Special Delivery: An Origin Story

by Hallie Ranta

Like every other warehouse around the world, we were swamped on the night of the summer’s first full moon. Line workers sorted and labeled the outgoing parcels, while flyers returned from previous assignments and headed back out the door with new ones in a rush of wings.

Against protocol, Emmitt ordered the newest recruits to make deliveries, and I suppose that’s where this whole thing began.

I had just delivered four poodle pups and was met with a chaotic scene of sirens, fluttering wings, and hushed whispers that swept the room in waves.

“What’s going on?” I asked Stanley as he finished packing my next assignment.

“The inevitable,” he groaned, shaking his head. “Newbie lost a litter.”

“How dreadful!”

“Aye. Flew too close to a storm and was spooked by lightning. What’s rufflin’ feathers,” he whispered, leaning in, “is Emmitt is downplayin’ the ordeal, sayin’ it was just mutts.’”

“I knew that ol’ buzzard was a bad choice for management,” I muttered, taking the package from Stanley.

“You be careful,” he called as I headed out. “Yer headin’ in the same vicinity as that storm.”

***

The dark clouds had moved on by the time I began circling the target neighborhood, though there was still a heavy dampness in the air that weighed on my feathers. I located the secluded address and set myself down outside a window. Management might frown upon the practice, but I rather enjoy observing the future homes of my young charges.

Usually.

I gasped in horror at the sight: wall-to-wall cages, pens, and cramped quarters of both dogs and cats and their offspring. The cries and whines and even the smell breached the window where I stood. Unable to stop myself, I marveled at the variety of breeds, their purity and beauty present despite their deplorable conditions. Pekingese pups cuddled next to Bichon Frisées, separated only by thin wire mesh. On the other side of the vast room, Siamese, Russian blue, and many other breeds of kittens slept in one contained unit.

In one corner, a true beauty of a Persian cat sat by herself. Even in her huddled, scrunched state I could tell she was expecting, and I surmised the contents of my current package. I stood frozen outside the window, unable to make the routine move inside and present Mom with what should be her greatest gift.

Duty and morals clashed inside by head for what seemed like ages until a door opened and a burly brute walked into the room with a small box.

“Three thousand apiece, can you believe it, Horace?” The man walked over to a pen of tiny French Bulldogs, barely old enough to be rehomed.

“Okay, Mama, say goodbye to them rugrats of yours, they’s goin’ away. Don’t worry, you’ll have more of ‘em before you can blink,” he chuckled, carrying the box of five crying pups away from their mother, who barked in high pitched tones and scratched at the walls of the pen.

Unable to watch any longer, I took off from my perch with a screech that nearly caused me to drop my bundle. I flapped furiously until the house of horrors was no longer in my sight and came to rest on the top branch of a thick oak tree.

“What do I do with you?” I asked the contents of the parcel. I could not abandon these tiny creatures, nor would I condemn them to the conditions I observed, being sold in their infancy or used to breed themselves.

“What do I do?” I asked again, and this time I received a meek cry for an answer. I leaned in to comfort the babes when the cry sounded again, clearly from outside the bundle. I scooped it up and took flight, attempting to follow the low but piercing sound.

As I flew over a small farmhouse I targeted the source. The pitiful creature lay on the porch, whining and shaking within a pile of blankets. Still quite heavy and her teats glistening, it was clear to me this dog had just been cheated out of motherhood.

“Newbie lost a litter, flew too close to a storm...Yer headin’ in the same vicinity.”

Without a second thought I set the bundle down next to her.

“There now, lass,” I whispered, looking into her sad eyes, “no need to cry anymore. Things’ll be looking up for you I suspect.”

I resisted the urge to stick around, disappearing into the clouds as the mom inspected her makeshift litter.

***

I sorely misjudged Emmitt’s reaction to the incident. What I thought would be a slap on the wing turned into an uproar the entire warehouse overheard, as neither of us contained our anger.

“Rule Number One of Speedy Breedy’s: drop your cargo and go! You do NOT ask questions or pass judgement!” he screamed, stomping around his office.

“There’s an exception to every rule!” I fought back. “That was a prison! How can we deliver living beings to conditions like those?”

“Easy,” Emmitt chirped, indicating the fat ledger on his desk.

I angrily flipped to the green pages and spotted the address of the large breeding house. I counted no less than twelve deliveries in the past two weeks before Emmitt slammed the book shut.

“We’re a business; we do whatever our clients pay us to do.”

“And you are all okay with this?” I screamed out over the warehouse floor. “Delivering young, innocent creatures to a potential lifetime of hell?”

Emmitt roughly pulled me back into the office and slammed the door.

“Ignorance is bliss, which you are threatening to disrupt,” he growled. “I take these deliveries myself. Obviously there was a mixup with tonight’s heavy workload. And now that you know...” Emmitt pressed a large red button on his wall. “Your services are no longer required,” I heard him say as I was surrounded by security. “I could have you silenced, but even I have my limits.”

As I was being ushered out the door I heard the heavy thump of a rubber stamp and the beeping of the fax machine.

Blacklisted.

At a loss for words, I did the next best thing: I flipped him the bird.

***

Still seething hours later, I sat at the bar of Wingman’s sipping a heavy drink. Visions of the night’s events wrestled with the reality that I was a stork that may never again deliver. Fear and shame overtook anger as I finished my third glass.

I looked up as a muster of my brethren walked in, led by Stanley. They made their way over to a large table, chatting to themselves in an excited whisper. Stanley indicated that I should join them, which I reluctantly did.

I immediately regretted doing so, as the questions came fast and furious.

“Is it true, Sydney, Emmitt fired you?”

“What were you two yelling about?”

“Why were you accusing us of making bad deliveries?”

“Enough, guys, ease up,” Stanley warned, passing out drinks. He set a large glass of ice water in front of me.

“Take your time, Sydney. We would like to know what happened though; Emmitt’s feathers are pretty ruffled.”

“Good, I hope I scared him,” I muttered, taking a large gulp of water and slashing it down my front.

“You guys need to get out of there,” I urged, looking around the group. There were just as many new faces as old colleagues.

“Mr. Welthe is a bad guy, isn’t he?” one particular young stork asked in a shaking voice.

“Don’t call him Mister, Miss...?”

“Maggie.”

“Maggie. Emmitt doesn’t deserve that distinction. He’s run that business so far underground, it’s despicable.” I spent the next hour relaying my ordeal and Emmitt’s shady dealings.

The group sat in a horrified and disgusted silence until Maggie piped up again.

“I should have known he was a bad egg when he shrugged off my loss as ‘just a couple of mutts.’”

I placed a comforting wing on her shoulder.

“That was you, huh? Every stork remembers their first loss, Maggie. I’m sorry you didn’t get sympathy where it was due. But maybe it’ll help if I told you I delivered my litter to your intended target.”

Maggie nodded, but her mood didn’t improve until Stanley pointed to the television above the bar.

“In lighter news, a local farmer is both bewildered and delighted,” a newsman reported. “His dog, Terry, who lost both her own pups, is now fostering a litter of Persian kittens.”

We all cheered as the screen showed dog mom, in higher spirits, nursing and grooming the wee kittens. It was a sight to behold...one I could get used to.

***

Six million YouTube subscribers can’t be wrong.

The days after Speedy Freedy, as Stanley now calls it, are a bit of a blur. The entire group from the bar quit the next day, and managed to round up a handful of other recruits for our unknown venture.

As storks we really have only one purpose, but we had to set ourselves apart from every other delivery company. I was immediately elected ‘Wingmaster,’ but being the blacklisted owner of a new company and trying to gather clients is no easy feat.

Our youngsters rose to the occasion, showing us the social media ropes and creating the YouTube channel and videos that swept the world by storm. Terrier Raises Litter of Kittens was soon joined by Wolf Cub Welcomed Into Family of Huskies, and Maine Coon Mom Corrals Herd of Chihuahuas gained a million views overnight.

Mosaic Deliveries was born, and the rest is history.

ONE YEAR LATER

The final delivery has gone out for the night. I take a slow walk around the small warehouse floor, marveling at how far we’ve come in such a short time. One year ago to the day I was working for a tyrant and made a gut decision that would drastically change my life as well as many of those around me.

I gaze up at our logo. A photomosaic, it’s a large wooden mask made up of tiny animal heads. Underneath is our slogan and philosophy: Family is what you make it.

Indeed.

My session of reflection is interrupted by the sound of a door opening and closing behind me.

“Maggie, you startled me. What are you still doing here, love?”

“Nothing, really. Just thinking.” Her eyes wander to the client wall. Above the picture of Terry and her kittens is another small wooden carving: two dogs in angel robes and halos.

“I’m sorry, Maggie, I should have remembered.”

While this may be a happy anniversary for myself, it’s also a very bittersweet one for Maggie. A stork never forgets their first loss.

“Does it ever get any easier?” she asks, running her wing over the carving.

“Not really,” I sigh. “But I’m not sure anything so good came out of anyone else’s loss. I’ll tell you the tale of mine over a cup of hot chocolate,” I offer, gathering my hat and keys.

I steal one last glance at the pups as I head out the door. Their jeweled eyes sparkle in the summer moonlight.