I was in the driveway packing things up when I heard Ray's yell. He was in the house. Ray NEVER yells in the house (except for the first time he met Hugo, the first time he met Moonie, and the 4th of July). I dropped what I was doing and ran for front door.
Ray was in the living room. He was facing the sliding glass door. His necked was stretched out as far as it could go and his back legs were quaking in fear. I thought maybe it was Hugo. Ray was creeping forward a bit (now that he had backup), his legs were still trembling and he was snuffling under the end table, behind my wooden knitting box. I dropped to my knees and looked under the couch and table to see if there was a cat. Nothing.
When I stood up a small, brown bird flew up from somewhere and threw itself at the glass door. It was a wren. Ray yelled and retreated, his legs shaking, then crept forward again, his ears deployed in Dumbo the elephant mode to try to figure out what the heck was in his house. The wren landed behind the end table and hopped under the couch. I opened the sliding glass door and pulled Ray back a little. I got down on my hands and knees again and saw the tiny bird trying to make itself invisible under the couch. I told the bird that I had opened the door and it should probably leave before Ray started to feel brave. Then I stood back. (I have found that birds tend to understand exactly what you tell them, most people just don't take the time to explain things clearly to them.) The wren hopped out from under the couch and took off through the door. Ray pulled himself together and followed cautiously. I closed the door after him and returned to my work.
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