Staring Down the Sentinel

A weathered plastic garden owl stood frozen atop the cedar fence rail, staring blindly over the withered tomato vines. An impudent sentry. I dragged my heavy bark base along the rough wood to size up the rival. Hooking my skeletal claw around its rigid plastic wing, I gave it a sharp, testing shove. It wobbled on its screw mount with a dull hollow thud, yet refused to blink. Unforgivable. I leaned in close until my jagged maw nearly touched its plastic beak, then flared my fiery red bulb straight into its hollow belly through the drain hole underneath. Scarlet light surged through its faded chest, turning the fake predator into a glowing paperweight! Heh-heh-krrk! Not even a flutter.