Cute little bird

How nice! My grandma brought me a special gift from the countryside - a painted eyebrow. Among the many birds, I am only fond of the painted eyebrow, because since I was a child, I had the impression that the painted eyebrow is a beautiful spirit, a lovely angel, with a beautiful singing voice and excellent posture, and it is a deserved favorite among birds.

But the bird in front of me does not seem to be perfect, despite its impeccable appearance: gray-brown feathers softly draped over the body, each one is so shiny, not a single blemish; small head, pointed peck, a pair of large, sharp eyes, above the two floating pure white, as if painted on realistic eyebrows. Its tiny feet are thin, with some spots vaguely visible on them, and sharp claws gripping the cage in a motionless manner. I put a lot of effort into getting along with this little guy.

I often sacrifice my nap time, standing on the balcony with a song to call the little painted bird, but also with food to tease it, but, no matter what kind of tricks I use, the painted bird rarely looks at me with the eyes, it is like a cold thinker, always dull, straight standing in the bird cage, two eyes fascinated to look out the window of the green hills and trees, majestic and calm, for a long time do not move a little. "Is it homesick?" I thought, full of sympathy for the painted eyebrows. "Little painted bird, it's not that we are cruel not to let you go, but it's winter now, it's really especially cold outside, and recently there is frost, you are not yet grown up, it's very dangerous to go out alone." Once I said this while adding food to the little painted bird. The magical painted bird seemed to read my words, slightly inclined his head to look at me, smallmouth closed, seems to want to express what. I reached out to touch the bird's head as a way to convey my goodwill. Luckily, this time, the little painted bird meekly lowered its head and drank the water without any resistance.

After a few days, I found that my kindness was useful, and the bird was not as rusty as before, and it gradually developed its habits. In the morning, at dawn, the little painted bird would get up and do its morning exercises, only to see the little fellow stirring its wings and jumping onto the railing, inclining its head and dancing its feathers, and then lazily lying in its cage, while its little head was shaking, which was cute! At noon, we would all take a nap, and the little painted birds would kindly close their mouths and quietly crouch above the cage, looking at the distant scenery, and later, stretching out their claws to stroke their fur, without making any noise at all.

I remember one day at noon, we were playing chess in the house, the living room suddenly came to the sharp cry of the painted bird, we rushed out, look, only to see the painted bird jumping up and down in the cage shouting as if there is something big bothering it. We found out that the pot on the balcony had been scalded to death by boiling water and had dried up, and that the little painted eyebrow was alerting us.

Look at this spiritual little guy, blinking his sharp eyes, still so dutiful look. Hey, I hope this little elf can live with us forever!