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Murder in a Small Bush

A few years ago, before my youngest son was born, we had a little family of birds nesting in a bush in our front yard. It was summer and the bushes and flowers were blooming. The sun shone and the birds sang.

The bush was very close to the window in our living room, so we could observe them very easily and whenever we wished.

The baby birds were very young and always had their mouths open waiting for food. The mother had the job of finding them food, but the problem with that was she had to leave them unprotected while doing so.

Whenever she left, I would have a feeling of anxiety for those little birds. We would all stand at the window and watch them to make sure they were alright until the mother came back. I often wondered if she took so long because she was pigging out first.

Well, it was bound to happen that we would be too busy to watch the babies one day. We were all going about our business when out of the corner of my eye I saw the wings of a humongous black bird flapping crazily around the bush.

My eyes grew huge in my head and I screamed, "No, no, no! Get away from them, you cannibal!" I ran to the window flailing my arms over my head and as I got there the bird flew away.

With a sick feeling of dread, I looked down into the bush and saw an empty nest. "Dead beat mom," I muttered to the absentee mother bird.

Previously published on October 17, 2007.

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