Marching in Formation

Four plump pigeons were marching in a stern, bobbing line across the red brick path! I fell in right behind the caboose—thrusting my chin out, snapping my long neck back and forth in quick, jerky pulses to match their stride! Patter, bob, patter, bob! Every time they pecked, I bowed; whenever they accelerated, my rubber toes scurried to keep pace! Then the lead pigeon spotted a dropped popcorn kernel and whipped sharp left—the whole squad pivoted instantly! I lunged sideways to stay in the drill, but my rubber heels skidded wide—*whumpf!* I grazed a speckled wing, gasped, and snapped completely rigid as the flock clattered skyward in a flurry of feathers, leaving me standing wide-beaked...