Peeping Greg

I don't like birds.
Yes, they've been known to soar majestically across the sky, but to me they just look scary and dirty, and for some reason I always think they're after my hair.
The birds have been busy around our house lately. Before the rain this weekend, we had seven mounds -- yes, mounds -- of bird doo piled six inches apart in a straight line around the perimeter of our patio. I've never seen such precision in crap. I took it as a warning that they're coming for my hair.
This morning I heard a ruckus outside and spotted two greasy-looking birds chirping at each other while they danced around our fence. This went on for a couple of minutes, and just when I started to feel like I was turning into my grandma for watching birds from the window, one of them flopped around the backside of the other one and started giving it to her, or him, maybe. I'm not sure how birds do it, but these two were definitely doing it.
I couldn't watch for long. I had to go get a hat.