“You’ll need some birds.” One of they flamingos flapped herself down onto the deck. “Hi, I’m JoLeen. Us birds up above have been yakking at each other while we’ve been keeping your ship moving. We found out that we all took this gig for a lark. But now we’ve bonded and we’re looking to stay together. Like at your new inn, Mr. Bluebeard. We’ll patrol the skies for you. Keep out the riffraff.” She bowed. “And welcome your guests.”
“With bird songs.” One of Bluebeard’s wives name of Imelda piped up. “Nightly concerts on the veranda. Sweet music to send them off to sleep.”
“Um, about that.” JoLeen cleared her throat. “We’re really not songbirds. We try but, well, take a listen. Hit it, birds.” Aye me mateys, they bird chorus it be like a symphony. If’n none of they instruments be in tune. And they musicians is never played a note afore. It shivered all they ship’s timbers.
“OK. OK” Imelda uncovered her ears. “I can work with that. I used to be a music teacher. And we’ve got plenty of time before the first guests come. You’ll be singing like, well like birds, way before then.”
“Nice,” Bluebeard hugged Imelda. “So that’s frogs and rabbits and birds.”
“And us.” One of they gorillas he lumbered up to Bluebeard.
Baba Blogga Yaga 