“Do it,” Vladimir said. The park was quiet on this Tuesday afternoon.
“I just did.”
“But I wanna see again.”
Dr. Poco took a deep breath and gave his signature clucking whistle. A sparrow halted mid-flight and plummeted like a feathery cannonball, hitting Vladimir right in his grinning face before coming to a rest in his calloused hands. Vladimir put the heavenly parcel to his ear; heard its faint breath; was tickled by its warmth.
“When’s it going to wake up?”
“Give it at least ten minutes.”
“How’d you get it to hit my face?”
Dr. Poco grinned, “That’s my trade. Now give me my ten bucks.”
“I’m not paying for the one that hit the rocks.”
“Yes you are.”
“I’m not paying for no dead bird.”
Dr. Poco sighed. “Listen, give me eight and we’ll call it a deal. That makes it five bucks for a bird and three for a try. This isn’t a science, you know. It’s an art.”
“Deal.”
Copyright © 2010 by Daniel Shawn Otis
