There's been this bird (shown right) that lives under our dock here at the Buddy Fred complex for the last three years.
Every year we come back, he's still here. Every time we get on or off the boat, he's still here. Sometimes, not always, but sometimes, he has a girlfriend with him and they're both still here.
Now up until last night all they have ever done is squawk loudly at us, fly to the nearest convenient branch, wait for us to pass and then resume their original position at the end of the dock.
Waiting. Stalking. Plotting.
So last night, I was coming back to the boat around 10 pm after having dinner and drinks with Amy's visiting family when out of nowhere I was jumped by my arch nemesis, Hell Heron.
It was a surprise attack implemented with the cunning use of sound and flapping wings. Photo-security cams show my foe pretending to be a statue and just waiting for me to pass by. When I was within two meters, he pounced!
"Blahhhhhh!" he cried.
"Ahhhhhhh!" I cried.
And then I dropped my beer into the creek.
"Nooooooooo!" I cried again.
Don't worry, it was only half a bottle of luke warm Yuengling, so the alcohol abuse is classified as minimal.
As an aside, Mila-Weasel is looking into the possibility of launching a weasel counter-offensive to see if heron does, in fact, taste like chicken. Inquiring minds want to know.
More to follow, end of line.