Chapter 6

Chapter 6 Sugar, Dirt, and the little blue bird tiptoed across the yard. They stopped in the middle of the lawn and waited for the sprinkler to switch to the other side. "It's right back here," said the little bird. "It's the oak tree. I call her Duncan." "You named your tree?" asked Sugar.

"Of course," said the little bird. "Never trust a bird who doesn't name her tree." "Of course," said Dirt. "I told you she was weird," whispered Sugar. The oak tree was the tallest tree in the yard. With the thick leaves of summer, it looked like a solid wall of green. It was impossible to see anything hidden behind it. "Where's your nest?" asked Dirt. "I don't have a nest," said the little bird. "I have a house." "That's a little strange, don't you think?" asked Sugar. "Birds are supposed to build nests, not live in houses." "Do you live in a nest?" asked the little blue bird. "Of course not," said Sugar. "I'm a chicken. I live in a chicken coop."

"And I'm a bird," said the little bird. "So I live in a birdhouse." "You've got me there, Weird Blue Chicken," said Sugar. "I don't see it," said Dirt. "I don't see your house." The little bird hopped from place to place on the ground below the tree. "It should be right up there," she said. "This is where it's always been—about seven inches off the ground. It's red. It has a hole in the middle for a door, and a beautiful slanted green roof. It's about eight feet high and four feet wide." Dirt pulled out a sketchpad and a box of crayons from behind her back. "Somebody get this kid a ruler," said Sugar. "It's okay," said Dirt. "I know she means eight inches high and four inches wide, and it's about seven feet off the ground." Sugar walked around the base of the tree. "I don't see it, ma'am," she said. "I'm starting to think you dragged us all out here for nothing," Dirt turned her sketchpad around. "Is this it?"

"That's it!" The little bird gasped. "How did you do that?" "I'm a good listener," said Dirt. "Red house, square front, round hole, green slanted roof." "Wait just one minute," said Sugar. "Describe this house-napper again. This time I want details." "Well, he's short, yellow, and kind of fuzzy," said the little bird. "Hmm," said Sugar. "Anything else? A tattoo? A limp? A dangerous-looking scar?" "I don't remember any scars or tattoos," said the little bird. Dirt showed her a sketch. "Not quite," said the little bird. "His head is weird. It looks like an egg." Dirt adjusted the sketch. "Not quite," said the little bird. "His eyes are more round." Dirt adjusted the sketch again.

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"Closer," said the little bird. "He's got two orange feathers sticking out of the top of his lumpy head. They are about two feet long." "Inches, kid, INCHES!" snapped Sugar. Dirt adjusted the sketch AGAIN. "That's him!" screamed the little bird. "You did it! That's the egg-headed bird who stole my house." "Oh, brother," said Dirt. She passed the sketch to Sugar. "Oh, brother," said Sugar. "That is no egg-headed little bird," said Dirt.