaks. Emily, as she had come to be known, managed to evade capture for over a month by foraging for food in the backyards of nearby homes.
Like the New Yorkers, the good people of Hopkinton took a liking to Emily and often helped her to evade the authorities who had been ordered to shoot her on sight. Appalled, a local family purchased Emily from the slaughterhouse and when she was captured, arranged for her to stay at the Peace Abbey in nearby Sherborn.
Emily became famous and was visited by celebrities and visitors from around the world. Like Flaco, she became a symbol of freedom to many. She was even a bridesmaid at two weddings. Really?
When she passed on to the great pasture in the sky, a life-size, bronze statue was erected in her memory at the Abbey. It stands between statues of Mahatma Gandi and Mother Teresa. I kid you not.
Freedom stories about animals abound. Nigel, a parrot who lived with a British man and spoke with an English accent, escaped captivity to seek freedom. Alas, Nigel was captured far, far away and sold at a yard sale to a gentleman named Fernandes.
After four years, a vet discovered a chip identifying the previous owner. Mr. Fernandes was kind enough to return Nigel, now Morgan, to the original owners who weren’t sure he was their bird. Nigel … er Morgan, now spoke fluent Spanish.
If one looks hard enough, there is always something to write about. Maybe next week I’ll write about those suspenders.
Editor’s note: Mattapoisett resident Dick Morgado is an artist and retired newspaper columnist whose musings are, after some years, back in The Wanderer under the subtitle “Thoughts on ….” Morgado’s opinions have also appeared for many years in daily newspapers around Boston.
Thoughts on…
By Dick Morgado