(Bird outline left after hitting window, September 2011 by Ray Holman, Cardiff, Wales)
She has discovered that if she backs up onto my bed and runs headlong at the glass, the avian mass outside cannot help but panic and fly off with a whoosh of feathers. She never gets tired of this. Equally stimulating is their response when someone moves up the sidewalk rapidly, making them feel temporarily trapped on the patio and schooling like sardines to find a way out.
The spud-brained doves and all the little chickadees who never met a conspiracy theory they didn't like are particularly prone to such panics. The former will run out of flight room and hit my window with meaty impacts that make me fear the putty will give. The latter little rattatats against glass leave me convinced they will stun themselves and fall to the concrete senseless. I think Scout envisions such a result as well and imagines herself scooping up the helpless strew into a suddenly tiger-sized maw.
It's kept her quivering and busy for two days. Except for when Dinah stiffly emerges and claims the mustard corduroy chair for herself, driving Scoutie off to knock about other apartment acres and mutter high little protests.