Bobbing with the Flock

I shuffled past the lobby gate and out onto the warm brick plaza, my stiff knees clicking with each wobbly stride. Right beside a curved stone bench, three plump gray pigeons were strutting in tight circles. Every time their little claws tapped forward, their heads jerked out—bob, snap! My neck clicked with an eager twitch. "Urrggh?" I puffed out my chest, locked my elbows, and took a clumsy, stomping lunge. Bob! Bob! I thrust my chin forward to match their rhythm, swaying my hips and strutting right into the flock. The birds paused, cocking their shiny bead eyes at my rigid, bobbing march before cooing softly in chorus.