Jack the Daw

That day it was hot, humans were festive and the terrace was packed. Jim and Jill had been hunting all day in the rush hour. Finally they had reached something. It was no piece of cake. Still they had managed to grab and open a bag of sugar. Or just a sachet really, the kind humans leave to lie around by their coffee and after their coffee like dry leaves on sea cliffs. Had humans been eating spiders in chimneys like us, they would not waste like they do. The rich bastards protect their pastries like would they not have one or two a day. Though it is the fault of seagulls really. We never knock ice-cream of theirs hands. It was a disappointing afternoon. Though I tried to be vigilant and use the best of my warning shrieks, the meanest of the waiters noticed Jim and Jill before they managed to finish their meal. “Stop loitering around here!” she hissed at us even though they think we don’t understand their words. “We are not loitering, we are hunting”, I answered knowing she did not understand ours. Jim was not happy. “Look Jack, how the sparrows will have the residues of our hunting again!” he cried. “Human never mind them, but we are always a nuisance. That’s so unfair!” Jim was desperate. But I had to remind him: “Sparrows are not only smaller, but also more silent. You know what they say: then swans will sing, when the jackdaws are silent. It’s kind of true, we talk a lot.” Jim was still unhappy: “There you go Jill, I told you we have to make less noise around humans”, Jim shifted the blame. But Jill was more constructive a type. “Boys, boys, boys, I’ve got an idea! Why don’t we make ourselves seem smaller and more silent?”, she suggested. Jim and I looked at each other, but she was not discouraged. Jill flew away and came back the next morning only. We were a little worried for her. But then we saw, who she was with, Jim and me looked at each other again, but differently now. Jill was onto something here. We saw the swans take positions in the bay, when the day approached opening of the café and terrace. We saw one human arrive with their pastry, a second with a cookie and a coffee, a third with a piece of cake. And then, just then, the swans let our a fanfare. First like they usually do, then slowly a few notes, and finally clearly real singing. Every human on the terrace stood up, and we didn’t waste our time. That’s when we hit on the cakes! Oh it tasted so good that day. And it still does! But since then the singing swans have become the attraction of our town, so there’s enough tourists to trick, and we have our bellies full of pastry. Now we also can afford a cake or two a day.