This is the story of an ostrich. He wasn't an ordinary ostrich. Sometimes he peeked out from his hole, and once he even tried to fly.

His name was Jonathan Livingston Ostrich. All the other ostriches had names like Joe-Bob or Sally. They didn't understand Jonathan.

One day as he was waking up from his afternoon nap, Jonathan heard a horrifying noise. It was the sound of the Machine. All around him ostriches were jumping up and down and flapping their wings.

"The Machine!" they cried. "The Machine! Run away! Run and hide! Here comes the Machine!"

Jonathan shook his head and began to run frantically to and fro as he flapped his pitiful wings. But there was no place to hide! For all that grew on the plains of Lesser Analia were a few bushes and some grass and mold, and the Oinky Boinky Machine had long ago gooped up all the old ostrich holes with its sludge and muck.

There was only one thing to do. One by one the poor ostriches bent down low, took a deep breath, and slid their slender heads into their respective-well, into the only 'holes' available.

Jonathan always waited until the very last minute to perform this dirty deed. But even he had never actually seen the Oinky Boinky Machine.

When at last the Oinky Boinker drew so close that Jonathan could no longer stand its metallic roar, he, too, ruffled up his tail feathers, bent down low, let out a little gas, and slid his narrow skull into that fateful orifice.

"I'll be safe in here," he said to himself, a little doubtfully.

After a while Jonathan began to feel dizzy, for breathing was quite difficult in this awkward position. He almost fell down as the earth began to shake with a low, dull rumble. The Machine was nearly upon him.

By now all the other ostriches had passed into a merciful slumber, their tiny brains drained of oxygen-but for some reason Jonathan fought to stay awake.

Soon he heard the muffled sound of clattering clinks and clanks and clammering bells and sirens. He felt the Machine come closer and closer, until it seemed as if he would be crushed at any moment.

And then he heard the most terrifying sounds of all.

First there came a strange shrieking laughter from on high, murderous bloodthirsty laughter that sent a chill down his spine.

This was followed by a great whoosh! whoosh! whoosh! that reminded him of the sound of mighty wings he often heard in his dreams of flying.

Next came the hideous screams anal wails of ostriches that seemed to rise up into the sky and slowly fade from earshot.

Jonathan shuddered, and the feathers on the back of his neck stood on end. Then he fell into a deep and troubled sleep.

The Oinky Boinky Machine rumbled past and was gone.

Jonathan awoke to total darkness. For a moment he didn't know where he was. He shook his head, and out it popped from its pungent cave.

All around him ostriches were wobbling in funny circles as they gulped down the cool air. Where the Machine had passed, great parallel rents scarred the plain, and pools of gurgling black goop seeped into the grass. Small round piles of feathers dotted the ground where ostriches had stood just moments before, and the wails of chicks and fledglings came from every direction.

A thin young bird with dull red eyes came running towards Jonathan. It was his brother Ferd, looking quite ruffled.

"Jon! Jon!" he cried. "It's Ma! She's gone! Feathers...only feathers..." Ferd ran around in a circle, let out a sob, and darted off to look for their sisters Flo and Maude, who would surely be devastated.

If ostriches could cry, Jonathan would have filled a pond with his tears. His ma had been quite a bird, known as much for her fiery spirit as for her delicious earthworm gruels and mushroom pate.

Once in her youth, she kicked an overly aggressive male so hard that he fell into a ditch and got whiplash, and in her prime she was a known organizer for the mating rights movement.

She was no ordinary ostrich.

She was no ordinary ma.

"I named you Jonathan Livingston Ostrich for a reason, you know," she had told him on the day in his youth when he had tried to fly. "It's a grand name, worthy of a poet."

Jonathan stopped trying to fly after that and took to composing poetry. His first work was dedicated to his faithful ma, and it took three whole days to complete.

"Sat on me when I was little, fed me earthworms in her spittle.
Bottom wider than a boulder, lets me lean upon her shoulder,"
he recited softly as his neck wavered like a drunken snake.

Jonathan began to run and hop in aimless circles as he called and called for his departed mother. Then he bolted off in the direction the Machine had gone, following its enormous tracks with all the speed and grace of a thoroughbred.

"I'll get you, you...thing!" he cried. "You haven't seen the last of Jonathan Livingston Ostrich."

And indeed it hadn't.

As he ran along in his great ostrich strides, Jon saw for the first time the full horror left in the wake of the Machine. Hatchlings were hopping around everywhere crying for their missing mothers in pitiful chirps. Grown birds were cowering on the ground screeching, "The sky is falling! The sky is falling!"

A few unlucky birds had actually been ground into the earth by the monster's treads, and in a nearby glen, a crowd was gathering around a poor young bird who lay all akimbo in a motionless heap.

Jonathan ran over to see what had happened. The crumpled bird, a female barely out of her downy feathers, was clearly drawing her last breaths. Her neck was badly broken.

"I was flying," she moaned. "I was flying, and then I fell." She coughed weakly and gasped; then she stopped breathing, and her eyes went blank.

"Poor thing must've been dreaming," said one old hen.

"Or delirious, bless her heart," added another, and the ostriches all agreed.

All except Jonathan. He just shook his head and darted off blindly down the path of the Oinky Boinky Machine.

Jonathan ran and ran. He didn't even notice that the sun had set until he stumbled over an empty anthill and went sprawling headfirst into a shallow pool of greasy black goop. Too sad and tired to get back on his feet, he just rolled over onto his back and shuddered.

"Ma...poor, poor Ma," he moaned again and again.

With the twilight came a cold eerie silence as one by one the ostriches bent down low and drifted off to sleep. Jonathan's moans subsided, and after a while he kicked at the air and lurched back onto his feet.

A voice startled him from behind. He turned to see a gaunt, hoary old ostrich standing there on a small hillock.

"I don't believe I've seen you around here before," said the old bird in a funny voice that seemed to come from deep in his throat. "My name is Horace. Horace Worthington Ostrich. And yours?"

Jonathan stifled a snicker. What an odd name for an ostrich! "I'm Jon," he replied. "Uh, Jonathan Livingston Ostrich."

"A fine name," chuckled Horace as he motioned to Jon to join him on the hillock. "So what brings you to these parts?"

Jon stumbled up the hill and stood beside the oldster, unsure of how to respond. The two remained silent as they looked out over the plains. The moon had risen full and bright, and it bathed the landscape in a soft cast of silver.

As his eyes grew accustomed to the pale scene below, Jonathan took pity on the birds that lived on the vast plain of Lesser Analia. For as far as the eye could see there stretched a sea of ostriches, each and every one of them doubled over in the lowly position he so despised.

"Why don't you sleep-like THAT?" Jon asked shyly.

"Because I am too old to be afraid,'" answered Horace casually. "And besides, my frame doesn't bend that way."

Jonathan wrinkled his brows. What did the old bird mean? Wasn't he afraid of the Machine?

"Have you...have you ever SEEN it?" Jon ventured after a pause. "The Machine, that is."

Horace nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I've seen it," he replied.

"Great Seus!" gasped Jonathan. "I thought nobird...l mean, isn't everybird...but how? How?"

Horace peered down the path of the Oinky Boinker. For a moment he seemed to forget that Jonathan was even there. A thin cloud passed across the moon. "Would YOU like to see the Machine?" he finally asked.

Jon's head began to spin. How could he possibly find the courage to stand up to the Earthcrusher? He bent down low, and his head bobbed nervously up and down.

Then he remembered his ma. "Yes, I would," he said quietly. "But how?"

Jonathan awoke before dawn. He had slept standing upright, though he didn't remember how or why. Horace stood beside him looking up at the sky. A pale yellow aura was filtering into the east. All about them stood the sea of ostriches still doubled over in slumber.

"He'll be here soon," said Horace. "You mustn't be afraid to go with him."

WITH WHOM? wondered Jon, but he said nothing.

Suddenly Horace perked up as his gaze fell upon a speck in the northern sky.

Something was flying right towards them, something big! It approached slowly, almost lazily, until it finally reached the two ostriches, hovered for a moment, and plopped down onto the hillock beside them.

Jonathan was dumbfounded as he gaped at the flying stranger, who sat before the birds on a contraption unlike anything in all of Lesser Analia.

The stranger himself was as ugly and awkward a creature as Jon had ever imagined. It had no feathers, except for a fine stringy down on top of its big fat head, which was swollen to ten times the size of a normal ostrich head. Its beak was soft and reddish and curled up oddly at the corners. Its wings were long, bald and deformed. Its legs were fat and pink, its knees bent the wrong way, and it had three extra toes on each foot. It hand no neck, and its body was so twisted and contorted that it sat all bent at right angles!

So revolting was this pink, featherless glob of a critter that Jonathan nearly turned tail and ran. But then it let go a laugh so hearty and reassuring that Jon decided to stay.

"Goooood morning, Horace," it said in a singsong accent. Its speech was so un-ostrichlike that Jon could barely understand it. "And what have we here? A fellow traveler?"

"Of a sort," answered Horace. "This is Jonathan, Jonathan Livingston Ostrich."

"Pleased to meet you," Jon stammered, though he really wasn't pleased at all.

"And I'm Astril, Astril Potato," said the creature. "Would you care for a ride on my sofa?"

"Sofa?" said Jon. "What's a sofa?"

"That's what he's sitting on," Horace explained as Astril scooted over to one end of the long rectangular structure. "Here, like this," continued the old bird as he stepped in his stilted gait up to the sofa and settled down into its soft colorful cushions like a mamabird lowering herself onto a nest. Horace hopped off stiffly and motioned to Jon to try.

Jon followed Horace's example reluctantly. The moment his broad bottom settled into the cushions, Astril Potato winked, and in a flash the sofa rose into the air and floated silently away, leaving Horace little more than a dot on the ground below.

Jonathan could scarcely believe it. He was flying! FLYING!

As the magic sofa rose higher and higher, the vast expanse of the plain below became evident. The land blurred with the sky in the distance.

"I suppose you'd like to see the Oinky Boinker," Astril said after a while.

"Uh...will it be...asleep?" Jon asked.

"Nooooo," Astril replied. "The Machine never sleeps. But you'll be in no danger, unless you fall off the sofa."

Jonathan suddenly felt light in the head. The earth below seemed to spin and throb, and a queasy feeling tugged at the pit of his stomach. "Yes, I'd like to see it," he said as bravely as he could.

Astril nodded his fat pink head, and the sofa turned abruptly towards the north. Soon the great parallel tracks of the Earthcrusher came into view as the sofa began a gentle descent. Jonathan noticed that the tracks were crisscrossed by rows of less distinct tracks that had been overgrown by molds and brownish grass.

The sound of the Machine's rumbling engines eased into earshot. In the east the sun had just peeked up over the rim of the earth.

And then Jonathan saw it. For towering above the plain in the distance stood the Oinky Boinky Machine, dwarfing the little hills and shallow dales of Lesser Analia.

"Holy Seus!" exclaimed Jonathan. "Look at the size of it!"

"Let's get closer," suggested Astril.

Before Jon could object, the sofa swooped off in a broad arc that brought it around to the front of the monster, where it hovered at a height that left the ostriches below looking like tiny black ants. "There now," Astril chuckled as the corners of his ugly wet beak curled up. "What do you think of THAT?"

Jonathan didn't know what to think. He just sat there, thunderstruck. The Machine loomed before them like a giant square mountain of battleship grey. Its mighty engines roared a thousand times louder than a stampede as it lurched and clunked ceaselessly forward. From top to bottom it was covered with cranes and cranks and planks and pulleys, with smokestacks and turrets, sirens and treadmills, gears and grindstones, and every doohickey under the sun. A pall of noxious fumes and blackened ostrich feathers rose from its vents and chimneys, and sticky black goo spewed and plopped from its earthcrushing treads. Thick steel plates were riveted to its base, and every gizmo and gadget was encased in molded sheets of armor.

And on top, surrounded by wavy rings of razor wire, was a sealed leaden hatch as big as a hill-the only entrance to the unknown innards of the Oinky Boinky Machine.

To Astril Potato, the complex machinations of the Oinky Boinker made perfect sense. But to Jonathan it was just a monster, a horrible, smokebelching, firebreathing monster.

"Where in the n-name of Seus could such a thing c-c-come from?" stammered Jon.

"Oh, it probably started as a shoe horn, or a corkscrew or something," Astril replied a little glibly. "Things have a way of getting out of hand, you know."

"Shoehorn? Corkscrew?" said Jon as his head began to spin. "What the heck is a shoehorn?"

Just then the heavy leaden hatch on top of the Machine burst open with a resounding thud. A chorus of howls echoed from within the Machine. And then amid a crescendo of shrieking laughter, a swarm of hideous black winged beasts emerged and began circling in increasingly wider arcs around the Earthcrusher.

Jonathan gulped, but Astril quickly hushed him.

"Be quiet," he scolded, "very quiet. They can't see very well-but if they HEAR us, we're dead meat."

Jonathan gulped more softly after that. Just beneath the sofa the flying beasts were laughing and howling as they circled ever higher. One of them passed so close that Jon could have almost reached out and touched it.

The brutes were downright gruesome. Even Astril looked tolerable compared to the grunting black creatures that lived inside the Machine. Their bodies were fat and greasy, and four stumplike paws grew out of their bellies. They had enormous black batlike wings, each one supported by six long veiny fingers of cartilage that ended in a sharp claw. Their heads were fat and round with broad hairy ears and flat hoglike snouts, and they had sneery drooling lipless mouths from which grew two sharp fangs. Thin, tightly curled tails presided over the puckered distended orifices from which they shamelessly expelled streams of feculance.

Jonathan retched at the sight of them. But the most horrible sight of all came when a piercing shriek rent the air and the uncouth beasts swooped earthward, snatched up the ostriches hiding vainly below, and carried them into the dark gaping hatchway on top of the Machine. The poor ostriches, their heads yanked rudely from the pitiful refuge of their holes, kicked and writhed in terror-but to no avail.

Jonathan curled his long graceful neck downward and buried his head in the cushions upon which he sat. Astril shook his head gravely, then guided the sofa to a landing safely behind the onslaught of the Machine.

"Off you go now," he said gently as Jon flopped dizzily to the ground. "l must go before your friends wake up and see me. Farewell!"

Jon managed to blither a weak response; and then he stood dazed and disbelieving as Astril floated away on the sofa and disappeared beyond the horizon.

Gradually the ostriches surrounding Jonathan began to pop out of their holes and regain their senses. Young chicks were running around in search of their mothers, and everywhere there were small round piles of feathers where unlucky birds had stood just moments before. Only this time, Jonathan knew exactly what had happened.

His first thought was to find Horace. He began to ask the birds around him if they knew a Horace Worthington Ostrich. Most of them just laughed at the funny name and went on about their business. Then it occurred to Jon to follow the path of the Oinky Boinker back the way it had come, so he took off in his great ostrich strides to look for his wise old friend.

As the day wore on, Jonathan continued to ask the birds he met if they knew Horace. Most just shrugged or shook their heads. But as evening neared, a few birds responded, saying, "Old Horace? I think he lives thisaway." Or, "Who, Crazy Horace? l saw him this morning, over thataway."

As the sun was about to set, Jonathan recognized the little hillock where he had taken off that morning on the magic sofa of Astril Potato. And there stood Horace, looking as if he hadn't budged all day.

"So, did you enjoy your flight?" he asked his young pupil, who had passed an important test.

"Yes sir, I think so," replied Jon. "But tell me, how does the sofa fly?"

"Oh, it's a long story," Horace began. "It seems that Astril covered the sofa with material from an old carpet. Turned out to be a flying carpet, from Messy-potatoma, or something like that. One day he accidentally found out that when he hollered the name of Seus-they call her something different up north-the darn thing would fly! Something to do with a girl-the accident I mean. Anyway, he did, and it does, and well-here we are."

Flying carpet? thought Jonathan. Found it by accident? Nothing made sense, but there were important matters to discuss.

"And what were the creatures I saw-the ones that take us away?"

"Ah, you saw them," said Horace. "The vampire pigs. They live in the ceiling of the Machine. They suck out our blood and then feed us to the Machine. It runs on our flesh, Jonathan."

Jon's skin tingled with ostrich bumps, and a chill passed all the way down his spine. That's what the vampire pigs must have done to his ma!

"We have to stop them!" Jonathan cried. "I mean, it. I mean, them, AND it. But what can we do? Nobird will believe us!"

"Unless..." said Horace, and then he paused. "Unless we can convince them-that you can FLY!"

Horace gave Jon a wakeup nudge early the next morn. They had both slept standing upright, and Jonathan had dreamt that he was a powerful, soaring flyer. As the two birds munched down their breakfasts, Horace described some of the strange and wondrous things he'd seen on his many trips with Astril. The tales were cut short when a fat old hen came waddling towards the hillock.

"That's Myrtle," whispered Horace. "Biggest gossip you'll ever meet. Busybody, too."

"Why Horace, there you are," squawked Myrtle. "I heard about your friend here. Thought I'd introduce him to my niece, Gerty. Sweet girl, a real dear. And ripe for mating! So what's your name, hon?"

"Uh, Jonathan," said Jon as he tried to inch his way behind Horace. "Jonathan Livingston Ostrich."

"Where HAVE you been hiding him?" continued Myrtle as she followed Jon in a circle around the old bird, who was quite amused by their antics.

"Why, he's been flying," said Horace matter-of-factly. "Just got back from a trip to the east."

Myrtle stopped dead in her tracks, practically speechless. After a moment she broke out laughing and gave Horace a peck on the cheek. "You old trickster," she hawked. "Flying, indeed."

"No, really," insisted Horace. "He does it all the time. Don't you, Jonathan."

"Uh, well, yeah, sure I do," Jon mumbled as he shifted from foot to foot.

Myrtle stared Jon square in the eye, then shot a severe glance at Horace. "What do you take me for, a fledgling?" she huffed. "I was hatched, but I wasn't hatched yesterday, Horace Worthington Ostrich."

Horace shrugged his shoulders as if he didn't care what she thought, and after he winked sidelong at Jonathan, the younger bird did the same. Then the two males turned away from the hen and began munching casually on a ring of mushrooms.

"Oh, by the way," Horace said over his shoulder. "Please don't tell anybird about Jonathan. He gets so tired of being-you know, FAMOUS."

Myrtle's eyes opened wide, and her tail feathers trembled. And then, as Jon and Horace fought to stifle the laughter that was welling up in their bellies, the silly hen waddled down the hillock looking this way and that for a willing ear.

By lunchtime dozens of ostriches had gathered in the meadow that surrounded the little hill. Horace had used the meantime to describe in detail the outlying realms of Lesser Analia so that Jonathan could appear to be the most well?traveled bird in all the land. After a while Myrtle sauntered up the hill and greeted Jonathan like an old friend.

"Jonathan, my boy," she said as demurely as she could. "I'd like you to meet my niece, Gerty. Gerty? GERTY!!"

A shy young female stepped out from a circle of cackling hens and tiptoed up the hill.

"Gerty, meet Mr. Jonathan Livingston Ostrich. Jonathan, this is my Gerty. They make a lovely couple, don't you think so Horace?"

By now Jon was behind Horace again, scratching nervously at a pile of pebbles. "Oh, sure," Horace crooned with mock sincerity. "Lovely. Absolutely lovely."

"Jonathan can fly, you know," Myrtle bragged loudly. "I saw him come in just yesterday. Right out of the clouds. A magnificent sight, truly magnificent."

"Can you really FLY?" peeped Gerty in the sweet high-pitched tones of chickhood. "Can you, REALLY?"

"Darn right he can," said Horace as he nudged Jonathan towards Gerty. "Taught him myself. A fine lad, as fine as they come."

Gerty sighed and made googoo eyes at Jonathan, who could barely keep himself from running away. Facing the Oinky Boinker was one thing, but THIS...

All of a sudden a rude, sneering young male came charging up the hillock and stood chest to chest with Jonathan. "You can't fly," he scoffed. "You can't fly any more than I can."

"He can so!" piped Gerty. "Why, you're just jealous, Clem. That's all. Just plain jealous."

"If he can fly, then why don't he do it right now?" demanded Clem, who was obviously sweet on Gerty. "Go ahead, bigshot. Just fly away, right here and now."

Jonathan stammered, and he spread his wings as if to fight. Clem backed off a little, but he too ruffled his wings. He glared at Jon, then at Horace, and then back at Jon.

"Hold on now," chuckled Horace. "You two hot heads just cool it, and fast. Jonathan can't fly right now because...uh, because he hurt his wing. Show 'em, Jon. See there? Can't hardly lift it. Worse than a sore throat, I tell ya. You'd know, if YOU'D ever flown." Clem tilted his head as Jon lifted the wing and winced in pain.

The ostriches in the surrounding meadow had begun closing in on the hillock as the argument grew more heated. Several birds snorted in disbelief, and a few hurled taunts at Horace. "Why should we believe crazy old Horace?" shouted one.

"How can HORACE teach anybird to fly?" added another. "HE can't fly!"

"Since when can ostriches fly in the FIRST place?" hollered a third.

"Well I never!" hissed Myrtle.

"Sure looks like you have to ME," chuckled an old hen. Myrtle threw out her chest and stomped down from the hill in a tizzy.

"If I SAY I saw him fly," she squawked, "then you'd best believe that I SAW HIM FLY! Come on, Gerty, we don't have to listen to this."

A round of laughter passed through the crowd as Myrtle stormed away. Gerty followed her aunt and turned to cast a longing glance at Jonathan.

"I believe you, Jonathan," she said sweetly. Horace watched the two females leave. The crowd grew quiet.

Turning slowly in a circle to meet the gazes of those surrounding him, Horace let the tension build. Finally he turned to Jonathan and spoke rather softly, so that everybird had to strain to hear.

"Suppose I could PROVE that Jon can fly?" he said.

"How?" demanded Clem. "How can you do THAT?"

"Just meet us here tomorrow," Horace said flatly. "Tomorrow morning, just past sunrise. I'll prove it, you'll see."

Late that night Horace hobbled away for a while, returning near sunup with a cloth sack that he held in his beak. Jon had never seen such a thing, which he mistook for a huge tumor growing out of the old bird's throat. When Horace dropped the sack at Jonathan's feet, three strange objects plopped out.

"What in the world are those?" Jon gasped.

"Oh, just some proof that you can fly," Horace answered wryly. "You'll see soon enough."

A short time later the sun inched its way up over the horizon.

Already a crowd had gathered, and it was much larger than the one the day before. Soon a restless buzz arose from the curious birds, and Horace knew the time had come.

"My fellow Analians," he crowed proudly, "I have brought you proof that my friend Jonathan Livingston Ostrich here can indeed fly. Come closer, gather 'round. You won't want to miss a thing."

The mass of birds converged noisily on the hillock, completely surrounding Horace and Jon.

"In this sack are three wondrous objects that Jonathan carried back from faraway lands for all to see. Now don't come too close, you may need room to breath."

The ostriches began pushing forwards, and a few tussles broke out.

Horace stuck his beak in the sack and pulled out first a beautiful spiraling seashell, which he held up high so all the birds could see. Nothing of its kind had ever been seen in those parts, where the sea was but a legend.

"This," Horace barked as he passed the shell to Jonathan, "is a magical seashell from the great water to the east. Jonathan stole it from a mermaid and carried it home so that you all could hear the sound of flying. Yes, that's what I said-the sound of flying."

A murmer passed among the ostriches, who had never heard of mermaids or seashells. "Now you there," Horace continued, "come on up and place your earhole against the seashell. Yes, like that. Now tell them what you hear."

The bird Horace had chosen, a popular male named Rube, looked as if he'd seen a ghost. His beak dropped open and his eyes grew wide. As he jerked his head to and fro, he could hardly utter a word.

"Uh, dub, hub, ahem," he clucked. "It, ah, it sounds like the wind! Just like the wind. Like I was...flying! Great Seus, it sounds just like flying!"

"Now when have any of you known Rube Ostrich to lie?" demanded Horace to the silent birds.

First one and then another doubtful bird shouldered his or her way to the top of the hill and leaned over to listen to the magical shell. Soon dozens of ostriches had heard the unmistakable sound of flying trapped in the shell, though many remained unconvinced that Jonathan could fly.

Horace took the seashell and placed it back in his sack. Next he drew forth a long, curved brown horn that was twice the size of the shell. Passing it to Jon the old bird began to speak.

"And this," he began, "is the horn of a ram, a fierce fighting beast from the mountains to the west. Jonathan pushed the brute off a cliff and took its horn to show you the deadly weapon of the mountain dwellers."

None of the ostriches had a clue what rams or cliffs or mountains were, but they were sure only a bird of great strength and courage could have taken such a marvelous object from its owner. Jonathan passed the horn to the awestruck birds, who handled it as if it were the horn of Seus herself.

Horace chuckled at the reactions of the stupid birds, whom he considered a bit provincial. Ostriches, it seems, rarely travel any farther from their hatching sites than they can comfortably run before lunchtime, so that any bauble from a faraway land would have impressed the crowd, even an acorn or a frog.

Once the handsome brown ram's horn had made its way through the crowd and back to the top of the hillock, Horace stuck his beak in the sack and polled out his last bit of huckstery. The object was a curious grey slab that reflected its surroundings dully, like muddy water. When Horace passed it to Jonathan, the audience could sense its weight, because the young bird had to strain to keep from dropping it.

"And this" Horace said dramatically, "is a piece...a piece of the OINKY BOINKER ITSELF!"

The crowd gasped and backed away from Jon. A few birds instinctively bent down low and slid their heads deep inside their holes. How could anybird, even the bravest, have a piece of the Machine?

"Now don't be afraid," Horace went on. "The Machine is far away and cannot hurt you. But we all know it will come back again, and again, and again." The more courageous birds began to tiptoe up the hill, and a few actually approached Jonathan and pecked gingerly at the chunk of metal.

"Who among you has not lost a loved one to the Machine?" asked Horace, and everybird nodded sadly in remembrance of a granny, hatchmate, or ma. "Who among you can remember the taste of a fat, juicy slug? Or the feel of a REAL ostrich hole-a cool, sandy hole in the ground, like your great-great-granny once used?"

The ostriches looked doubtfully at each other. There had once been quite a debate over what to do about the mucked up holes that peppered the plains of Lesser Analia. But over time, the new way of doing things had been accepted as right and natural, and talk of the old ways had come to be thought of as unAnalian.

"What are you getting at?" hollered a fat bird at the front of the crowd.

"What are you, some kinda radical?" yelled another, and a number of birds nodded and snorted in disgust.

"What I'm getting at is this," answered Horace in a cool, even tone. "We have an ostrich here who can fly. He has seen the Oinky Boinker, and he knows how it works. He knows its weakness. How do you suppose he got this piece of its hide?"

Just then Jonathan dropped the chunk of metal, unable to hold it up any longer. It fell to the ground with a loud thud. A pregnant pause ensued as the birds all looked to Jonathan, expecting him to speak.

Jon looked at Horace, who gave him an encouraging nod. "Well," the youngster said as he searched for something Horacelike to say. "My, uh, my ma...they took my ma, and they sucked her blood out, and they fed her to the Machine. I, uh, well-I think we ought to fight it. I mean, stop it. If you had only seen...she was a good ma, she didn't deserve THAT."

"That's crazy, plum crazy!" shouted an old hen.

"Fight the Machine? Count me out," added another.

"Let's get out of here. I've heard enough," cackled a third. Most of the birds crowed loudly in agreement and left abruptly.

"No, wait!" cried Jonathan, but the crowd was already dispersing. "Oh Horace, I'm sorry. It's all my fault. I didn't know what to say."

"Now, now. Don't give up so easily," whispered Horace. "Look there. Not all of them are leaving."

Sure enough, a dozen bright young ostriches were milling about at the base of the hillock.

Horace bent down and placed the ram's horn and the dull grey chunk of metal back in his sack. Then he motioned to the remaining birds to come to the top of the hill.

"Come on up, don't be shy," he shouted. "Who cares about the others? Someday they'll be thanking you." The twelve birds slowly ascended the hill, looking furtively back over their shoulders. Among them were Gerty and Clem. As they reached the hilltop, Horace greeted them warmly as Jon nodded shyly and shifted from foot to foot.

"B-but what can we possibly do?" asked a young female named Polly. "About the Machine, I mean."

"Yeah," said Clem, "that's what I'd like to know."

"All in good time," answered Horace, "all in good time. You see, Jon and I have a plan. Don't we, Jon?"

Meanwhile, deep in the bowels of the Oinky Boinky Machine, the vampire pigs were belching and farting gaily in celebration of an unusually good day. Their snouts dripped with blood, and their bellies were so full they bulged out grotesquely.

"Ah, this is the life," burped the biggest pig , a pig named Yorgius the Younger, as he clung to the ceiling of the Machine.

"Yes, and who could deserve it more?!" laughed Yorgius the Elder as he licked the blood from his fangs and snout.

"Here's to the natural order of things...PIGS ON TOP!!" bellowed the fattest pig, Lord Vanderbutt, and all the rest chortled and guffawed in response.

As the pigs enjoyed their revelry, the Machine was busily processing the bodies of their victims. The grinding of giant gears and the sharp fssst! fssst! fssst! of automated slicing knives wafted up to their lair along with the occasional errant feather.

Later, as they slept, the vampire pigs would add streams of methane-rich manure to the pile of organic matter that fueled the Oinky Boinker; but for now they were ready to party.

"A song!" grunted a tiny piglet named Qualius the Second. The pigs all hummed a middle C to get in pitch.

"Something operatic," suggested Qualius the First as the pigs grew quiet. After a pause, old Qualius began:

"Neither an ostrich nor an earthworm be! Heed my advice, pig out like me, " he boomed in a grand baritone.
"And, there's one more thing that you ought to do-to the Machine be-e trouuuuue!
Yes there's one other thing, that you ought to do-to the Machine...be...true."

Now the other pigs began to layer in their basses and sopranos, slowly building towards a rousing fortissimo.

"Neither an ostrich nor an earthworm be! Heed my advice, pig out like me,"
they sang as they swayed happily to and fro in time with the song. Then the younger Qualius added his exquisite tenor to the finale:
"And, there's one more thing that you ought to do-to the Machine bee-eeee truououuuue!
Yes there's one other thing, that you ought to do-to the Machine...be...true."

"Bravo! Bravo!" they cried in unison as a few rowdy youngsters let go of their perches and soared in circles around the Machine. "Encore! Encore!" But already the oldest and fattest pigs were beginning to yawn heartily, and one by one they began to doze off.

"Goodnight, Ecksonn," yawned one pig.

"Goodnight, Conglomus," added a second.

"Night-night, Johnboy," murmered a third. And then, as a last minute chorus of burps and farts and operatic snippets died away, the pigs drifted contentedly off to sleep.

"Now, do we all have our assignments?" asked Horace as he reviewed his troop of ostriches. The birds nodded doubtfully and glanced sidelong at one another. More than one wondered if Horace weren't downright crazy, considering the senseless tasks he'd given them.

Jon and Gerty were being sent off to the west to gather two basketfuls of special poppies that grew high on the flanks of the mountains there. Horace wouldn't say why the poppies were important, but everybird assumed that they must possess some kind of special power, because Jonathan himself had been charged with the mission.

Clem and his cousin Clementine were being sent far to the east to collect the eggs of creatures called "fish" that lived there in the shallows of the great ocean.

And two wily brothers, Bert and Bart, were being sent southward to gather the slugs and fat juicy earthworms that still thrived in the marshlands where the Machine couldn't go.

Horace assured the brave travelers that by following the rising sun, they would always go east, and that by following the setting sun, they would always go west. Bert and Bart were told to walk away from their shadows at lunchtime to go south, and to walk into their lunchtime shadows to return northward.

"Trust your instincts'" Horace counseled the six. "Your ancestors migrated between whole continents. You can do this. And don't any of you worry about the Machine. When its time comes, it'll fall more easily than you'd suspect-but only if we follow the plan.

"Now you six, take these baskets and get on your ways," he continued as he nodded towards six deep, flexible baskets that had been woven out of grass and bengalweed. "And the rest of you, follow me. We'll be collecting an awful lot of grass and weed, so let's get started. Just pile it right there at the base of the hill. Let's go! Time's a-wastin'!"

Horace turned and hobbled in his awkward way towards a patch of bengalweed, sneaking a peek over his shoulder at his confused and reluctant followers. The younger birds shuffled their feet a bit, then went off with heavy hearts to gather up the strange ingredients needed to cook up Horace's plot.

As they parted, Clem glanced jealously at Jonathan, who tried his best to Iook confident.

But if the truth be known, Jon was as flustered as he had been in all his life. Gerty, after all, was obviously smitten with him. And then there was the Oinky Boinky Machine to contend with.

After three days of steady westward travel, Jon and Gerty noticed the tall blue shoulders of mountains on the horizon. Gerty gasped at the sight, and so did Jon-but he quickly righted himself and acted casual.

"Why, they're beautiful!" sighed Gerty. "Maybe we'll see a ram! What do they look like, Jon?"

"Uh, well, sorta like ostriches," Jonathan guessed, "only with horns, and extra toes."

"It must be wonderful to fly," she mused. "Won't you fly for me, Jon?"

"Uh, I'd love to. But I can't. My wing, you know. I could, uh, ruin it if I fly too soon."

"Oh, Jon, I can't wait to see the mountains!" gushed Gerty. "Let's run! Come on, Jon-last one there's a rotten egg!"

Off she ran with Jonathan close behind. With every stride the mountains seemed to grow higher and higher before them. Soon the sun began to sink behind the tallest peaks, and odd purple shadows crept towards the east.

As the evening sky began to pale, the two birds finally reached the feet of the great mountains, where they both plopped down tired and panting. Gerty took Jonathan's basket in her beak and pulled it gently from around his neck, then hunched over and wriggled her own basket down her neck and over her tiny little head.

After a while she began to preen her feathers coyly. Jonathan stood up and stretched his neck, pretending to ignore Gerty's sighs and fluttering eyelids.

"I think I'll go scout for some poppies," he said after a while. "I'd like to get an early start in the morning."

"But Jon, it'll be dark soon," Gerty protested. "Please don't leave me here alone-l'rn scared. Did you see the looks those birds gave us this afternoon?"

"They were just looking at our baskets," Jonathan replied. "Besides, everybird looks at strangers."

"Then let me come with you," whined Gerty. "We might as well bring the baskets, too."

With that, she picked up both baskets in her beak and marched straight up the flank of the mountain. Jonathan started to say something, then shrugged his shoulders and followed.

The mountain rose gently at first, though there were gullies and boulders to negotiate. As the pair rose higher and higher, the terrain became more difficult, and the ground became crumbled and fraught with loose gravel.

Eventually they found themselves at the base of a small cliff, where they stopped and turned around to see how far they'd come.

"Jonathan, look!" cried Gerty. "You can see so far! Why, this must be how it feels to fly!"

"Well, sort of," said Jon.

The plain stretched into the distant haze where the last rays of the setting sun mirrored the contours of the peaks above. Thousands of ostriches were stretching and moaning as they prepared to go to sleep. Soon it would be dark.

The two birds suddenly realized that they had climbed too far-they would have to sleep on the mountain!

"Oh dear," piped Gerty. "We'll never get back down before dark. What'll we do, Jon? What'll we do?" The frightened young chick cuddled up close to Jon and rubbed her head against his neck.

"Don't worry," Jonathan whispered as a tingle shot down his spine. "We'll just have to sleep here, that's all. And don't you worry about any old rams." Jon gulped a long ostrich gulp and wrapped his neck around Gerty's.

Suddenly a horrible noise like echoing thunder rushed up the mountainside. Down below, hundreds of ostriches began hopping around in circles and flapping their pitiful wings. The Machine was coming! The Machine!

Gerty bent down low and curled her neck between her legs.

"Gerty no!" snapped Jonathan. "You have to see this." Wrapping his long neck gracefully around hers, Jon pulled Gerty's head from between her legs and guided her into an upright position.

And there they stood, cheek to cheek, their necks entwined, waiting for the Machine.

After a few moments the Oinky Boinker rumbled into sight. Gerty nearly fainted, but Jon held her firmly and rubbed her cheek. The Earthcrusher rolled inexorably past the mountainside, its dull leaden hatch reaching nearly as high as the ledge on which they stood.

Just then the hatch burst open with a thud. "Oh, Seus!" sobbed Gerty in a quivering voice as the hideous vampire pigs flew circling out of the Machine.

"Be quiet," Jonathan whispered. "They can't see us, but they might hear us."

One by one the vampire pigs let loose shrieks of laughter, swooped down upon their victims, and snatched them high into the air. The poor birds screamed and wailed as their heads popped loose from their holes and they saw themselves flying high above the ground. The pigs whooshed back into the gaping hatch, thirsty for a meal of blood.

Once the Machine had passed, Jon lifted his wing to cuddle Gerty, who was trembling like a featherless geezer on a cold night.

"Uh, duh, don't worry, Gert," he stammered. "It's gone. It won't be back."

The noise of the Machine faded slowly away. Below, the frenzy of the frightened ostriches abated as they settled back down to sleep. The sky deepened to midnight blue, and a few stars twinkled into sight.

On the sixth day after leaving Horace's hill the lovebirds returned. Clem and Clementine had returned from the ocean that morning, and Bert and Bart from the marshes the day before.

As Jon and Gerty climbed the hill to greet Horace, an astonishing sight met them on the plain below, where all eleven of their comrades were busily weaving long strands of grass arid bengalweed into huge shapes that resembled the various parts of a giant dismembered ostrich! There were two great legs, a long thin neck, a gigantic hollow torso, and an oversized ostrich head with a bengalwood beak.

"What in the name of Seus?" blurted Jonathan as he laid a basket at Horace's feet. "l've never seen anything like it!"

"Neither have I," sighed Gerty.

"No, you wouldn't have," laughed Horace. "But then, you're not Horace Worthington, now are you? The weaving technique, it's an invention of mine. Can't get around on these old legs much, so l...dabble." Horace turned and hollered down to his weavers, who were soon standing in a semicircle around the old bird and the six baskets of goodies. Beside the baskets was a pile of fresh brown mushrooms, the tastiest in all the land, and an assortment of other local toadstools and treats.

"Now before I talk about the plan," Horace began, "I want to ask you a question. Oh, by the way. You didn't blab the whole thing to Gerty, now did you, Jon my boy?" Jonathan shook his head, truthfully. "Good, good. Now the question: who are the most pompous, uppity ostriches in these parts?"

The birds looked curiously at one another, trying to figure out Horace's angle.

"Why, old Melda and her snotty brood," ventured Clem, and the others nodded in agreement.

"What about Vana and those brats of hers?" said Sally-Ann, a sister of Bert and Bart.

"Or those awful sisters, Annalee and Oralee," added Gerty, who hated the rude daughters of her Aunt Myrtle's archrival, Zsa-Zsa.

"Oooooo, that Zsa-Zsa really ruffles my feathers," squawked Clementine, and the others all nodded and snorted in disgust.

"I'd like to kick all three of 'em into a tar pit," seethed Bert.

"I wish a bolt o' lightnin' would turn 'em into a fricassee," snickered Bart, and everybird howled at the thought.

"Well then," said Horace when the delight had died down, "it's all settled. The day after tomorrow we'll crown Zsa-Zsa the Queen of Lesser Analia, and Annalee and Oralee will be princesses. And all their broodmates will be lords and ladies."

"What?" cried Clem. "Those snot-beaked brats?"

"Even Priscilla and Prentiss?" snorted Polly.

"And Alexis and Leona?" added Clementine.

The birds began shuffling around looking quite puzzled. What little they knew of royalty came from a few old legends and rookery rhymes, and the thought of bowing to Zsa-Zsa's brood didn't sit well.

"Now, now," chided Horace. "Be patient. You wouldn't want to trade places with that bunch, believe you me."

"So, when do we eat?" interrupted Clem as he pecked at the savory brown mushrooms.

"Whoa, boy," Horace chuckled, "not so fast. Those are for the Queen. And so are the worms and poppies, and the caviar and escargot."

"Caviar?" harrumphed Clem. "Escargot?"

"Fish eggs and snails to you," Horace snapped. "You'll be fixing gruel and pate for their royal majesties and serving them as much as they want. As for us, we'll just have to settle for grass seed and wigglers."

The birds all gasped at this, as they loved nothing better than to gorge themselves with mushrooms and worms.

"Before you scram just hear me out," the old ostrich said flatly. "Later on you'll understand.

"Now here's the plan..."

Jon and Gerty awoke the next morn still standing cheek to cheek. Nothing was said about the night before. As the sun peered up over the plain to the east, Jon unraveled his neck from Gerty's and picked up the baskets at their feet. "Let's find some poppies," he said.

Not far from the base of the cliff they found a small alpine meadow ablaze with brilliant flowers of yellow, orange, and red. As they approached the flowers, Gerty noticed the smooth round poppies that grew on each stalk just below the petals, exactly as Horace had described them. Taking care to pick only the poppies beneath the red flowers, the two quickly filled their baskets to the brim. Then they descended from the mountainside in silence.

On reaching the plain below, Gerty saw the horror left in the wake of the Oinky Boinky Machine as if for the first time. Huge parallel tracks rent the earth, and little piles of feathers dotted the ground. A downy chick ran up to her and huddled between her feet.

"Are you my mother?" it peeped pitifully.

"No, I'm sorry," she answered, and off it ran repeating the question again and again.

Still silent, Jon and Gerty strode off towards the morning sun, keeping their shadows at their backs. By lunchtime their shadows had almost disappeared, so they waited until the afternoon to continue on. Towards evening Gerty finally spoke.

"J-J-Jonathan?" she said haltingly. "W-what were the creatures we saw last night?"

"Vampire pigs," he answered. "They suck out our blood, then feed our bodies to the Machine. It runs on our flesh, Gerty. It took my ma..."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Jon. That's awful, just awful." Gerty hung her head. Then her eyes lit up, and she gave Jon a peck on the cheek. "Just imagine it," she sighed. "No more Machine. No more vampire pigs. Just IMAGINE..."

That night thirteen brave ostriches slept together on the hilltop. At the urging of Jon and Gerty, none of them hid in their pungent holes. Exhausted from their work and travels, all but Horace drifted into a deep, profound sleep.

Sometime before dawn, Horace awoke Jonathan with a peck on the noggin. As the young bird struggled to consciousness, a ghostly figure approached from the pale night sky and settled silently onto the grass.

"Mr. Potato!" whispered Jon as he shook the cobwebs out of his head.

"Just call me Astril," the pink blob replied. "So, how's everything coming along?"

"Right on schedule," muttered Horace. "When can we expect our friend again?"

"Not for a few days or so. The Boinker's still down south. But it's headed this way."

Jonathan was terrified at the thought of taking on the Machine. He had his doubts about Horace's plan, or at least what little he knew of it. But all his doubts and fears were swept away by his desire to fly on the magic sofa again.

"So, my boy," Astril said as he folded his fat, five-toed legs beneath him. "Wanna go for a ride?"

"Sure! If it's alright with you two, I mean." Jon looked pleadingly at Horace, who nodded his old head and gave the youngster a wink.

Jonathan stepped onto the sofa, pulled his legs up under his body, and settled into the soft cushions. Without a sound the sofa eased off the ground and sped into the western sky.

The cool night air rushing past his face invigorated Jon, and the feel of the rushing wind in his feathers made him giddy. He lifted his wings, and a gush of air pushed them fluttering above his back. His face beamed with a look as close to a smile as an ostrich can get.

"I wish I could fly like this all the time," he mused as he aimed his wings first one way and then another.

"Have you ever tried?" asked Astril.

"Well, yeah," Jon replied, "once. But I couldn't quite get off the ground. Unless you count the time it took to fall off the rock."

"Maybe you just weren't high enough," Astril wondered aloud.

"Maybe not," said Jon.

They flew on, until the western mountains came into view. Astril nosed the sofa higher, and in a flash they were high above the moonlit mountains, which seemed to go on forever, as if in the distance they rose right into the stars.

Astril turned the sofa northward. As it picked up speed, Jonathan pulled his wings tight against his body and leaned straight into the wind. On and on they flew, until the mountains gave way to hills and plateaus.

The sun had just begun to filter into the east when Astril swooped down towards a clearing near a brook. Jon was amazed at the size of the bushes growing there, which Astril called "trees." The terrain was marked by gently rolling hills, and colorful hollow boulders littered the meadows and dales. The sofa landed softly n the middle of the clearing.

"This is where I'm from," Astril said sadly as he hopped off and stretched his pink featherless wings and his pudgy legs with their backwards-bending knees. "It was once a forest. The trees grew twice as high back then. There were ponds and streams so clear you could see the bottom six fathoms deep. That was before we made the Machine."

Made the machine? thought Jonathan. They MADE the MACHINE?

Astril crossed the clearing and led Jonathan down a path that ran through the trees and over the brackish, muddy brook. At the far side of the brook they met a little creature that resembled Astril, only it was much smaller and had thick, wild downy feathers flowing out of its head. It was using the tips of its ugly wings to scoop water into its fat pink beak. When it saw Jon, it let out a whoop and scampered into the brush.

"Don't drink the water," Astril warned. "It'll make you sick. And don't talk, or they'll think you're a demon."

As Jonathan puzzled over demons and forests and such, they entered a narrow secluded glen that was bounded by cliffs. In the middle burned a small fire similar to the remnants of the horrifying prairie fires started by lightning in Lesser Analia. Jon began to fidget, but Astril told him not to worry.

As they neared the fire Jon saw a group of bloblike creatures that were Astril's size, but they had wild feathers on their heads like the small creature at the brook. Their faces were dark and smudged, and they stood slightly hunched, not upright like Astril. Their wings were thicker than Astril's, but just as useless; and they spoke in a harsh gutteral tongue like nothing Jonathan had ever heard before.

The dirty brutes approached and surrounded Jon. He had an uneasy feeling, as if they were sizing him up for dinner. By now the sun was pouring into the glen, and more and more of the blobs were appearing out of caves in the cliffs above.

Astril grunted at the brutes, who seemed angry at what he had to say. But then he pointed to the sky and made vvhooshing noises, which sent quite a fright throughout the camp. One of the blobs scampered up into a cave while the others backed away. After a moment the blob returned with a beautiful round object that glinted dully in the sun. It handed the object to Astril and stepped back.

"We'd better go," mumbled Astril as he backed slowly away from the brutes. He turned and led Jonathan back across the brook and up the path to the clearing. As they hopped onto the sofa Astril sighed with relief, and they took off quickly, passing directly over the glen, whose inhabitants sat cowering and peering into the sky.

"That was dicey," Astril chuckled as he held the beautiful golden object in his wingtips.

"What is it?" asked Jon.

"It's a crown. We wear it on our heads, like this. At least we used to." Astril seemed very sad. Jon wondered what the Machine had done to him, and if the blobs could really have made it in the first place.

The sofa headed eastward. Jonathan noticed great parallel scars in the earth below just like the ones in Lesser Analia, only much older and duller. Here and there smoke rose from caves and hollows, and on many of the hilltops stood strange square rock formations and perfectly rectangular piles of dead trees. But the blobs were nowhere to be seen, for they hid from the sun, which burned them and covered their skin with warts and moles.

By lunchtime Jonathan was growing quite hungry. Astril seemed lost as he stared silently into space. Not wanting to bother his companion, Jon reached over and picked up the golden crown. To his surprise it was incredibly heavy, much heavier than Horace's dull chunk of the Machine.

As he dropped the crown back onto the sofa, Jon's eyes were drawn to the east. There he saw something every bit as marvelous as the mountains in the west-for as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but water!

"That must be the ocean," Jonathan sighed. Astril nodded and turned the sofa southward as it began a lazy descent. The ocean glimmered with tiny triangles of sunlight, and patchwork clouds cast patterns of ray and shadow onto the dappled bluegreen surface.

Birds as tiny as hatchlings flew twittering about, their feathers a perfect white and their eyes small and black. Astril called them "seagulls," and their fanciful flits and flights filled Jon with awe and envy.

The sofa landed on a sandy beach at the ocean's edge. Astril hopped off and yawned heartily as he stretched and plopped down into the sand. "l'm going to take a nap," he announced without looking at Jonathan. "You stick around and keep an eye on things."

Jon was happy to oblige. A cool breeze blew calmly off the water, smelling lightly of salt and sulfur. The sand was warm between his toes, and shells of every size and shape dotted the beach. The birds flitted about singing and whistling and completely ignoring poor Jonathan.

If only I could fly like that, he thought.

Then again, maybe he could.

Astril slept all day and well into the night. Jon stood patiently watching the stars rise from the sea, followed by a pale yellow moon that reflected in long shimmers off the water.

Just as the brave young ostrich was about to drift off to sleep, Astril leapt up and trotted into the wavecaps to wash the sand from his pink featherless skin. Then he came ashore, shook himself dry, and hopped onto the sofa.

"It's time to get you home," he said. Jonathan joined him on the sofa, which rose into the sky and whisked off towards the southeast. The cool wind swam beneath his feathers, and he took a long, deep breath that sent tingles from his head to his toes.

After a while Jon recognized the plains of his home in the moonlight below. The sofa sped on like a shooting star, and in no time Astril and Jon were settling onto the grass at the base of Horace's hill.

Astril awakened the old bird with a nudge. "Is everything ready, Shorty?" he asked.

"Sure thing," yawned Horace. "Let's get at it."

Jonathan watched as Horace and Astril stepped onto the sofa and hovered a few inches above the sprawled form of the hollow grass ostrich, which had been woven into a single piece while Jon was away. Astril reached down and grabbed the huge bird by its head, while Horace somehow took a tether of bengalweed and tied its great neck to the sofa. Then Astril guided the sofa straight into the air, and the giant bird staggered into an upright position like an ostrich struggling to its feet after eating blue toadstools.

And there stood the giant ostrich, looking as real in the pale moonlight as Horace himself!

Astril landed the sofa beside Jonathan. Horace stepped off with the crown in his beak. The three bid each other farewell, and then Astril Potato and his magic sofa flew off into the night.

"Now get yourself some sleep," Horace whispered "Tomorrow's the big day."

By the time Jonathan awoke late the next morning, a crowd had gathered around the hillock to admire the giant grass ostrich. When they saw Jon stirring they quickly surrounded and startled him, and he nearly tripped over the golden crown that lay at his feet.

"So he really can fly," said a voice from the mob.

"How did he ever lift that dang bird up?" added another, and all the ostriches turned and looked at the impressive figure below.

"And after flying all night to bring back the golden crown!" chirped Gerty as she gave Jon a peck on the cheek.

A moment later Horace hobbled up the hill with Zsa-Zsa and her daughters, Annalee and Oralee.

"Gather 'round," he trumpeted. "It's time for the coronation!" The birds converged on the hilltop, eager to find out what a coronation was.

"We are here today to witness a grand and historical event," Horace cried; "the restoration of the golden crown to the long-forgotten royal line of Lesser Analia. Our friend Jonathan has flown far to the north to recover the crown of our great-great-great grandmothers, so that all might see the glory of our proud history. And our twelve loyal courtiers have erected this grand monument to Her Royal Majesty, Queen Zsa-Zsa."

A great hurrah arose instinctively from the masses, who now had a notion of what a coronation was, but who were completely incapable of grasping the concept of history. Zsa-Zsa stood by looking vain and detached, as if she'd known all along that she was the long lost queen of the realm.

"Now Jonathan," Horace continued, "if you'!l kindly place the crown upon...uh, AROUND the Queen's head.. " Jonathan obliged, and the heavy lump of gold slid gracelessly over the queen's tiny head and down to the base of her neck.

Horace paused dramatically and perused his audience, whose span of attention was nearing its limit. Then he raised his wings up high and crowed with a flourish, "My LADY! I hereby proclaim you the one true QUEEN of Lesser ANALIA!"

Horace bowed down low at Zsa-Zsa's feet, and the twelve courtiers bowed likewise, followed by all those assembled. After a moment Horace stood up rather ceremoniously, as did the courtiers, followed one-by-one by the ostriches gathered about. Everybird felt the import of the moment, and a few actually fainted, chief among them Myrtle, who could have just died of jealousy.

"'Twas marvelous," said all the birds. "Truly historical."

And then a second hurrah arose, and a third, and a swell of song and dance and general merriment swept the throng, lasting until well past lunch and clear into naptime.

A few birds disdained the celebration-but they were considered quite petty and unAnalian and were sent rudely on their ways. Even among these cynics and skeptics, however, nobird still doubted the possibility that Jonathan Livingston Ostrich could indeed fly.

Not even Jonathan.

The following days were most exciting in the Queendom of Lesser Analia. Birds came from far and wide to pay homage to the queen and to see her impressive monument. A few of them actually slept beneath the hilltop where Zsa-Zsa and her brood had taken up residence, only returning to kith and kin the following day (which was quite an adventure for an ostrich.)

As an added attraction these feathered pilgrims could gawk at Jonathan, whose fame had spread nearly as quickly as the queen's. Even birds who lived too far away to visit Her Royal Highness had soon heard of the flight for the golden crown and the restoration of the royal line. But poor Jonathan loathed the attention, preferring to spend his time with Horace and Gerty while Zsa-Zsa and the princesses basked in the glory.

Queen Zsa-Zsa soon began to grow fat from the generous piles of mushrooms and earthworms and caviar and escargot that were constantly set at her feet. The princesses, who had been fat to begin with, became fatter still, until it was only with the greatest of difficulty that they managed to climb onto the hillock at all. All three were constantly being preened by scores of faithful attendants, who obediently brought them mouthful after mouthful of Horace's regurgitated poppy pate.

In the meantime, Horace and his co-conspirators had all become unusually thin and shabby due to their strict diet and hard work. This brought them into disrepute among the loyal, who made a habit of mimicking the royal family. Were it not for the respect afforded to Jonathan, they might have all been exiled, or chased into tar pits. As it was they were barely able to stand their ground among the snooty, snotty ostriches who came in growing numbers to lay claim to titles and privileges by virtue of some direct relation to the Queen.

More than once nasty fights broke out when newcomers attempted to ascend the hillock and partake of the delicacies offered there. Even more vicious were the fights that broke out over the wonderful poppy pate, which was only offered to those of purest blood. Fortunately for the conspiracy, the pate was long on spit and short on poppies. Even so, the two baskets of poppies were dwindling rapidly, much to the dismay of old Horace.

One day as they were milling about in the shade beneath the grass ostrich, Horace spoke openly to Jonathan. "I hope the Machine comes soon," he confided. "Our plan will be reined if we run out of poppies."

"But why?" asked Jonathan. "Won't the pigs just take the fattest..."

"Hussssshh!" hissed Horace. "Nobird is to know anything about that! Keep your beak shut, and make sure the others do, too."

Jonathan was stung by Horace's rebuke, so he ambled off to look for Gerty or Clem. Why didn't the old coot just explain the plan all at once, instead of bit by bit? All Jon really knew was that when the Machine came, they were supposed to climb into the secret passageway at the rear of the hollow giant.

As he looked around for one of his chums Jonathan was startled by a hearty "hullo there!" When he turned to see who it was, he was greeted with a slobbery peck on the cheek.

"Jonathan!" cried the visitor.

"Ferd!" cried Jonathan, and the brothers tangled their necks together, half wrestling and half embracing. "Where in the name of Seus have you been?" Ferd exclaimed. "We thought you were...with Ma."

"No, no, I've just been traveling, that's all."

"Travelin'? Why, I thought I was a regular stud just for comin' to see the queen. And here you've been travelin' all along."

"Must be in our blood " Jon mumbled. "So how are Flo and Maude?"

"Oh, they're fine. Would've come with me, but they got scared and turned back at lunchtime.That Queen's really somethin', ain't she? Haven't seen the flyer, though. You know where he is?"

Jonathan shuffled his feet and looked around nervously for a moment. "Well, he's me. I mean, I'm him," he finally said, the words catching in his throat.

"Aw, you're pullin' my leg," howled Ferd. "You, a flyer. Ain't that rich!"

"No, really,"sald Jon. "You can ask anybird."

The brothers stood there awkwardly for some time. Then Jonathan cleared his throat and offered Ferd a tour. As they meandered off towards the grass giant, Ferd looked intently at his brother, recollecting the time Jon had fallen off a tall rock and stubbed hls toes trying to fly. Anything is possible, he reckoned, but still something didn't seem quite right.

After all, it's mighty hard to lie to a brother.

At that very moment, less than a day's journey to the south, the Oinky Boinky Machine was rumbling across the plain not far from Jon and Ferd's hatchsite. The vampire pigs hung contentedly to its cold metal ceiling enjoying their favorite farting game.

"Oh, that was a good one," bellowed the Vanderbutt as he strained to outfart their champion, Dupontius, whose latest masterpiece had been a triple bluster in the key of E minor.

"What's wrong, big butt?" Dupontius chided. "One so full of hot air should have no trouble passing wind."

The pigs roared with laughter, so much so that they completely drowned out the Vanderbutt's vain attempt at a flapless foghorn.

"There now, you missed it," he snorted. "A flapless Foghorn, I tell you. It was marvelous, nearly perfect."

"Sure it was," laughed Qualius the First. "And I just tooted out a minute waltz!" The pigs roared until they choked.

"And who will challenge me next?" asked Dupontius when the laughter had ceased. "Come now, I'll even give you a handicap."

After a long pause it was obvious there were no takers.

"How about a game of tag?" suggested Qualius the younger, whose ineptitude in the art of flatulence was a constant source of embarrassment.

"Fine, fine," belched Yorgius the Younger, an equally poor farter who hated to lose at even the silliest of games. "But you're IT."

"Why do I always have to be IT?" whined Qualius. "Who died and left YOU boss?"

"No pig. I was appointed," joked Yorgius.

"Come on, let's play!" shouted a fat but agile pig named Raython. "Come and get me, Qualie!"

At that the swift winged Raython swooped down from his perch and whooshed right under Qualius' sniveling snout.

"No fair! No fair!" whimpered young Qualius. "I wasn't ready."

The pigs all sneered and hissed at poor Qualius, who nearly began to cry. The elder Qualius glanced severely at the younger, who pouted and began a half-hearted attempt to tag his tormentor.

"You couldn't catch me if I had one wing tied behind my back, Raython screeled. "Nanny nanny poo poo, Qualie was a boo-boo!"

Qualius grew furious at this. Mustering all his strength he dive bombed the smug Raython, who flitted deftly to one side and zipped back up to his perch.

"Try somepig old and fat, like the Vanderbutt," chortled a vaguely familiar voice. (It was Qualius the elder trying to sound like somepig else.) The pigs hooted and guffawed until their eyes nearly popped out of their heads.

"Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho!" snorted Ecksonn. "Just don't follow too close, or he'll rip a flapless foghorn!" The old pig choked on his glee as tears streamed from his beady little black eyes. "A flapless foghorn, indeed. Oh, that Vanderbutt!"

Just then a siren sounded and the heavy leaden hatch above jerked violently open. Forgetting their fun the vampire pigs dropped from their perches and swarmed out the opening, salivating uncontrollably.

"Last one out's an ostrich egg!" shouted Raython.

"Not included! Not included!" cried the younger Qualius, but he was too late. "That's not fair-l wasn't ready!"

Early the next day a ruckus broke out on the hilltop. Princess Analee had grown so fat that in the night her legs had buckled, trapping her head in her royal hole. Horace's pate, it seems, had the dual effect of increasing the appetite and constipating the innards, which caused the royal birds to bloat up like carcasses.

It took eleven birds to lift Annalee back onto her feet, and two unlucky courtiers were forced from then on to stand under her belly to prop her up.

Of course Oralee demanded that two courtiers stand beneath her as well, as did Queen Zsa-Zsa and the other royal birds. Soon not one member of the cranky royal family was left standing on his or her own four toes, a situation that proved most uncomfortable for the poor beds who had to spend their time propping up a fat lord or lady. To make matters worse, the rich diet of the royalty left them smelling particularly-well, rich. Only the most loyal courtiers volunteered for this odious task, and by lunchtime a shortage had developed. Fights were breaking out over just who should prop up whom, until the queen had to order the reluctant to fulfill their duties.

Horace ignored the commotion as he paced nervously forth and back beneath the grass giant. "Just wait 'til they find out we're out of poppies," he mumbled more than once.

Jon and Gerty sensed a tension that went well beyond the impending confrontation, so they snuck off to find a quiet place to be alone. Gerty had been dropping hints that she was ready to mate, which made Jon exceedingly nervous. But considering how quickly the male's task was over with, he figured he might as well oblige her.

Ferd found the whole scene quite confusing. Only his new friend Clem kept him from heading home in disgust. As for Bert and Bart, Clem and Clementine, and the other conspirators, all they could do was to stand and wait in the shadow of the hollow grass ostrich.

By naptime the last globs of Horace's pate were gone. This infuriated the sleepy queen, who had grown quite fond of the gooey dish. In a huff she ordered Horace to send Jonathan for more-but Jon was nowhere to be found.

Zsa-Zsa and her daughters became more and mere testy as the afternoon wore on. Nobird could seem to find Jonathan, though Myrtle snickered openly at the frenzied attempts to locate him.

Soon the whole hilltop was in an uproar as the royal family argued over who had eaten more than their fair share of pate.

"You ate twice as much as me...as I!" squawked Oralee to her sister.

"I most certainly did not!" screeched Analee viciously.

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"Did TOO!"

"Did NOT!"

"DID TOO!"

"DID NOT!"

"SHUT UP!!!" squeeled Zsa-Zsa, literally trembling with agitation. "Shut up, both of you. Where's that damn worthless Horace? I want my pate! I WANT my PATE!"

In the confusion Oralee made an ill-advised lunge at her sister, which sent both princesses sprawling on top of the poor birds who had been propping them up. As the two sisters struggled to peck each others' eyes out, they both rolled onto their sides and were unable to right themselves. Luckily this allowed the courtiers to drag their flattened associates out from under their royal highnesses.

"Pick me up, you twits!" screamed Analee as her eyes bulged out of their sockets.

"No, ME first!" wailed Oralee.

Soon more than two dozen birds were straining to prop the bulbous bodies of the princesses back onto their feet. But the sisters were so angry that their kicking and writhing made it impossible.

Zsa-Zsa stomped over to the ugly scene and began squawking out orders, which only added to the fray. "You there, get up under her wing," demanded the queen.

"No, no, NO!" screeched a princess. "Here, get up under my tail."

"No! Under my tail first!" whined the other. "Me first! Me, me, me!"

"NO! MY tail! Mine, I say!"

"No! My tail!"

"My tail first!"

"No, no, no! Get up under MY tail first!"

"Fat chance," sneered Myrtle, who had climbed the hill to watch the goings-on. The courtiers all strained to stifle their snickers. Zsa-Zsa was not amused.

"You! YOU!" The Queen squeeled at her rival. "Into the tar pits! I said INTO THE TAR PITS!"

The courtiers looked stupidly at one another and then began to converge on Myrtle as the princesses kicked at the air and redoubled their cries.

But just as they were about to peck Myrtle into submission a low, dull rumble eased into earshot, and all the ostriches began to run around in circles flapping their pitiful wings.

"The Machine!" they cried. "It's the Machine!"

As far as the eye could see there were birds running and hopping about in a frenzy. As the noise of the Oinky Boinker drew closer they began to bend down low, and one by one they slid their tiny skulls into the darkness.

Well, most of them anyway. For the fat, stiff-necked royalty could no longer stand on their own two feet, and the pate had left them in a dizzy stupor. The best they could do was to flop over onto their backsides and bury their heads under the layers of fat built up after days and days of overeating and idleness.

Into the middle of this melee ran Jon and Gerty. They searched hurriedly for Ferd and Myrtle, to no avail. Horace and the others had already climbed into the secret passage art the rear of the giant grass ostrich, and the oldster was just about to tie the flap closed when the lovebirds approached.

"Wait!" shouted Jon. "It's us!"

"So it is," chuckled Horace as he poked his head out the giant ostrich's gaping hole. "Climb in, climb in!"

The earthshaking noise of the Oinky Boinky Machine had drawn frighteningly close. A loud thud and a wailing siren assaulted the birds' ears, followed by the swarming whoosh! whoosh! whoosh! of dozens upon dozens of greasy black wings. "You first!" hollered Jonathan over the tumult as he bent down and nudged Gerty up and into the opening, where she wriggled her way down the dark, narrow tunnel and into the belly of the giant.

"Jonathan, hurry!" she cried. Already the wails of ostriches could be heard over the clinks and clanks of the Oinky Boinker. A winged shadow passed right over Jon, sending a chill down his spine. He jumped as high as he could-but with nobird to help, he couldn't quite reach the opening! Again and again he leapt as high as he could-but the best he could do was to barely peek his head into the grass giant's hole.

He strained to leap ever higher, and he began to flap his wings with all his might. Whish! Whish! Whish! they said, then whoosh! whoooosh! whoooooosh!

But it was just no use. Frightened and exhausted, Jonathan looked around helplessly. Above him on the hillock was a swarm of hideous vampire pigs laughing and howling gleefully as they carried off the fattest, tastiest bunch of ostriches they had ever encountered.

There was the Vanderbutt hauling an enraged Zsa Zsa into the air, followed by Ecksonn with Annalee and Qualius the elder with Oralee. One by one the members of the royal family were snatched up and carried screaming and wailing into the Oinky Boinky Machine, where the insatiable pigs sucked them dry and then came back for more.

Just then Horace peeked out the hole above and yelled out to Jonathan. "Here, grab this," he cried, and a tether of rope dropped uncoiling at Jonathan's feet. The scared young bird clenched his beak tightly around the rope and began to leap and flap with all his might. Inch by inch Jonathan Livingston Ostrich felt himself rising into the air, and he flapped his wings even harder. Whish! Whish! Whish! they said, and then whoosh! whoooosh! whoooooosh!

Up and up he rose, until his head and neck entered the dark tunnel, higher and higher until his four clutching toes grasped at the hollow giant's haunches. Still clinging to the rope, Jonathan strained to pull himself that last inch into the passageway.

And in that harrowing instant something very strange happened-for there in the halflight Jon could have sworn he saw Horace dancing before the rope with two thick, writhing snakes protruding from a hole in his chest! Jon was so startled by the sight that he nearly lost his grip on the rope and fell.

But instead he growled and tugged even harder; until with one great thrust he tumbled headlong into the tunnel, whimpering and gasping for air. Horace toppled over Jon's limp body and tied the flap tightly shut.

"I...I thought I saw...what were..." Jon stammered.

"Never mind," whispered Horace. "Your eyes weren't used to the dark. Now come on."

"Did I...did I...fly?" Jonathan gasped.

"In your own littte way;" sighed Horace. "Now come on, let's go."

The two squirmed their way down the dark passageway, which ended at a cramped, dry chamber where their twelve comrades lay tangled and sprawled on top of each other like chicks in a nest.

Gerty heard Jonathan panting and wiggled her way over to give him a big wet peck on the beak. "Oh, Jon," she moaned, "I was so scared! I thought you..."

"There, there,"' hummed Horace. "We're all fine. We just have to wait now. The worst is over."

The noise of the Oinky Boinker filtered down to the brave birds, muffled by the layers of grass and bengalweed that made up the innards of the giant ostrich. Except for Horace, Jon, and Gerty, none of them had ever heard the horrifying sounds of thrashing wings and wailing birds and shrieking, howling vampire pigs.

Suddenly a heavy form plopped onto the back of the grass giant, followed by another, and another, and yet another, until it seemed as if the great bird would soon collapse. Muffled voices could be heard from above belching and debating. Then one voice rose above the others, and it could clearly be heard saying, "One, two, three, OFF!"

The giant ostrich shuddered, and then it seemed to rise off the ground, rising higher and higher as a deafening whoosh! whoosh! whoosh! obscured the clattering of the Oinky Boinky Machine.

The terrified ostriches inside shivered and quaked and intertwined their necks like hatchlings awaiting their mother. But none of them sought the refuge to which they had all once escaped. "Jonathan?" Gerty whispered. "I...l...I love you."

"Uh...gee, thanks," Jon replied, and they huddled a little closer. Before long the grass giant began to descend a little, and then it plopped down onto something solid that vibrated violently and amplified the clinking, clanking clammer of the Machine. And there the big bird stayed, bent in at the middle, squeezing its cramped ostrinauts ever closer together.

Now the voices above seemed to grow angry, and it felt as if dozens of fat birds were stomping on top of the grass giant like fledglings throwing tantrums. After a while the bounding stopped. The muffled voices seemed to slide down the sides of the hollow ostrich, and for a moment they came level with its trembling occupants.

"They thought we'd fall for THAT old trick, did they?" said one voice.

"We'll get them out of there soon enough," said another.

The voices fell echoing downward and blended with the noise of the Machine.

The Earthcrusher rumbled on. Sounds of slicing, grinding metal could be heard, followed first by the strains of a happy chorus, and then by a cacophony of heavy snores. The snoring grew louder and louder as the air became cool and damp. The tiny slivers of light that had filtered down from above faded into darkness.

"What's happening?" peeped a voice from the back of the grass womb.

"Quiet!" snapped Horace. "Be still."

The night wore on. The snoring became heartier and heavier, and then the slicing metallic sounds died away. Crumpled together in the suffocating darkness the brave ostriches fought to stay awake. What was happening? Had Horace led them into a trap? Were they inside the Machine?

Deep in the night a sudden sound startled the birds. It was a loud Thunk! followed by the slicing fssst! of metal on metal. Then came another Thunk, and another. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! they heard, and the slicing fssst! grew louder and louder. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! and the snoring grew softer and softer. Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! until there was no more snoring, and eventually, no more slicing.

Horace let out a loud sigh.

"What is it?" asked Clem, expecting to be hushed by the oldtimer.

"It's almost over," Horace answered. "Nothing left but to wait. Get some sleep if you can. It'll be morning soon."

A sudden lurch startled Jonathan and awakened him from his dozing. The others were all yawning and stretching and repositioning themselves in the cramped quarters. Jon wondered if he hadn't dreamt the lurch-but then it happened again, and a third time, and a fourth.

"Hang on, this might get a little rough," said Horace.

"Why, what's happening?" asked Clem.

"The Machine. It's dying," the old bird answered matter-of-factly.

"Are we INSIDE it?" peeped Gerty.

"No. We're on top of it. Seems our big mamabird here wouldn't quite fit through the hatch."

Gerty gave Jon a glance as they both imagined the dreaded Oinky Boinker lurching across the plain with a giant grass ostrich riding on top. What would everybird think of that?

Again the Machine lurched, and the raucous noise of its engines and sirens and turrets and treads seemed to melt gradually into a dirge. With each new lurch the noise subsided a bit, and the rumbling vibrations became a sad dying hum.

Then the lurches suddenly became more violent, and the air was filled with loud boinks and hisses. The purposeful clatter that had horrified the birds for so long was dwindling into a discombobulated cacophony of gronk and doyng and clungk. The lurches began to come at shorter and shorter intervals, and many were accompanied by jets of steam and whorls of ostrich feathers.

Bit by bit, with each new lurch, the ostriches felt the energy of the Boinker escaping, dissipating, unwinding.

And then the great the Oinky Boinky Machine gave one last

kerplunk!!#$%@$$%@$#!!

that faded into a long, slow

khwhissssshhhh

like the sigh of rain on a prarie fire.

All was silent. Nobird dared to breath. Was it dead? Was the Machine really dead?

"Come on, kids," laughed Horace. "Let's get outta here!" The old bird turned and wriggled his way back down the dark, narrow tunnel to the giant's rear exit. He opened the flap and peeked out the hole. "We did it!" he cried. "We did it!"

First Jon and Gerty, and then Bert and Bart and all the rest squirmed down the tunnel and past the flap and out onto the flat grey roof of the Oinky Boinky Machine. Down below hundreds of ostriches were sliding their heads out of their holes and gasping at the sight before them.

For there towered the great form of the Oinky Boinker stopped dead in its tracks, with a giant ostrich poking out of its top!

And to top it off, a squadron of brave heroes was plopping one by one out of the marvelous giant's magnificent hole!

"Hooray!" the ostriches shouted as the more meek among them inched back into their holes. "Hallelujah!"

One by one some bolder birds shyly approached the Machine to peck at its cold metal surface. A few actually climbed onto its heavy treads or into its trap doors and turrets, sniffing and listening for any signs of life.

"Three cheers!" they cried. "Three cheers for this day! The MACHINE is dead! The OINKY BOINKY MACHINE is DEAD!"

The sight of the stilled Machine and the commotion below it drew birds from all about, and in no time the news began to spread. Ostriches from far and wide were soon journeying to the north to see for themselves the lifeless hulk of the monster that had dominated them for so long.

And the heroes of the day stood above it all, looking thin and ragged and battleworn.

"Look!" cried the birds below "Isn't that the flyer?"

Or, "That old one's called Horace. He planned the whole thing!"

Or, "How do you think they did it?"

Though naptime came and went, nobird slept. The growing throng of ostriches took to singing and dancing merrily, sending clouds of errant feathers wafting up to the top of the Machine. By evening, as far as the eye could see was an ocean of gay birds, laughing and pecking and do-si-do-ing for all they were worth.

Horace slipped back into the grass giant and emerged with his coil of rope.

"Here, take this," he told Jonathan.

As the oldster wrapped one end around a mooring at the edge of the Machine, he instructed Jon to take the other end in his beak and fly down to the ground. "Go ahead," he said, as if Jonathan could really fly.

Jon's heart leapt into his throat (which is quite a leap in an ostrich.) He remembered how he had stubbed his toes as a youth. He looked over at Gerty, and he thought about Ferd's suspicions.

Then Jonathan Livingston Ostrich raised his wings high above his back and jumped right off the edge of the Machine!

At first he seemed to plummet. But before he knew it the air rushed up under his wings, and he flapped like crazy, and he sort of blundered to a rough landing at the foot of the Boinker.

Had he done it? Had he really flown?

"Now stretch the rope out," Horace hollered from above, "and stand on it."

Jon limped away from the side of the Machine and did as he was told. Horace turned facing away from Jonathan, and then with his stiff old legs and wings dangled on either side of it, he slid tail-first clown the rope, bouncing roughly to a halt at Jonathan's feet. Clem and Clementine, Bert and Bart, Gerty and the rest all followed, until all thirteen brave ostriches stood in the midst of the adoring throng.

"Three cheers!" cried the birds, "Three cheers for our heroes! Hip hip, hooray! Hip hip, HOORAY! HIP HIP, HOORAY!!!"

The uproarious mob lifted Jon and Horace and the others onto their backs and began to dance in a grand, glorious circle around the corpse of the Oinky Boinker. Like leaves in a whirlwind they danced and sang around and around, while more and more birds came running from far and wide to join in the celebration.

"Oink, doink," they sang, " the Boinker's dead, the nasty old Boinker's dead. Oink, doink, the mean old Boinker's dead!"

Drunk with pride, their heads spinning, the heroes of the day joined in the song. Jon and Gerty managed a little dance of their own atop the broad backs of the mob, and Horace practically fainted as he was carried again and again around the defeated Machine. Clem grabbed a pretty young chick and yanked her up beside him, while Bert and Bart rolled over and over from shoulder to shoulder on the swirling, swarming mass of happy birds.

"We did it!" Gerty sang into Jonathan's ear, "we DID it!"

"Sure did," said Jonathan. "We sure did."

That night more birds than could be counted slept on the plain surrounding the dead Machine. Many slept standing upright, like their heroes, though this habit wouldn't be fully adopted for a long time to come.

Nobird, not even the heroes, understood exactly how the Oinky Boinker had been stopped. But to the birdbrained ostriches of Lesser Analia, it wasn't really important how it had happened, only that it had happened.

Everybird counted Jonathan as the greatest hero of all. He was a flyer, and he had retrieved the golden crown. It was Jonathan who erected the giant grass ostrich, and he was the last one into its hole, and the first to fly down from atop the Machine.

By all accounts he should have been on cloud nine. But poor Jon was an honest and humble bird. He didn't like all the attention. He longed for the quiet, peaceful life he had once enjoyed. He just didn't feel like a hero.

On the day after the celebration, most of the birds began leaving for their homes. As the scene settled down a bit, Jon was finally able to speak alone with Horace. He had quite a few questions for the old bird.

"How did it happen?" he began. "I just don't understand."

"Very simple," responded Horace. "It was the poppies. Knocked the pigs right out. Knocked 'em out, and they fell off the ceiling smack into the Machine."

"So that's why the snoring stopped," Jon concluded.

"Sliced' em and diced 'em," Horace went on, and Jonathan noticed a change in the old bird. "Sliced 'em and diced 'em, and then it just ran out of gas. Methane, to be exact. No flesh. No manure. No methane...No Machine."

Jon was as confused as ever. "Then why didn't Zsa-Zsa and the others get knocked out?" he asked.

"Different physiology;" answered Horace. "Little bitty brains. Primitive neural receptors. There's a midget in every great army, you know."

Horace just wasn't himself. He didn't make sense at all.

But Jon had other problems to think about. Ferd and Gerty were approaching, which filled him with an odd sense of shame.

"Oh Jon, l'm so happy," piped Gerty.

"And we're all really-well, proud of you," added Ferd. "Everybird wants to see you fly again.

"Oh, won't you, Jon? For ME?" gushed Gerty.

"Well," Jon mused as he raised a wing and winced in pain. "I guess I could try."

Horace suddenly popped out of his daydream and walked to Jon's side. The old bird raised a wing and propped it on Jon's shoulder. "You DO believe Jonathan can fly, don't you?" he said sharply.

"Oh, sure," Gerty peeped. "Everybird does. Well, almost everybird."

By now a small crowd was gathering around Jonathan, anticipating a show. A murmur was rising, and Jon felt the weight of brewing skepticism. What was he to do?

Just then several birds in the crowd gasped, and a hush descended upon them. In the distance a dark form was approaching from the sky.

"What is it?" somebird hollered.

"It's an eagle!" screeched one bird. "A giant eagle!"

"It's a flyer, another flyer!" a second bird squawked.

"It's an angel!" cried a familiar old voice. "An angel!"

The crowd fluttered and parted as the dark shape hovered and floated to the ground right beside Horace. The birds closed in around the visitor from the sky, but nobird dared go near enough to touch it. A few old hens actually fainted, and the more pious birds bowed their heads. For a long while all were silent.

Horace looked fondly at the humble ostriches. Then, with the coil of rope held tightly in his beak, he stepped onto the sofa and settled into the cushions beside Astril Potato.

"Jonathan..." the old bird said solemnly, as if the whole thing had been planned from the start.

Jonathan looked around at his friends. Every face shone with wonder. He wrapped his neck around Ferd's in a Iong embrace, and then he kissed Gerty on the beak.

"Goodbye," he said. He hung his head and stepped onto the sofa, and a strange calm swept over him.

"But what...where..." Ferd stammered as his head bobbed nervously up and down.

"You will come back, won't you?" asked Gerty as bravely as she could. "Won't you?"

Before Jon could answer, the sofa rose slowly off the ground and ascended into the sky. Like a cloud it floated in a graceful arc towards the north. The ostriches stood and gazed in awe.

And as the angel rose into the heavens, the birds saw Jonathan Livingston Ostrich step off into the azure yonders; and he seemed for a moment to plummet straight towards the ground.

But then the wind whooshed up under his wings, and he was yanked skyward, and he began to flail and flap wildly.

And as the greatest hero in the history of Lesser Analia faded into the haze, he settled into a limp, effortless glide, following beneath Horace and the angel as they soared ever higher, never to be seen again.

Gerty snuggled up against Ferd. "This is one pair," she sighed as a warm glow welled up in her belly, "that'll know EXACTLY who their father was."

Copyright 2005 by Preston Coleman