The Bully Bird

He doesn't hum like the others, just stays there at his post, watching his feeder, waiting for the chance to swoop again upon another nectar-thirsty bird who dares to flutter a wing in the wrong direction. In territorial defense he's fast and taught me one quick lesson centered on the art of greed, and that is patience. Hour by hour he sits there, letting all the little bugs stay free of his voracious beak, for he has found new enemies in the feathers of his friends; he has become a hard-beaked aviary proboscis on prowl-- a god in miniature, minding not his storehouse of benevolence, in very short supply! We've bullies of our own in humandom. We need to use our intellect with those, so why must we deny these tiny hovercraft a bit of education too. They are not invincible; we'll just remove the prize a week or two. Our bully bird and all his erstwhile friends will have to fly off down the line to take on other bullies, other hanging fonts or even frontier flowers awaiting them. But that is really too bizarre, and steals my delight as well. My feeder will come back at length from its forced cupboard exile. Then I, too, will perch once more upon my observation post to cheer the little fellows on. The bully? If he returns, let's hope he's kept his buddies, leaner, learns to celebrate them all up and down the bar. ~