Curly Haired Birds

We were loading the dishwasher after our Sunday morning breakfast and Mom suddenly announced, “Here comes one of those curly-haired birds.”

Bill and I both glanced to the right and looked out the kitchen’s picture window, which overlooks half of the front yard.  Sure enough, a lone Quail was making its way across the street toward our house.

“Here comes another one,” Mom exclaimed.

“They usually travel in groups,” I commented.  “I’m surprised there aren’t more.”

“Well I’m surprised they’re coming over here at all,” she said, turning her attention back to the assortment of bottles spread across the kitchen table where she was sorting out her weekly supply of vitamins and herbal supplements.

“Why are you surprised?” Bill asked.  “They’re over here all the time.”

“Because I hardly ever see them anymore now that there’s nothing for them to eat,” she explained.  “Since you got that new rock put down in the front yard, it’s too big for them to walk on.  I’m surprised they aren’t tripping on it.”

“Mom,” I sighed.  “They walk all over the rocks.  And they peck around the rocks for bugs.  They even move the rocks.”

“If you say so, but I’ve never seen them do that.”

“That’s because you don’t look outside that much and you spend the whole day in the living room with your back to the window,” Bill replied.  “And they aren’t curly-haired birds, they’re Quail.”

“”Well, I still think they’re going to trip over those rocks,” she argued.  “I mean look at how pigeon-toed they are.  They’re worse than those other pigeon-toed birds!”

“Doves?” I asked.

“No, the other ones,” she said.

“Do you mean ‘Pigeons?” Bill muttered.

“Yes, pigeons.  And curly-haired birds.  They’re all pigeon-toed.”


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