The other petit oiseau

While shopping with Julie in Paris, we happened upon a Pylones store chock-a-block full of good, fun things. Like the Nutella spreader! Feeling a little bad that Wyatt was getting all shopped-out, I promised him he could pick out a small toy. He quickly zeroed in on a little bird. A singing bird. A singing bird that is quiet until it is moved in any way, and then it sings. It is also magnetic, so, theoretically, you could set it out on your desk and paper clips would stick to it. And you could grab one, jostle the little bird, and get a brief song for your efforts.

We bought the bird, and I saw that it only needed to be activated by us pulling on a plastic strip. Voila! The bird started singing! Well, it really wasn't so much singing or chirping as it was like a tiny car alarm. Steady, relentless, and more high-pitched than a car alarm. You know: that car alarm that is kind of old-school -- the one that goes off randomly in the street and no one pays any attention to it, except to think, "GOD! I wish that car alarm would STOP!" So if you can conjur up a petite version of that sound, you can imagine what the little bird sounds like.
Almost immediately, we looked for the off switch.
There wasn't one. There was no way to turn it off. We popped back into the store to take a look at the other birds and see if perhaps we had accidentally picked up a manufacturing anomaly, but none of the birds had off switches (had not noticed that before purchase.)
So we continued on through our day, with the bird "singing" all the way. At some point, he was gently placed in my bag, where he continued to sing.
The next day, Wyatt insisted the bird accompany us during our day. Wanting my son to be happy, I agreed. So the bird sang again through the streets of Paris, and through the Metro, where we only got a few inquisitive looks.
I thought surely the bird would crap out after all these hours of singing, but he continued on the train to Aix, and then showed no signs of flagging when it was time to fly home. I was kind of concerned about bringing a high-frequency alarm-sounding small metallic object onboard the flight, so I secured him deep within the suitcase, swaddling him in two week's worth of clothes. You could still hear him. But, did not cause any trouble, nor was he confiscated.
And so it's been a few weeks now, with sporadic but steady play. Yesterday the bird was found by Harry, who wanted to take him in the car. The bird sang at ever bump and turn. Now, it is resting in a high perch, and I don't know if it's a version of Stockholm Syndrome, or what, but I have feelings of admiration swelling in my heart. Sure, there's annoyance there, too, but I have to hand it to Pylones, they made a good product.