Birders of a Feather, Stick Together

 “That right there is the Eastern Meadowlark,” Mark shuffled up the grassy hill on his stomach and pointed.

I yawned, glancing half-heartedly at a tiny yellow-and-brown blob in the tree. 

“Are you almost done?” Will moaned, picking up a stick and twirling it in his hand. “We’ve been out here for hours chasing after that rainbow bluebird thing.”

“It’s called a Painted Bunting,” Jane said importantly, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“That’s right, my little birder!” Mark handed her his binoculars. “And we’re not leaving until I get a good picture of it!”

Will and I shared a look.

“There it is!” Mark positioned his camera, his voice barely above a whisper. “Steady…”

Snap!

The bird burst into the sky in a flurry of colors.

Will sat with two pieces of a stick in his hand.

“No! Come on! I- ARG!!” Mark was clearly one word away from cursing.

“You probably would have messed it up anyway,” Will muttered.

I shook my head.

“That’s it!” Mark stood up, glaring. “You, you red-headed-”

“Oh boy,” Will sighed, dramatically.

“Wood-pecking-”

“You really ruffled his feathers this time,” I grinned.

“Yellow-bellied-”

“Here it comes!” Jane covered her head.

“SAP-SUCKERS!!!” 

“Oh!” we all fell to the ground like we had been shot by a cannon. That is why you never insult a serious birder.

Mark groaned, but he couldn’t hide his look of amusement. “Come on, it’s almost dinner time,” he took Jane by the hand and started down the hill.

Will shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m… I’m sorry about the bird, Mark. I know it’s really important to you.”

“Don’t sweat it,” he smiled. “There’s always next time.”

“Wait! Look,” I pointed to a tree by the car.

“Could it be?” Mark pulled out his camera. Perched in the tree was a beautiful Painted Bunting.

Click!