I’m Flockin Here!

2020 was a pretty wild year, but I don’t need to tell you that. It was historic…we all saw how crazy things got. It was a dark, confusing time and a lot was covered up. And I didn’t even know about plastic then either, so... wait, I’m talkin’ about the Rockefeller Christmas tree incident, what’d you think I meant? I doubt we need to do introductions here, but I’ll play along. My name is Rockefeller, you know the name, the center, the tree, the bird. So yeah, in case you didn’t know I’m kind of a big deal.

Last November I was just a small-town bird in a big Christmas tree. One day these guys pull up—rude as heck—and come over to my tree and start shaking it, making a ton of noise in the middle of the day. Next thing I know the whole tree is crashing down and getting wrapped up in plastic. I blackout, wake up, and it’s two days later. Boom. I’m in New York City. Apparently, the humans have this tradition of chopping down owl homes and puttin’ a bunch of foofy lights on ’em. Really ruffled my feathers.

But then everyone started taking pictures of me in the tree! It was all over the news: “Brave Owl Survives Journey to the Big City.” Even the Times covered it (it’s true, look it up). And let me tell ya, it was about time this bird got some recognition. Back in the forest, I wasn’t exactly the biggest guy or best hunter or nothing, but here I was a celebirdy.

So after that whole ordeal, I did some interviews and then went for drinks at The Plaza—on the house of course. It was a long trip and New York City is a lot to take in, but things were really turnin’ around. But then this pigeon comes along and you know how pigeons can be—anyway we end up getting into a street fight over a dollar slice. Before I could even finish it, two guys in uniforms were taking me by the wings into this truck and driving off. Now I wouldn’t have said I had a problem, but ya know, the fame can go to your head… so I wound up getting sent to a rehab center a couple of hours upstate. They call it an owl ‘sanctuary’, and sure... there’s a spa— great bird baths, and the three-course mice meals are nice too. But what they don’t tell you is how many wack jobs come into that place.

So many birds thinkin’ they’re special with their broken wings and ripped talon sob stories. I got tired of hearing them blabbing their beaks all day. The program’s not cut out for all of us. Not every bird can do the 12 flaps. But I did. I admitted I had a problem, righted my wrongs, said what I needed to say. After a while, there was nothin’ else for me to do and they just expect us to live there forever?! Not this owl.

I was gettin’ a little bird-brained…a little cuckoo (no offense to any Cuckoos out there). So I started thinking of how I was gonna get outta there. I couldn’t do it alone, because those cages are locked tight. But then I met this guy Barry. Saw him gnawing away at some netting one day. At first, I thought he was tryin’ to break out too, but turns out it was some kind of nervous tick—didn’t even know he was doin’ it, poor guy. Yeah, he ain’t the brightest bird, but he’s loyal and everyone famous needs a groupie, right? So, a few days go by and the hole got big enough to fly through. We had the rest of our escape all planned out. Barry made some decoys out of hay to put in our beds—which he was pretty good at, bein’ a barn owl and all. And then all that was left was to get past the hawks on night watch, and they do that job real well. Gives me the creeps. But luckily there were enough crazies to keep ’em busy. Soon as Susan the Screech started doing her thing, we had our chance….and as my farm feathered friends say, we flew the coop.

You’re probably wondering what’s next for me, right? Where does a small town owl-turned-celebrity-turned-rehab escapee go from here? Well, after my brush with fame I realized it’s been my destiny all along. I was meant to be a New Yorker. And not some common street pigeon, I was gonna be a Broadway star. I’d always dreamt of being famous. I was going to audition for Hedwig in Harry Potter—thought I’d just fly across the pond—but let me tell ya it’s a LOT bigger than it sounds. But Broadway…it just feels right ya know? And I heard some cats landed a whole musical, so how hard can it be?

Anyway, by morning we were pretty beat since it is our nighttime after all. But conveniently, we saw these huge metal boxes going down a track; they had these big blue letters, and next to that it said ‘New York-bound’ right on the side! So, we flew in through an open window, scarin’ a couple humans (heh). And went into this tiny little room. It didn’t smell great, but it had a birdbath with a white roll of paper on the side in case we wanted to dry off. Very thoughtful Mr. Amtrak! It’s the little things.

Then we found a dark sleeping compartment called ‘Trash’ next to that. It also didn’t smell too great, but what can ya do. Barry and I fell asleep then suddenly our metal box lurched to a stop and I knew we must have arrived. I had Barry be the lookout for those uniformed humans: one hoot to wait, two for it’s safe. But Barry got it mixed up, so I come flyin’ out and we crash right into each other, the klutz! He chipped my beak a little but eh, my agent says it adds character.

We fly to the street and immediately grab a bacon-egg-cheese-salt-pepper-ketchup. What, you think owls are above eating eggs? I have a cousin in Australia that ate a whole ostrich once. But being an actor now I gotta watch my figure. After that, we went to Central Park for somethin’ a little more...organic and holed up in a hotel there. On the way, we went to Macy’s because I figured if want to get discovered I need to look the part.

Finally, we were ‘bout to head out, lookin’ fresh, and Barry leaves the door wide open with our suitcases in there and everything! I turned to Barry like ‘What, were ya born in a…’ and Barry whipped his head all the way round to look at me, eyes real wide, which is sayin somethin for an owl, so I knew not to say anything else about it.

Nightlife in Manhattan is big, especially for us owls, it’s a real who’s-hoo. There’s this one place called the Crow’s Nest on top of the rock, not the building, just a big rock in Central Park. But the place is infamous! Going all the way back to the '60s—you know Hitchcock’s The Birds? All those birds were discovered right there, true story.

Well, Barry and I were dancing and drinking and next thing I know the biggest star-turned-agent on Broadway is coming right towards me. I mean he’s done everything from Zazu in the Lion King to Iago in Aladdin. I heard he’s so good he even got to play a flying monkey in Wicked, that's acting. So long story short—we talked, he signed me, and soon enough I got a gig to star in the world’s first Owls on Ice adaptation of Kinky Boots, Rinky Hoots! So that’s my story, which was really just a long-winded plug for this production (heh). I hope to see you all there on opening night! Ya don’t want to miss it, I’m kind of a big deal.