Squirrely Looks For Doing Right

A few years ago, our friend "Lallie Dupree" found herself in a "fowl" situation. She tells the story this way.

One Saturday morning I was driving east down Oak Street and took the right part of the "Y." As I passed Earl Rogers Auto Parts on my left, I noticed a sparrow walking back and forth across the window ledge--on the inside of the building.

I immediately felt compassion--and not a little fear--for the displaced, frightened creature. I had information that it didn't: when folks get birds in their buildings, they sometimes shoot them for sanitary reasons. Naturally, it seemed proper to determine the store's policy before telling them about their new "pet."

I entered the parts store and made my way to the counter. A fella approached. Probably figuring I was the type to overhaul my own carburetor, he was quite pleasant. "Can I help you?"

I was fearless, yet firm. "Yes. Do y'all shoot birds?"

A puzzled look. "What?" He must not have heard me very well.

"Do y'all shoot birds?" I repeated a little more forcefully.

"Just a minute, and I'll find out." Probably thinking that he was peering into the eyes of a deranged person, he kept his gaze locked on me. Then, without moving his body, he cocked his head a little toward the rear of the building so as to be heard by some unseen fella in the racks of parts.

He called out with a raised voice, "So and so?" I don't remember the name.

"Yeah?" responded the voice from the racks. "What is it?"

"Do we shoot birds? " He peered at me as if I might bolt out the door if he blinked.

"What?" The unseen fella spoke louder, as if something were wrong with the asker.

Still staring intently, the fella at the counter repeated his query slowly and deliberately. "Do... we... shoot... birds?"

Pause.... "No!" The answer from the racks was delivered with authority.

Having maintained uninterrupted eye contact all the while, he addressed me as if I had not heard every word. "No.... No, we do not kill birds."

Now satisfied, I at last smiled. "Oh, good! There's one in your window. I didn't want to say anything until I knew you would not shoot him." I had determined to secretly rescue the bird myself if necessary.

"Oh, really? They do that all the time." He was nonchalant.

Then began the slow process of shooing--not shooting--the little bird out the door. Success attained, I departed. Thankfully, they never knew who I was. Until now.

Thanks for that story, Lallie. Doing the right thing may draw some squirrely looks, but we still need to do it.

Copyright 2000 James McAlister

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