There he sat, unaware of being watched, eating fresh green leaves that glimmered in the sunlight. I jumped for joy and ran to the water gun which lay unopened in its box. The skies had poured down heavy rain for two days since its purchase. Frantically ripping the gun from its bindings I rushed to the bathroom to load it with watery ammunition. It couldn't fill quick enough. Once the gun was ready though, I hurried back to the window, lifting it open in a single motion and narrowed in on the perpetrator.
"Die sucker! Die," I exclaimed as I started squirting the pigeon with water.
A friend of his, whom I hadn't seen lunching a few branches below, immediately flew away. The one I targeted, however, surveyed the situation. His gaze met mine; then, in almost a sigh of resignation, flew away.
I was overjoyed. I set down the gun and started dancing around my apartment while singing "whoop, whoop, it worked, it worked, the water gun wo-orked". Thirty minutes later, my elation having died down, I sat reading at the dinner table.
BANG! The noise jolted me from my chair. Flipping around I turned towards the window where the sound came from. My heart skipped a beat. For there, on the windowsill, stood the two pigeons I had just shot 30 minutes prior. I could hardly believe my eyes, yet, I was afraid to even blink.
We had a stare-down, the pigeon and I. His friend stood at his side playing wingman. For twenty solid seconds we held our positions, until I could feel his red beady eyes boring into my very soul. I cautiously moved forward, still in disbelief of the situation before me. By my third step they fled as quickly as they had arrived.
There I stayed, looking at the window, praising the heavens I had shut it after my surprise attack on the tree-eaters. Had I not, my mind wandered, I would have surely had my own rendition of an Alfred Hitchcock movie. And that's a battle I may not have won.