My husband believes he can communicate with birds.
We have two hawks who live in our trees. Henry and Myrtle, affectionately. Upon hearing even the smallest peep from his buddies Brad first) gasps second) freezes third) makes a bird noise and fourth) runs to the closest window. Sometimes his adoring wife, muah, will be in the middle of a brilliant literary thought or profound revelation regarding zombies and he's like, outta there. Abandoned for the birds. But like a pigeon he always returns.
Last night we enjoyed the evening on our newly decorated patio. We dined on bar-b-q chicken, buttery corn on the cob and squishy sweet potato fries. The breeze came through the trees and it felt like an early summer eve. Henry and Myrtle greeted us on opposite branches. My husband made a noise similar to Jim Carrey's most annoying sound in the world as seen in Dumb and Dumber. And then Henry chirped back. They went on talking for a few minutes while I nibbled on my fries, reflecting on how normal these exchanges had become. But then Henry jumped on Myrtle's branch, and then jumped onto Myrtle, and then our bird children began to mate. With noises I hope to not hear again.
"Way to go Henry."