Finn had bought the first Chris from a lady who bred doves for wedding ceremonies and made her own yogurt. With her purchase, she also received a complimentary cup of yogurt that tasted like the birds had had some hand in making it. Only two days later, as Finn was cleaning the enclosure, the bird slipped past her and disappeared over the fence.

Chris One never came back. Neither did Chrises Two or Three after they made their escapes. Chris Four stuck around for over a month only to make its getaway when Finn pulled it out of the loft to show her friend, Kristen. Kristen made a noise that to human ears sounded like a squeal of delight, but to bird ears probably sounded like a hawk screech, because Chris was airborne before the last vowel left her mouth.

In an attempt to assuage her guilt, Finn fantasized that the birds had flown all the way to Hollywood to live closer to their eponym, Christopher Walken, but realistically, she knew they were probably just aimlessly flying around town, looking for food and hiding from cats. She thought about putting up flyers, but she didn’t think her foster parents would appreciate random strangers turning up at their door with stray birds. One stray kid was enough.

Finn plopped down on the grass next to Milly, who was scratching an itch by wriggling furiously on her back. When she finally flopped back onto her side, one of her ears was flipped inside out. Finn flipped it back, then looked toward the house, where her foster mother was having an animated discussion with the party planner on the back deck. Even from fifty yards away, Finn could hear every word. Kathy wasn’t shouting, exactly. Her voice just carried well, possibly too well, or as she liked to say, I’m not loud. Y’all just need to turn your hearing aids down!

“I guess we’re all set for tomorrow then, except…” Kathy paused. “I don’t know about the hay.”

The woman, an anxious-looking creature with dark circles under her eyes, frowned. “You want to cancel the hayride?”

“No. Just the hay.”

“I don’t follow.”

The hayride had been a favorite part of Finn’s trips to the zoological gardens as a kid. She and her mom would ride it four, sometimes five times in a row before heading over to the aviary to feed the birds. Finn must have shared this story with Kathy, because when it came time to plan her graduation party, she was the one who suggested the gardens. Finn didn’t have the heart to tell her that she’d outgrown hayrides and petting zoos and just about every other activity she’d booked for the weekend.

Kathy continued, “Don’t you think it’s kind of scratchy?”

“Yeah. It’s hay,” the planner answered flatly.