I sit on the couch in the front window to read, edit manuscripts or sometimes I just sip a whiskey and stare like one of those statues on Easter Island.
There is a thistle feeder right outside the window. The finches feed at it constantly whether I'm sitting there or not.
I was going over an essay this morning and they were all out there, shoveling down the thistle.
"Look at those fat motherfuckers," I said to the Goat. He gazed out at them. The finches pecked at the feeder in response. "Look at that one," I said as a particularly fat finch bellied up to the trough. "That's not a bird, it's a feathered softball with a beak for chrissake."
"They do like their thistle," said the Goat.
"I'm taking a picture," I said and got up to get the camera.
But as soon as I pointed it at the little bastards, they flew away. So I waited. And waited and waited. Eventually, I put the camera down. They all flew back onto the feeder. So I picked the camera up and they all flew away. I waited. The finches waited. I put the camera down. The finches came back. Can you believe these ungrateful little shits?
So this is the best I can do. You'll just have to take my word for it and imagine the rest.