SINGING FOR YOU SUPPER

It was a cold winter morning with a blanket of snow and ice covering our back yard. The temperature hadn’t been above freezing for over a week. “This snow is never going to melt.” I sighed as I filled the tea kettle with water.

My son Alex was looking out the back door. “Come here. You’ve got to see this poor mourning dove.”

“What’s it doing?” I asked as I walked over to him.

“Just staring at me.” He laughed.

Sure enough a chubby little mourning dove was sitting on our deck’s railing staring at our back door.

“Feed me.” Alex said in a high pitched voice pretending to be the bird.

“Okay. Fine.” I sighed as I put the kettle down and walked over to the front hall closet.

“What are you doing?” Alex asked.

“The bird feeders haven’t been filled since before the storm.” I said as I put on some boots, tucking my pajama legs inside them before grabbing my coat. “I guess it’s time for me to fill them again.” I put my coat on over my bathrobe.

“You’re going out in your pajamas?”

“No one’s going to see them under my coat.” I reasoned as I went over to the back door and picked up the lidded bucket of bird seed we kept there. “Well, here I go.” I opened the back door and braced for the cold blast of air that quickly hit me.

The snow had drifted over a foot high in places with a thick crust of ice on top. I had to stomp my way to the feeders, breaking through the ice one footstep at a time. “You better appreciate this.” I grumbled starting to feel winded as I continued making my way slowly through the drifts with a bucket of birdseed swinging by my side.

As I filled the feeders I could see several birds tucked in the trees watching me. “I know it’s too cold for you guys to be singing but a few little thank you chirps wouldn’t be too much to ask for would it?” I reached over to fill another feeder. “It’s not like I’m asking you to sing for your supper but come on… a little acknowledgment for my efforts would be nice.”

There wasn’t a peep from any of them.

“Okay. Fine.” I put the lid back on the birdseed bucket. “Breakfast is served.” I said before I turned around and made my way back to the house, trying to use the same footsteps I’d used coming out.

Alex met me at the door. “I’m sure they’re going to appreciate that.”

“They’d better.” I stomped the snow off my boots before coming back in the house.

Several minutes later I looked out the back door to see dozens of birds swarming the feeders. Several others were on top of the ice, pecking at the seed that had fallen from above.

“There’s the mourning dove that started it all.” I said as we watched it circling the base of the feeder, it’s little orange feet standing out brightly against the snow.

I cracked open the door to listen to the sound of dozens of birds squawking at one another trying to find a spot to get to the seeds. I looked back over at Alex. “Not exactly hearing them singing for their supper but it does sound like they’re appreciating the meal.”

Alex patted me on the shoulder. “They definitely sound like it.”