My Canary

Once, during the early years of my adolescence, I had a pet canary, I kept him in a small cage, which I placed on the porch table. I never forgot to feed him regularly, a task, which I never entrusted to anybody else.

I remember the time when I used to sit there on the porch, just listening to his beautiful singing. Whenever my friends called on me, I very often showed them my prize canary with pride.

But one day, a terrible thing happened. After I had fed him, I did not notice that I had left the cage door open. In a matter of minutes, he was gone. My favorite pet had flown away, leaving behind him the empty cage, which I taught was so beautiful, and was not mere reminder of the happy days when I used to hear him sing.

My first reaction was to try to get him back, no matter what it cost. I saw him perched on the fence, his wings not used to flying over long distance. I immediately rushed into the house and got my air rifle. I was desperate, and the only thought that was in my mind was to capture the creature even if it meant that I had to kill him. Fortunately, I was too late, when I returned he was already gone.

I was angry at everything. I kept on telling myself that I was unjust, after all the trouble I went through taking care of the bird. I could bear it if I was to see him in the possession of another person. Maybe, that was the reason why I wanted to kill him rather than to let him fly away.

Days passed. One afternoon, just as the sun was about to set, I was sitting out on the porch. Suddenly, I heard him singing. I was surprised to hear it because canary birds are seldom seen there, and when you hear one singing, you cannot just mistake it for some other bird’s son. It is my canary singing.

I looked up and saw him, perched on one of the limbs of the tree. That time, I felt a longing inside me to have him back. He was so close yet it was so impossible to catch him. But the feeling quickly passed, because I realized that the song I was hearing was just the same as, if not more beautiful than the song that I heard from the cage. The song was still mine, mine to hear, mine to enjoy for a moment.

As I looked at the yellow bird high up on the branches of a tree, it seemed as if he was happier then, because he was free. He was still my bird, yet he was free. That was the time I began to realize that every bird can and does sing a beautiful song. Unlike before when I only know how to listen to the song of a bird in a cage, now I learned how to listen to every bird I hear. As long as I hear them, they were mine.

From that day on, I never saw my canary again. However, I was glad that he was able to escape from his prison because through that I was able to see the real value of possession. My property does not end at the place where the fence surrounding my house stands. A creature, as long as it gives me pleasure whenever I see or hear it, belongs to me.

My neighbor’s pet dog is rightfully mine if he wags his tail in joy when he sees me coming. Real possession can be mine to a greater degree than the master’s if the bond of friendship between that dog and me is greater.

Beauty can also be an object of possession. Even a spider’s web is a thing of beauty. Very often, I would watch spiders spinning their webs. I would be tempted to destroy the web. I think that it is in man’s nature to have sadistic tendencies. However, I would hold back my hand for i know that the fulfillment of my savage tendency is nothing when compared to the pleasure of appreciating the beauty of nature. Only then can I say that I am the richest man on earth.