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Ornithophobia.
It’s a word Mistel learned as a teenager after coming across it in a novel and referencing a dictionary to clarify its meaning. The label made his debilitating fear of birds sound much more elegant. He remembered shoving the novel’s page in Iris’s face in his excitement to her cooing approval of his discovery. Since that day, he hadn’t taken a single step to lessen his debilitating fear, reckoning that naming it was sufficient. As far as he was concerned, the damned crow that accosted him so many years ago sealed the deal immediately: birds were to be distrusted and kept at a distance. His and Iris’s move to a rural town some five years back had put a wrench in his plans for eternal avoidance, but he managed. Bird festivals? Give the stage a wide berth. Walks up the mountain trail? Well, those sparrows were as scared as he was. Visiting the Safari? No thank you, in perpetuity.
He managed.
Until a lovely new farmer moved to town, bewitched him, and became a prolific chicken breeder, in that order. Loud, frantic chickens were nearly as frightening as crows, which were far too smart to be trusted. Mistel had been aware of Annie’s fowl-focused farm for some time, but it never struck him as relevant until White Day, when he walked to her door to hand deliver a box of madeleines. (He’d made them himself after weeks of practice on days when Iris was out of town; while he was proud of the effort and results, he’d never want it to get out that he put so much work into something so earnest .) Once he’d rounded the final bend before Annie’s farm came into sight, he heard the ruckus of a few dozen chickens chattering and shuffling around a large grazing pen. Mistel simply couldn’t approach the fray. Annie was on the western side of her property, barely visible, through the gauntlet of flapping beasts, and Mistel balked. He scrawled a note expressing his regret for missing her and wished her a happy White Day, stuck the crumpled scrap paper in the beautiful pastry box, and sprinted to her doorstep to deposit the package. After turning tail, he didn’t stop running until he reached the piedmont, and once he got home, his pounding heart and dizzying hyperventilation forced him to bed for the rest of the day. He claimed a headache when Iris got in so she would dote on rather than question him.
That fright had finally inspired him to do more than manage his damned ornithophobia by avoidance alone, which led to a disastrously traumatic initial attempt.
Agate had been a good friend of Mistel’s for several years. Their houses sat across the plaza from each other, so they regularly crossed paths. She seemed unaware of others’ awkwardness and standoffishness and managed to sucker Mistel into a friendship over yogurt parfaits and persistence; she proved to be so infectiously enthusiastic and kind that Mistel gave up on trying to push her away. Truth be told, his life was better for her presence in it.
Rather, it had been until he broached the topic of his phobia to her over an evening conversation at Agate’s house.
Once he’d decided to do something about the infuriating roadblock to his “romantic bliss,” as Iris would put it, Agate was his first thought. Her being a safari guide and a deeply passionate animal lover to boot meant that the propoition thrilled her. She wasted no time in developing a “lesson plan,” which Mistel found encouraging until she told him she was keeping it under wraps.
“So you can’t prepare ahead of time, of course! Don’t be silly,” she’d told him.
Unfortunately, the plan proved to be fatally flawed and poorly thought out. One pleasant late spring evening, he was walking past the bridge when Agate bounded down the mountain straight towards him, depositing a docile sparrow into his hands.
Mistel jumped at Agate’s sudden appearance and the unexpected weight in his grasp.
Then he began hyperventilating, frozen in place, his legs gone numb. As his knees threatened to give out, he screamed at Agate to take the awful creature away. Once she removed the offending thing , Mistel collapsed backwards against the bridge railing to fight off tunnel vision birthed from his panic.
After Mistel collected himself (well over an hour later), Agate did apologize profusely and buy him dinner while wailing about her terrible idea. Mistel forgave her - begrudgingly - because he knew she didn’t have a cruel bone in her body and had genuinely believed holding a “sweet little bird” would cure anybody of their fear. Mistel shelved dealing with his damn phobia for a full week after the failed foray.
(After his ‘apology dinner’ with Agate, he’d also gone to Iris for her cloying brand of sisterly care, which he rarely sought out. But after such a bone-deep scare with an audience that he had to comfort while still shaking like a leaf himself? He needed the crushing hugs, please and thanks.)
Spring was winding down, and the Moo Moo festival had just ended, which meant that the worst time of year would arrive soon. Summer was horrible for two main reasons: the unbearable heat and the Cluck-Cluck festival, though at least the former could be mitigated with air conditioning and wearing light fabrics. Nothing could lessen the hellish torment of a festival centered on birds ; Iris had dragged Mistel to it every year since they’d moved to Oak Tree Town. The seasonal harvest festivals were nearly as bad, but at least vegetables didn’t make noise or move of their own volition. This year’s awful bird gathering would surely prove to be as painful as all its predecessors - Mistel would stand as far from the podium and staging areas as the Trade Depot walls would allow, but he’d still flinch at every squawk. He knew that Veronica shared his fear of birds, yet she maintained her composure while emceeing the offending festival each year. Mistel had to know how she managed and forced himself to swallow his pride after the week prior with Agate to approach the guild mistress.
“Excuse me, Veronica. Do you have a moment?”
She turned to him, expression somehow aloof yet warm as always. “Hello, Mistel! How can I help you?”
“First, I’d like to congratulate you on another well-organized festival.” She smiled her thanks and tilted her head, urging him to continue. “I have a rather…odd question. Next season’s animal festival has me wondering…you’ve said before that you fear chickens, yet you’re always been the paragon of calm for the competition. If I may ask, how on earth do you do it?”
Veronica laughed and Mistel frowned. “Sorry, sorry! I’m simply surprised, but I’m happy to share, of course. Some years ago, before you and Iris arrived, I struggled mightily with hosting. I’d dread each summer, even get sick with it the week of the festival. Marian once offhandedly mentioned exposure therapy, and after chewing on the thought for a few weeks, I sent a letter to our fine judge. He has a wonderful way with animals and humans!”
“Woofio? ”
“That very man! I won’t bore you with the details, but he guided me through the process with great kindness. I could connect the two of you, if you’d like.”
Despite his shock, Mistel nodded gratefully. Woofio? Really? “Thank you, Veronica. Yes, that would be wonderful.”
“Of course! Anything to help a neighbor.” She studied him for a beat, and he couldn’t help but squirm under her gaze. “May I ask why you suddenly want to work on your fear?”
He stammered around a weak explanation as his cheeks burned. “Uh…ahem, no reason! Er, personal reasons! It’s nothing, really.”
Veronica suppressed a smile and quickly glanced at Annie and her gold medal cow. Damn it.
“I see. I won’t press you. Good luck on this endeavor, Mistel.” He grit his teeth as she sashayed away to speak with Otmar. She was far too perceptive: it was the reason her rarely sought her company. But, he reminded himself, he had taken a second first step - even if it was humiliating.
Woofio was crying.
Mistel was sat at an outdoor cafe table with the costumed man, and that man was crying. No visible tears, of course; although Woofio managed to be surprisingly expressive through the layers of foam and cloth, even he wasn’t quite gifted enough to make the mascot head produce tears. Rather, his emotion was apparent in the watery warbling tone of his voice.
“Well, isn’t that the most doggone ewe-tiful thing you ever did hear? I’d be honored to help with such a noble purr-suit.”
Mistel cringed - this little tête-à-tête was meant to be discreet, yet here Woofio was wailing for the whole town and the next one over to hear. Even so, the end result of this meeting would hopefully be worth the present embarrassment.
***
Woofio met Mistel at the antique early in the morning a few days hence. He had asked for an outline of Woofio’s plans after explaining the previous week’s embarrassing failure. Apparently, there would be no live bird contact for the first few sessions. Mistel hadn’t been sure what the meetings could entail without live specimens, but he certainly hadn’t imagined…this.
“I mean no disrespect, but isn’t this a little…elementary?” And demeaning , he thought to himself.
Mistel was holding a stuffed bird, standing beside the entrance to the Safari. They were situated far from the ducks and shoebills, thank the goddess. Woofio had handed the toy to him and set a timer for fifteen minutes.
“Ya have to start somewhere. Since Miss Agate helped us learn that real birds are a no-go, I thought we could begin with something easier, and that plushie is cluckin’ cute!”
This guy can curse ?
His ears burned at the memory of his full-blown panic attack a few weeks prior. “I suppose that makes sense, thought what truly frightens me is the unpredictability of birds. Especially that of chickens.”
“Hmm…how do you feel about birds on film?”
“Uh…so-so?”
***
That was how Mistel and the bizarre animal contest emcee-cum-teacher ended up watching video compilations of free-range chicken farms. Mistel did find himself squirming uncomfortably at times, but it wasn’t as bad as a few days later when Woofio brought him to his wife Holly’s farm to watch eggs hatch.
Holly was…surprisingly similar to the farmers back in Oak Tree Town. It was also surprising to learn that Woofio had a wife and a normal house, though he supposed it made some amount of sense. Public persona aside, Woofio had proven to be a sincerely nice person, patient and creative and even a good conversationalist -
“Mistel, meet my dove-ly wife Holly! I’m barkin’ mad about this gal!”
- excessive animal puns notwithstanding.
She was warm and effusive: she shook Mistel’s hand with a sure grip before leading him around the farm for a tour. The terrain was quite different from Oak Tree Town’s, more rolling hills than mountains and forest, and Mistel thanked his lucky stars because the farm was expansive . Holly steered their trio away from the main bird barn to a smaller building, which she explained was for her brooding hens and their eggs. She’d made sure that all of the chickens were outside before guiding Mistel to the barns.
Walking past the hens, Mistel did react poorly: muscles tensing, extremities tingling unpleasantly, and a queasy dread clawing its way up his throat. As he breathed shallowly, Woofio placed a steadying hand - paw? - on his shoulder to guide him past the disinterested fowl. It was an unexpectedly touching gesture, one that helped him make it through to the incubator, where he finally had a moment to untense his shoulders and breathe deeply for the first time in several minutes. He had expected to sit waiting for ages, but Holly had intentionally timed the trek to get them there when a few chicks had nearly pecked their way out of their egg shells. Mistel hadn’t expected to feel more than a tiny jolt of fear from the outside of an enclosed device watching brand new chicks - those were predictable: tiny, toddling to get used to their legs, downy feathers drying. But he couldn’t have guessed he’d find them almost cute.
“Howl are ya feeling?”
Howl?! That was forced. “Surprisingly endeared and only passingly nervous, if even that.”
Holly clapped excitedly. “That’s good! Chicks are the sweetest little things. The first animal born on my farm was actually a chicken - she’s not much of a layer now, but she still rules the roost. Fowl are very good starter animals for someone new to ranching.”
She led her husband and Mistel back to the farmhouse, talking shop all the while, eventually working her way to Annie’s prizewinning flock.
“She’s incredible at what she does - it’s already impressive to win so many local chicken festivals, never mind dominating the scene regionally. I only regret that I’ll never be able to share a stage with her!”
“Why ever not? I don’t know a good hen from a bad one, but yours have proven to be...lively.”
“Oh, nothing about the quality of my birds! It’s about fairness - my dear judges all the contests in the region aside from Westown’s, and that’s only been since we got married. Wouldn’t look fair to be judged by my own husband, and I certainly didn’t want to retire from showing my fowl and cattle this early in my career!”
Somehow, in the week or so of working with Woofio, Mistel had nearly forgotten that he was a renowned judge and commentator. He’d started to feel…almost like a friend. The dog costume had even started to fade into the back of his mind.
“I see. Woofio’s recusal makes sense in that case.”
“Yep! My Uncle Frank took over in Woofio’s stead, so everything worked out just fine.”
Mistel choked on his tea. So much for avoiding a conflict of interest!
***
After their initial meeting and audience with newly hatched chicks, Holly and Woofio had Mistel visit by train twice a week during the month leading up to the Cluck Cluck festival. The visits would have been pleasant if not for the grueling exposure to feathery terrors in one form or another. He’d watch from a distance as Holly fed the flock, gathered eggs, and most awfully, picked up each flapping creature to nuzzle it. The day he stepped into their grazing pen, he thought he was going to collapse even as the beasts ignored him in favor of pecking at bugs. The hardest “lesson,” as it were, was the day he helped Holly feed the chickens and then finally pet one. Luckily, Holly chose the calmest of the chicks that hatched during his first visit. It wasn’t fully grown and remained docile as Mistel rubbed its back - its head was too close to that awful, threatening beak - with trembling hands. Woofio, who had learned to stick close by to act as a bolstering force, cheered quietly before handing Mistel some water and reminding him to take deep breaths. Their day had ended with that milestone because his heart could not handle any more stress, so they went to Lulukoko for lunch to celebrate the momentous success.
Mistel was unaware that Holly and Woofio watched him with pride as he walked past the hens and only flinched a little when they squawked rather than speeding off entirely like he had just a few weeks prior.
***
Since he had been visiting the farm for weeks by that point, Holly had cottoned on to his motivations for acclimating to chickens, and she was unfortunately similar to Iris in wanting to know everything . Once seated at the cafe, she drilled him for details before landing on what felt like the most important question.
“Well, Mistel, I’d say you’ve just about graduated from Woofio’s program. What’s your plan from here?”
He gulped, nerves set ablaze by the realization that there was still the confession aspect of this whole ordeal to contend with. “Oh, goodness, I suppose the first thing is standing closer to the stage during the festival. A show of support, you see: we all root for our hometown competitors, of course, but I want to be more apparent about it. Even if Annie doesn’t notice at all - that’s not the point of it. I suppose it’s more the principle of the thing, that she’s a friend and a neighbor before anything else. And then…I think I’ll pay her a visit that evening to show my cards.” He swallowed and felt himself blushing furiously. “No, to…confess. It’ll take walking through the valley of feather and death, but I think I can manage now.”
“We both know that you can manage. You don’t have to pet a chicken to ask someone out, and you did pet one today!” She hummed thoughtfully. “You’ve thought about this for a while, haven’t you?”
He ran a hand through his hair and groaned. “ Months . I only recently thought there was any chance in attempting because of the two of you and all the assistance. Thank you very much - I’m so indebted, truly.”
“I’m so happy to have helped! We’d love to hear about how things go after the festival, if you’d like to share.”’
“If all goes well, I’ll happily host both of you for dinner. If not…” he laughed nervously, “I will be licking my wounds alone for several business days and will let you know from there.”
***
Woofio saw Mistel off at the train station, while Holly had stayed behind to finish up some farm chores. The Cluck Cluck festival would be in two days, and both men needed to prepare. Woofio had to gather his judging guidebook, and Mistel would be steeling his nerves, so they said their goodbyes and moved on to prepare for the festival.
The festival had just finished, and Annie received another gold medal for her silkie chicken. Residents of Oak Tree Town made their rounds to commend her on another win and spare Fritz an encouraging word for coming in fourth place once again. Mistel shakily approached Annie to offer his congratulations and she instinctively stepped between him and her chicken; the gesture sent a pang through his heart - it was so very thoughtful and kind of her, although, to his great surprise, it might not have been needed. He found that it was more nerve wracking to speak with her than it was to stand near a relatively calm silkie. It was a welcome bit of encouragement for stopping by her farm in the evening and facing countless other chickens all at once, but for now, he stammered out kind words as his heart raced to see her so gleeful at the outcome of the event.
Mistel skipped over pouring sympathy over Fritz for the umpteenth time; he was too frazzled with nerves and tentative hope to muster up his usual put-upon niceties.
***
A few hours after the festival, once the sun began setting and the oppressive heat of the day finally dissipated, Mistel made the long trek up the mountain to Annie’s farm. He rehearsed his confession the entire way, choosing each word carefully. When he reached the stone wall surrounding her property, he saw her ushering her heaps of chickens and handful of cattle into their respective barns. After a moment of hesitation, he quieted the voice of his doubt, took a deep breath, and made his way over to the first person who’d ever inspired him to overcome his most debilitating fear.
***
Woofio fretted from within a copse outside of Annie’s farm - it had a perfect view of her chicken barn and enough room for both himself and Holly, who’d mischievously suggested the undertaking once the festival had wrapped up. She wanted to see how Mistel managed, with the unspoken addition of silently supporting him and watching to see how things worked out. Woofio didn’t love sneaking around, but Holly could convince him of anything if it was rooted in good intentions.
Holly yanked her husband out of his thoughts by shaking his arm and pointing madly: Mistel had called out to Annie, and she turned around with her beautifully sleek silkie under one arm. He visibly tensed and she started to back away apologetically, but Mistel reached out to grab her wrist and stop her from creating distance. He began speaking to her, though unfortunately too quiet to carry. Holly squeezed Woofio’s hand and the evening seemed to hold its breath before Annie shouted happily, jumping forward to embrace Mistel with the chicken still under her arm. It squawked angrily and flapped out of the crush to safety inside the barn.
And doggone, Mistel didn’t even flinch.