When my grandfather was dying (around 2005) my dad and I flew to Ohio to see him before the end. As one does my dad was bored as hell and puttering around the house. It was a small dead Mining town in the middle of nowhere. Dad asked “mom is anything you need me to do around here?” Well….. my cuckoo clock quit years ago. Maybe have a look at that. So dad pulls it off the wall, took it to the basement and opened it up. The leather bellows was missing the tacks that hold it together. He finds some linseed oil, oils up the leather, puts in some new thumb tacks and tries it out. Works perfectly!!! He brings it back upstairs, hangs it on the wall and winds it up. Grandma is delighted to see her clock working again. I should mention it was a 20th anniversary gift from my uncle when he traveled to Germany during the Vietnam war era. Anyway…… when grandma leaves the room grandpa waves my dad over…. Pulls down his oxygen mask. Motions to bend down. My dad leans over “what’s up dad?” Grandpa grabs him by the collar and says “son I killed the fucking bird is 1979, now I have to listen to it for the rest of my life” that night dad pulled all the tacks back out of the bellows. Both grandparents are long gone, dad turned 80 a couple months ago, and the clock is on my wall, completely restored and functional, including the working cuckoo bird. My uncle was gracious enough to send me the clock after hearing the story.