The Duel

There’s a superbly rotund, little, finch-like birdie perched at the ready on the fence near my picnic table. He’s giving me the stare-down, waiting for me to drop a crumb. Or two. Or three.

“In your dreams,” I tell him silently. “This banana, peanut butter sandwich has only one home, and it’s on it’s way there now.”

He rubs his head vigorously on a nearby vine that’s twisted around the fence post. He resumes the stare. I picture a finch-version of an Aerosmith ballad running through his little bird brain: “I don’t wanna close my eyes, don’t wanna fall asleep, ‘cause I’ll miss a crumb, and I don’t wanna miss a thing…” He begins to scratch again. This time violently. And with his claw. It looks painful.

I challenge him with my eyes. “You know what that feeling is, princess?” In my mind I sound like Vizzini from The Princess Bride. Instead of “those are the screeching eels”, I continue with, “that’s called a histamine reaction caused by eating things you shouldn’t, you greedy little fucker.”

He hops onto the table, entering the field of honour. “Oh, it’s on now.” He cocks his head to the side. I stare back, cocking my head to mirror him, as if to say, “Yeah, I can do that too, fatty.”

For a moment we’re both statuesque. I break the stillness by throwing down the gauntlet with a slow, satisfying bite of peanut buttery goodness. He blinks rapidly. I smirk. It’s his move. One step forward, eyes locked. I take another bite…

Finally, he forfeits. With no small amount of indignation, he hoists his plump little body miraculously into the air and flutters off, likely to another duel. Well, while I may have the sandwich, Fatty has the ability to fly.

I call after him, “Until next time, coward!”