“Appy squawked. He flapped his wings.”
“I lost one or two feathers getting through the south gate.”
He got a shock that jolted him down to the ends of his tail feathers.
“The few drops of plastic that had landed on it had given its normal olive drab coloring a faintly rotten look.”
“Appy flapped his wings reflectively. He’d never had a screwdriver in his weak little pseudocheir in his life.”
“He thrust the tool into his pouch and waddled off at top speed.”
"What would happen to the bird people's hatching rate now?"
Margaret St. Clair, The Hero Comes