The first time I laid eyes on him, he was lying in a clearing. The sun spun his blond hair into sunshine, dappling his fair skin with puddles of molten gold. He was like something out of an oil painting, the brush strokes that created him too perfect to be real. He had a stalk of grass held between his soft pink lips.
At first, he had his eyes shut, but, as I shimmied on my branch to get a better look, they flew open. I was so startled I almost fell out of the tree. Bright blue eyes blinked once, and then twice.
“What are you doing up there, little one?”
I didn’t answer, just cocked my head to one side and mustered my best attempt at looking puzzled.
The man smiled.
“I’m sorry if this is your tree. I’m just taking a rest, and then I’ll be on my way.”
I shrugged, and the man closed his eyes with another smile.
It shames me to admit what happened next. I should have left quietly and took care of my business elsewhere, but instinct took over.
And I pooped on his face.
The man leapt to his feet with an almost inhuman scream.
“Fucking pigeon!”
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