Prayerfulness is deeply a part of you: in body, mind and spirit.

A Story: The Dawn Chorus

By F. © 1987

Budgies are amusing creatures. Whether sitting on a branch or in a cage they always seem so happy, singing and whistling and sometimes talking or copying other sounds. And at the same time looking about with a nosey parker and rather cheeky face. It is a pity God never gave them chuckle muscles. If only they could smile they would give away even more of what is going on inside their heads.

Our Budgie is no exception. We call him Budgie. It wasn’t that we couldn’t think of another name for him. There were so many to choose from. We tried to decide who in the family he was like. Our Martin said, “We can’t call him Billy – after all our uncle Billy is never happy; and we can’t call him Joey, Uncle Joey just can’t sing.” After a long silence our Julie said “His character is like no one’s in the family. He’s a budgie through and through. So let’s just call him Budgie.” And Budgie he became. And what a budgie. Always singing, always dancing along his perch, looking in his little mirror, whistling then darting to the other end of the perch to whistle even more loudly, and as if to say to us, “Have you seen who else is in this cage? Looks just like me.”

One midday we were sitting in the living room playing Scrabble, seeing who could make up the best word, when we noticed Budgie was quiet. Not singing, not dancing. Just staring out of the window, or so it seemed. We knew he wasn’t asleep, because his eyes were open and they still had his cheeky expression. Martin said, “That happens every day about this time. One minute he’s singing, then he stops and just sits there staring out of window for about two or three minutes. Then he suddenly starts singing again.” “And I’ve noticed him doing the same thing in the evening.” said Julie.

We realized we did not really know that much about Budgie: what his feelings were, or what he was thinking. All we know is he whistled and danced and looked cheeky. So we thought he was happy.

We decided to watch him very carefully to see all that he did through the day, and the night. None of us had ever seen him in the night. We saw him in the morning before school, at midday, in the evening afterschool, and would say “Good night” each night when going to bed.

After working out our plan we went back to school – and longed for four o’clock to arrive so we could get back home and begin watching Budgie. The afternoon dragged. It was terrible. None of us could do our work properly. Then at last school was over for today. We all raced home, had our tea quickly and sat on the floor in the living room— and we watched and waited.

Budgie was just the same. Whistling, dancing, looking in his mirror, and calling to us – always as if to say, ‘Hey, kids, look at this.’ All we ever saw was Budgie.

Right on five o’clock it happened again. Budgie suddenly went silent, and stared out of the window with his cheeky eyes. One or two minutes, past and he started singing as quickly as he had stopped. It was strange, but his singing seemed so much better and sweeter. We had all noticed that at midday as well.

Nothing much more happened for the rest of the evening. We played Scrabble again, and watched some television, and watched Budgie to see if he did anything else. He just went quieter now and again as if resting. He would sing loudly when ever there was music on the T.V. And whenever we started laughing and shouting, because of our game, he would shout as budgies do – whistling to us, and joining in the fun.

About ten o’clock Mum said we should go to bed. We had told her that we wanted to keep an eye on Budgie, and she agreed that one of us could sleep in the living room on the camp bed. It was to be Martin’s turn this first night. So we put together the camp bed. Budgie was watching us very carefully with his cheeky face. He even seemed to think our antics were funny, especially when Martin lay on the camp bed to test it, and it toppled sideways. We were all in fits of laughter, and Budgie was singing loudly.

We kissed Mum ‘good night’, said goodnight to each other and Budgie. He whistled back to us. Then Mum covered his cage – as we always did to keep him warm through the night. Martin climbed into the camp bed, this time without falling out, and, without saying a word we waited a few moments longer. Budgie was whistling to himself. Then he stopped, just as he had done at midday, and in the evening. After a few moments he whistled very quietly a couple of times and went quiet again. We all went to bed and slept, wondering about Budgie: was he really asleep, did he dream, did he ever fall off his perch?

Then it happened!

About four-thirty Martin came up stairs to wake us all. He was excited and said, “Come quickly! Something is happening to Budgie! I had fallen asleep, and he woke me with his whistles. His cage cover is on the floor, and – and the living room window is wide open.”

We tip-toed downstairs quietly, opened the living room door and entered. The five of us, Mum, Dad, Julie, Martin and myself, stood looking in amazement. Budgie was perched on the window ledge of the wide-open window, whistling at the top of his voice, long single notes – as if calling to someone.

In the garden there were animals – all sorts of animals and birds: foxes, hedgehogs, dogs and cats; moles, badgers, ferrets and rabbits; magpies, sparrows, starlings and owls. They were sitting in rows – the small animals in the front row, larger ones behind and the birds were sitting all around them, on the garden fences and some perched in the trees. All the animals were talking to each other. We could not believe our ears, or eyes.

A large brown, very beautiful night owl was perched next to a smaller owl on a heavy branch. It blinked, and we heard him say to the smaller owl, “Whoowe! It’s Budgie’s turn today. He’s the gatherer. He’s calling all of us to the Morning Song.” “Why, Grandpa.” The smaller owl said. “I thought we were going to sleep now.”  “Whoowe!”, said the large owl. “That’s right. But it’s the one time we can all be together – for the Morning Song. Whoowe! This is my favourite time of day. Besides, I’m looking forward to a day’s rest.”

In the front row were five kittens, chattering and playing, and wrestling. One kept jumping up, then rolling away from the others. Each time a large cat, maybe their mother, would scoop the kitten in its paw and gently place it back with the others.

All the time Budgie was singing his long calling notes and other animals joined the gathering. Suddenly a large Alsatian dog leapt from the side and stood proudly in front. Barking loudly, he sounded a bit like a colonel in the army, he said, “Right you lot! Let’s have a bit of hush. Come on, ferrets, that enough, stop chattering.”

There was silence. The ferrets stopped fidgeting. The kittens stopped fidgeting. The birds stopped singing. All the animals stopped chattering. There was just Budgie singing his long calling notes. He sang a few more longer notes, then stopped. There was silence.

The Alsatian said, “Right. Welcome one and all to the Morning Song. The best sing of the day. Budgie has kindly done his job for us today, and gathered us together.” In the front row the kittens shuffled a bit. One made a squeaking noise, then hid its face quickly behind the other kittens. The Alsatian stared down at them, but said nothing. “Now,” he said, “Budgie is going to lead us in singing our thanks for this new day.”

He stared up at the night owl in the tree. The owl winked back, stared ahead, took a deep breath and made a long, low whooing sound. Budgie looked up at him from his place on the window ledge, stared ahead and copied the note the owl was making, but higher and making more of a whistling kind of sound. The owl’s note faded away. Budgie’s note changed into a song. It was a very gentle song. A tune, we realized, we had heard him sing the day before. He must have been practising.

Budgie sang for about two minutes. It was so beautiful. All the animals and birds were silent and listening. Then bit by bit we heard faintly the sound of other birds in the distance joining Budgie in his song. Now and again we could hear a dog bark. Always where it seemed to fit in the song. And gradually the birds on the fences and in the trees joined in the song; then the badgers and moles, and the foxes and dogs. The big animals joined in first, then the smaller ones. It was so beautiful.

Mum said, “Good heavens! Do you know what it is? It the dawn chorus! The animals and birds have gathered to sing. They are welcoming the new day, and, I do believe, they’re singing the praise of their Maker.” “Yes!” said Julie. “That’s what must be happening at different times each day.” “And,” said Martin, “It’s Budgie’s turn to lead them today. That’s why they’ve all gathered in our garden.”

As Budgie, the animals and the birds sang it became lighter and lighter. Just to the east the sun was rising. Then one by one the animals and birds began leaving the garden. The sound of their singing became fainter as they moved away. The Alsatian turned to Budgie and said, “Thank you, young sir.”; and he too made his way out of the garden. In the end there was the sound of all the animals singing in the distance, and Budgie singing happily on his window ledge. It was no different to any other morning.

Each of us walked over to the window to gather round Budgie and watch the rising sun. Martin put out his hand and Budgie hopped on, then looked up at each of us and whistled and seemed to smile in his cheeky way.

That night and morning we had earned a great deal about Budgie: why he looked happy, why he sang a special song at special times in the day. And at last we learned what the dawn chorus is: it is not just what the animals sing each morning – it is the animals themselves. They are the Dawn Chorus, which gathers to give thanks for the new day.

Martin put Budgie back in his cage and closed it. He was still whistling. Then we looked up at the night owl in the tree. He winked at us, then slowly and drowsily closed his eyes. Now he could rest and dream in the warm morning sun.

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It is a conversation – a conversation the Lord started.