The Bird in the Flue
by Mark Lyons
Image by flockine from Pixabay
“Mark, there’s a bird in the flue,” said Sally as she walked into their tastefully decorated study/computer/media enclave/sock workroom.
“I’ve got this covered!” exclaimed Mark jumping up out of his slightly broken desk chair which he found somewhere and brought home because he is so cheap, ……uh, …... frugal and thrifty.
“What are you going to do?” asked Sally.
“It’s a great plan!” said Mark with a big grin spreading across his face. He rushed past Sally on his way to the living room with an empty paper box and lid in his hands. “I’m going to humanely trap the bird in this box and take it outside to let it go!”
“You’re going to trap it in a box?” asked Sally. “How are you going to get the bird in the box?”
“Just watch,” replied Mark. “Please open the back door. I will get the front door and the utility room door that goes into the garage. I will also open the garage door. Once I get the bird in the box, humanely, I will rush it outside and release it.”
Mark opened his doors and Sally opened hers. He crouched in front of the fireplace, feet spread apart, in a low stance with the open box in one hand and the lid in the other. He pulled up his pant legs one at a time revealing a pair of striped crew socks from SammySocks Etc. With a sly wink toward Sally, Mark nodded that he was ready.
“Wait!” hollered Mark. He put down his box with the lid and sprinted into the garage. He reappeared several seconds later, his head covered with a baseball cap. Grabbing his box with the lid and recrouching as before, he said, “In case the bird attacks my hair. I hear they are drawn to thick, luxurious hair.”
Sally just stared at her husband.
Mark nodded his head again, looked at Sally, and said, “Ready?”
“Yeah, sure,” replied Sally.
Mark gingerly put down the lid, reached toward the fireplace flue release handle, and gave it a quick yank. Then, just as quickly, he picked up the lid and waited.
“Here it comes!” yelled Mark.
Sally calmly shook her head as she stood next to the back door.
A small brown bird rocketed out of the flue straight toward Mark. He yelped, threw the box and lid in the general direction of the fireplace, and then flung himself onto the family couch sitting on the other side of the room. The bird deftly dodged the box and lid, flew around the room once, and then headed out the back door as Sally quietly watched.
“See,” squeaked Mark from the couch, “humanely done.”