"Do you need help?"
"No!" Crow’s short reply was muffled by the rag in his beak. Oz watched passively from the kitchen table as Crow shuffled and squawked indignantly, trying to work his beak into position to hold the rag tied around the pantry doorhandle. Oz had tied them over everything to make it easier for the bird to access anything hidden in cupboards, short of pulling the doors off of everything.
"Are you suuuuure?" Oz plied. Crow didn’t answer. Having finally managed to painstakingly grasp the rag and hop into a position comfortable enough to pull, he spread his wings wide, using them to propel himself backwards in hopes of opening the door. The knot on the rag slide easily undone, and the bird tumbled gracelessly off the counter and onto the tiled floor.
Oz peered down at him from over the edge of the table.
"Because I can help, if you want."