Les Hungré Birds

She sits outside, looking into the window at the warm glow of a kitchen. A biting winter wind whips around her. She holds her small body tighter, puffing against the frigid assault as a splash of water caught in the wind washes over her. She sets her sight on that warm bountiful kitchen opens her tiny toothless mouth and begins to sing: "I Dream a Dream...a Dream of Seeds..."

No, this is not Anne 'Fantine' Hathaway but the tiny chickadee who is staring into my kitchen window. I don't like her accusatory stare but it is my own fault.

I have let the bird feeder go empty.

I fear the large speckled starling Jean Valjean will incite the handful of titmice and finches. Their tiny beaks will peck into me as they whistle and caw 'Let Us Eat Soot Cakes!'

That evil mourning dove Madame Thénardier has already caused a disturbance, complaining that her tiny feet freeze when perching on the metal bird feeder. And those filthy squirrel convicts running around the yard waving French flags and bathing in the fountain...

And a tiny Cardinal Cosette sings: 'Freedom...Freedom...'
Oops, that's George Micheal...

Anyway...

Dear Lord, I hope they don't start launching pigs...

Give me Sunflower Seeds or I Poop on your Deck!