It was an average evening. The type of evening not worth remembering more than any other evening. Or so I thought.
I was in my usual spot, waiting for my dinner to be served. Asa was trying out his bad jokes on a defenseless stuffie, too polite to squeak, while some old familiar song played in the background.
That’s when the tweeting started. No not that new fangled nonsense pups are up to on their phones these days. I mean actual tweeting from birds. Lots of birds.
More curious than a cat, Asa trotted over to the window to take a peek. We all know what happened to the curious cat. I kept my eye on him, while still waiting for my dinner.
The tweeting got louder. Reluctant to leave my post, I asked Asa what he saw, as he stared out the window. Now that I think of it, Asa’s tail was not wagging.
That’s when he said the most chilling words, “there’s a murder in the backyard.”
“Murder!” I barked, as I ran over to the window forgetting about my late dinner.
Asa was correct. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of black birds in my yard. Ok, maybe not that many, but all it takes is two or more black birds to flock together to be called a “murder.”
