Moments ago, I sat here in my chair with the front door propped open, reading to the soothing sounds of the fat yellow dog asleep on the porch. The birds at the feeder and hopping around his body were talking and chirping and yelling at each other. Suddenly, they scattered and I heard constrained chaos above the snoring. It’s a sound I recognize and it means that they’re about out of seed. I step out and see the panic inside the feeder, the wings slapping the interior. The littlest of birds go inside for the food they see through the window, then can’t get out.
The terror of the situation must tire him out and I eventually see blue, so maybe an indigo bunting. It takes more coaxing than you’d expect, but he finally streaks off.