Northstar Vale Jazz jukebox

Happiness seemed like a lame ass name to give a bird. Jack had never seen a bird that was entirely white. The closer he looked at the animal, the more detail he began to pick out. There was a pinkish hue around Happiness’ eyes. The young Redhawk thought it was nice addition to the pale colors of its feathers. He wondered why more birds weren’t white.

Oh… yeah! That’s it. How’d you know?

Wait- the bird just said his name without being told what it was. Jack squinted shrewdly at the feathered speaker. This guy was special. He could predict the future or read minds, or something like that. The wolf trotted closer, wanting Happiness to come down from his perch so they could chat for real.