The Thieving Magpie

Subtle and quaint in the garden it lingered in rest. The lovely Magpie exposed a layer of white breast beneath its blackened vest. If only I could coax it away from its common defenses. With such cool, iridescent colors, there’s no need to be hidden in the grass, my friend. Come out; come out, do come out and show yourself.

“Kyak”, said the Magpie, fluttering the wings as a threat.

“Handsome little devil, isn’t it?” I asked, thinking the question rhetorical at the time.

“Is that a Magpie? You cannot be serious. A Magpie?” asked a man rather deliriously.

“That’s no handsome devil. That is the devil.” said the man.

Poor little Magpie, I’m sorry these men are so ignorant and blind. Don’t worry though; there are plenty of men of good morals and certainly less rotten. They’d be delighted to see such a sight. There is hope for you yet, don’t fret little fellow.

“Kyak.”

“The devil speaks!” said somebody in the crowd of villagers.

“Now, now, people, what’s the trouble with such a harmless creature? It’s no speaking devil, you see? It can perch on my finger…like so, and will not bite. Isn’t he a marvelous specimen? It’s not him thieving the eggs of your songbirds, I assure you. I beg of you, accept this bird into your society of tainted generalities, and you too will take flight, with the maturity of the Blue Jay that you’re all so persistent in praising. Examine, if you will, the good existing inside of this fellow. He never meant you any harm whatever.”

“That rotten bird is destructive and menacing. It’s merely a dirty cousin to the Blue Jay. Destroy him, before he gets away!” said some redneck.

If only the ignorant bastards knew the truth. There would be no setting the audience straight, though, I thought. “Kyak”, the Magpie thanked me for trying to save its reputation. “Any time buddy.” I said.

Good old friend lifted his jet black bill and fluttered upwards to illuminate jealousy by the sun. Damn British, always jumping to conclusions. Most incidents of feeding on songbird’s eggs are retained to the Blue Jays and regular Crows. It’s a wonder the Magpie could be so oft’ blamed.

‘Beauty is poorly perceived’, I thought, ‘in an ignorant community of scarecrows and rednecks.’ In their vile pestilence, the villagers murmured amongst one another not at all dabbling in truth, all sharing their view on the account of “that frightful bird”. They thanked me for harnessing its evil, for releasing the being’s inner devil, as if the bird had wronged them in some way. Eventually, the villagers made their way back to work where they would remain ignorant to the beauty of which I’ve accounted for. Their viewpoint relayed their own loss.