The Scrub Jay

The Scrub Jay is back. He waits on the arm of the only wicker chair and gazes inside. He’s looking for the man with handfuls of peanuts. Having played this game, he’ll wait till the morning snacks clatter to the deck.
When they do, he takes one. He gives it a little shake, wary of empty promises. Then he wedges it vertically in his beak until it points toward his destination. A hop, a flap of his wings and he’s gone.
Sometimes he picks up several peanuts examining each in turn, like a little Forrest Gump with his box of chocolates. When he finds the one that best meets his needs. He leaves to cache it somewhere safe and having stowed it, returns.
Sometimes the cat glowers through the glazier’s wall, but the Jay is unperturbed. He continues to gather and inspect. The work of living must continue. Death is no respecter of persons, one peanut too few or one cat too many.

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4 Responses to The Scrub Jay

  1. bettyjochang says:

    Now that we live in the city, I’ve begun putting out bird seed and filling little tins with water for the song birds to bathe in.

    Of course the squirrels have found the handouts. Back at the ranch I used to set at the picnic table, picking ground squirrels off with the .22. A scope on the rifle rendered even old eyes adequate to the task. Here in town, daughter says no shooting’s allowed. I see her point, for neighbor houses loom over our own little cottage close by on every side.

    Besides, there’s no gulch behind the house here into which I might toss dead ground squirrel treats for the Raven, so there is a disposal issue I suppose. But then! The city in all it’s environmentally progressive fashion, just announced that now even meat scraps can be placed in the yard waste container for recycling. I suggest a pellet gun with a silencer to the daughter. She frowns. I say “well, the city says meat scraps can be recycled. They don’t say we have to skin ‘em!”

    I’’m so pleased. It’s clear that she’s not sure if I am joking.

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