Bird
This morning, just after 6 A.M., Sam and I were roused from slumber by a little bird outside our window. This bird was not tweeting or chirping or making any of those classic Disney movie trilling sounds. Like an eighteen-wheeler backing into a loading dock, this bird was beeping.
I’d never heard a bird beep before. I’m not a bird person, so while I didn’t know what brand of bird it was, I did know pretty quickly that I wanted it to go beep near someone else’s window—preferably someone I hate a lot who also lives in another state.
The bird was infuriating. Sometimes it would beep twice, sometimes three times. It would pause between the beeps for a very long time, long enough so that you were lulled into thinking the beeping had stopped, and then it would start up again. Sam and I lay there, our spines tense with anxiety. Which beeping sequence would it be this time? Beep, beep? Or beep beep beep? Our diabolical feathered foe was deliberately sidestepping a predictable pattern.
Sam tried to make a joke of it. “Beep beep” means “I’m cool,” and “beep beep beep” means “I’m so cool.”
At first I laughed… until I realized Sam was right. The little fucker thought he was better than us! He was messing with our minds, and something had to be done, something swift and sure, something involving a BB gun, a rusty sewing needle, and a small acetylene torch.
Animal cruelty? I think not. Try vigilante justice.