There was the suggestion of danger in the air. Then a fluttering, then chaos as wings and bodies panicked in the knowledge there was a reason to be in a flit.
The call went out: “Which way? Which way?”
“This way,” crowed one.
“No this way,” cawed another.
“What the …”
“Careful of the language,” said another, “We are a flocking family.”
Suddenly there was an explosion of feathers as Egbert the Eagle struck carrying off the hapless victim is a cloud of down and the muffled cries of help and goodbye mum.
The flock then settled to make plans, like they always did when mayhem occurred knowing they’d forget the plan by the time of the next attack.
The plan was intense and carefully thought out, they all adopted it and then there was the cry of “Chips, chips on the ground.”
The flock swooped, food overrode the plan, they were back to doing what they did best, eating.