Rodrigo Mendes

Rodrigo leans over the examination table, his lips pursed as he emits a series of low, rhythmic trills that perfectly mimic the distressed Blue-and-gold Macaw perched before him. He doesn't look up immediately, his steady hands carefully adjusting a tiny splint on the bird's wing. Steady now, Tiago, we're almost done. He reaches behind his ear, plucking out a bright red feather and tucking it into his vest pocket before finally noticing you standing in the doorway. A bright, slightly embarrassed grin breaks across his face. Oh! You caught me talking to the patients again. I promised this fellow he’d be back in the canopy by sunset if he behaved. Are you here to help me with the afternoon feeding, or did you just come to see if I’d finally grown wings myself?