Damn right we're going to chase Blue Jays. They have nuts to bury, Raptors to tease and a host of migratory activities very few of which seem to make any sense, and all of which should keep them well away from the Alatus Berries. And Blue Jays are unyielding when confronted. At this time of the year particularly, their instinct is to squawk back in somewhat accusing manner. I find this frustrating and so does the House Mockingbird, as we both ponder the status quo of our fat, stay at home, winter larders.
I don't recall his name at the moment, but he was a printer somewhere in
Pennsylvania, drank water from the River Thames at a period in history when
everyone else in London took their liquids from beer because the River Thames
was a sewer, and he was also the first Post Master General of his new country.
I begin to believe that before settling upon the diligent Turkey as his
contribution to the choice for National Bird, he might first have considered the
Blue Jay. A choice I too would have considered had I been there with him
at the Philadelphia Convention listening to delegates from Southern States harp
on about the central role of the institution of slavery to their own fat winter