If pigeons are rats with wings, I suppose the sparrows we feed are mice with wings. A feeder hangs from the apple tree. So many sparrows come it looks as if the tree is full of leaves. When the feeder — which is rather small for that crowd — is empty, they begin to chatter, angrily, as if they were channelling Henry Rollins and want to know where the MOTHERFUCKING sunflower seeds FUCKING are MOTHERFUCKER.
So after I feed the tortoise her protein pellets and lettuce (beforehand I have the morning find-the-tortoise workout, today she was behind a harp) I go out and feed the birds. Or, as I like to imagine it, Henry Rollins.