Of One Ward Jenkins

In the summer of her 27th year, Louise came to know one Ward Jenkins, Avian Pathologist of Greenwood Heights. Having just completed a short stint as an assistant gardener, Louise took a receptionist position at Mr. Jenkins's home practice in his Victorian mansion, which had been passed down to him from his great grandmother Cecile Jenkins.
When, on interview day, she ambled up the wooden steps and met the eyes of Ward Jenkins, she sized up his dapper countenance, with dress shirt and tailored pants, and instantly detested him and his kind. That too-sure-of-oneself attitude, conventional good looks, inflated ego. She could tell right away.
The interview went well, even though she couldn't stand the the thought of working for this man, or boy, really, and since no other jobs turned up, she reluctantly accepted his offer when he called the next week.
Her desk sat awkwardly on the parlour floor, just to the right of the front door. The dead birds were usually carried in shoe boxes, or sometimes still in their elaborate cages, by their teary-eyed owners, who demanded answers as to why their beloved birds had crossed over into the world of the dead.
Louise would come to learn that Ward, just one year her senior, was highly regarded in town as an exceptional professional in his field. He gave speeches at seminars almost every week, and received numerous accolades for his research. Aside from his professional success, he was wittily funny, kind, and off kilter in an approachable way. Needless to say, everyone in town loved him, and Louise detested him even more, for his success compared to her lack thereof.
Ward Jenkins had decided upon his life's work early on, at the age of eight, when, one sunny day, his pet cockatiel named Marty had begun making choking noises in his large domed cage. When Ward came to see to his precious Marty, the poor bird abruptly released its foothold on its perch, and for the first and last time in his glorious, pink-feathered life, Marty fell through the air to the bottom of the cage where he lay motionless, breast side up, curled and twitching talons in the air. Apparently, little Ward Jenkins screamed with such wild, helpless despair so loudly that he gave his grandmother Cecile, upstairs sewing in her bedroom, a heart attack.
After the funeral, Ward gave Marty the Cockatiel a proper burial as well, sobbing in fear of what other misfortunes the world would rain down upon him. He wanted answers to explain Marty's death, but Avian Pathologists didn't exist in those days, and that fact fortified Little Ward Jenkins with the resolve to help others who had been through what he had been through.
When Louise learned his story, her hard heart developed a soft spot for Ward Jenkins, and over the months, it grew. One day in the Spring, Louise came down into the basement examination room, where Ward was hunched over the carcass of an Upper East side socialite's deceased macaw. Under the solitary yellow light triangle of the ceiling lamp, she caught his warm brown eyes, shimmering the reflection of parrot blood.
From then on, Louise could think of nothing other than Ward Jenkins, star Avian Pathologist.