Birdsong

Two young boys, one with blonde hair and one with red hair, were
throwing a football. To the side lay a pellet gun, which they had ready
in case a bird flew into the yard.

A beautiful robin with a fiery red chest flew into the yard and
perched on a telephone wire.

Boldly, it started to sing. It's song was as confident as it was
repetitive. It went, "chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp." Despite the
utter lack of melody, the song was not unpleasing to the ear.

The boy with red hair, who had the football at the moment, threw the
ball to his companion and then grabbed the gun and loaded it.

"Chirp, chirp," went the robin. Sneakily, the red-haired boy crept up
on the robin. Seconds went by.

The blonde haired boy looked on in frustration. The shot was not
difficult and the robin might fly soon, though it didn't look worried
about the boys.

Soon enough, the red haired boy raised the rifle to his shoulder and
took careful aim. He pulled the trigger and the gun made a slight sound
when it fired.

The robin didn't even break his song. "Chirp, chirp, chirp," the robin
sang.

"My shot," the blonde haired boy called to the red haired boy.

"Just a second," the red haired boy said as he loaded the gun. But
once he'd loaded the gun, he didn't give it the blonde haired boy who
was walking towards him.

Rather, the red-haired boy raised the gun and took another shot. The
robin, indifferently, kept on singing.

"My shot," said the blonde haired boy.

But the red haired boy ignored him and raised the gun to his shoulder.
The blonde haired boy didn't say anything because he knew the red
haired boy was a better shot and he didn't want to interfere with the
kill. The red haired boy pulled the trigger again.

The robin, a mere fifteen feet away, took no notice of the boys. The
gun made only the slightest noise and the robin felt safe.

Little did he know, the red haired boy was a good marksman and each
time he shot, a pellet whizzed by him. Bold and unworried, the robin
continued to sing, "chirp, chirp, chirp, chirp."

By now, the blonde boy was fed up. He knew, or thought, that the shot
was easy and he wouldn't have missed it three times.

"My shot," he said firmly and reached out his hand for the gun, which
the red haired boy gave him.

The blonde boy carefully raised the gun and balanced the wavering
sights around the area of the robin. Even at this close distance, it
was difficult to hold the sights in the robin's body. He pulled the
trigger.

The shot was well aimed. But by poor luck, the shot missed the robin
by less than an inch. The robin took no notice. "Chirp, chirp," went
his unbroken song.

The red haired boy took the gun back. The confidence of the blonde boy
was shattered. He'd taken a good shot and missed. He'd leave the robin
to the red-haired boy.

The red haired boy took another shot at the robin. Now the robin took
notice of the boys, not because they were shooting at him but because
they seemed too interested in him. But he continued singing.

The red haired boy shot and missed again.

While the red-haired boy was re-loading, the robin flew off, partly to
get away from the two boys but mostly to look for food elsewhere.

The robin was happy, unharmed and completely unaware of what a close
brush with death he'd had. I wish him well.