BIRD PEEKING

I looked out my kitchen window and saw a large gray bird sitting on the top of my bird feeder. “What kind of bird is that?” I thought to myself but it was too far away for me to get a good look at it.

That's when my son, Alex walked into the kitchen. “What are you looking at?” he asked as he stood next to me looking out the window.

“Do you have any idea what kind of bird is sitting on top of the feeder?” I asked him as I pointed to the bird.

Alex looked outside, then looked back at me, “You're kidding, right?”

“No.”

“Then I'm going to say a gray bird.”

“You're no help.” I said, as I looked back at the bird. He was perched on the top, not eating, but keeping all the other birds away from the feeder. “I thought it might be a Mourning Dove.” I added. “But they usually hang out under the feeder.”'

Alex didn't seem impressed. “Whatever you say.”

“See, this is why I want a pair of binoculars.” I said. “I'd be able to get a better look at him and be able to use my bird book to identify him.”

“We've talked about this before.” Alex said, in a warning tone. “You can't sit out on the deck with binoculars. The neighbors will think you're spying on them.”

“That's where I think you're wrong!” I argued. “I'd be looking up in the trees. Who's going to think I'm looking in their windows?”

“That bird on the feeder isn't up in a tree.” Alex tried to reason with me. “If you were standing in here with binoculars the neighbor behind us would think you were looking at them.”

I tried to ignore him as I pleaded my case further. “But if I'd had them last spring when the Cooper hawk made that nest in the top of our neighbors' tree I would have been able to watch the babies grow. Instead I had to be satisfied with just hearing them call for the next feeding.”

“Okay, maybe if you were only looking up in the trees.” Alex said.

“See?” I sounded hopeful.

“But you know if a bird were sitting on the neighbors windowsill you'd be trying to get a look.” Alex added.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Only if it were a bird I didn't recognize.”

“See?” Alex cried. “That's what I'm trying to stop. Do you want you're neighborhood nickname to be Creepy Binocular Lady?”

“What!”

“I'm just warning you.” Alex said. “Because that's what your neighborhood nickname would be.”

“Wait, that reminds me. Have you seen Oven Mitts lately?” That's what we'd named a nice older gentleman who walks the neighborhood everyday. He got his name last winter when his giant mittens looked a lot like oven mitts. “I haven't seen him in a few days.”

“I saw him yesterday.” Alex said. “But that's what I'm taking about. We like Oven Mitts. We worry about him.”

“Of course we do.” I said. “He seems like a nice man.”

“Do you think the neighbors are going to feel the same way about Creepy Binocular Lady?”

“Creepy Binocular Lady.” I said under my breath. I shook my head in defeat. “Why do you do this to me?”

“Just trying to protect you.” He patted me on the shoulder as he headed for the refrigerator. “You're welcome.”