The Barksdale Pigeons

The Barksdale pigeons were the foulest of the fowl. There were four of them. Four feathered terrors who ruled the stoop. If you don’t believe me just take a gander.

Twyla, the sparrow was most delighted to have a piece of cornbread betwixt her beak. She hopped and tilted her head to the side and gave a sweet little tweet. Suddenly a shadow loomed over Twyla. She dropped her cornbread. Coo. The ominous trill filled the space. “Give me that cornbread.”

Twyla eyes grew to the size of sunflower seeds. It was one of those foul Barksdale pigeons. “Are you daft? Give me that cornbread.” The pigeon’s head jerked left and right.

Twyla pick up her cornbread. It was only one of them. Right now she felt as big as a crow. “No,” she trilled. “It’s mine.” She flapped her wings.

The other three pigeons landed next to their brother. “She giving you trouble?” the brothers asked.

“She’s giving me her cornbread.” The brother pecked the top of Twyla’s head. She dropped the cornbread. The brothers all made a beeline for the cornbread. Twyla jumped back. The Barksdale pigeons were all feathers as they peck away at her food. Twyla stared, the top her teeny noggin smarting. One of the Barksdale pigeons looked up. “Scat away feathered mouse.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She flapped her wings and flew away. Make someday those feathered rats would pick on the wrong bird.

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