“And if you look to your left,” Ernie said to the tourists, giving a flamboyant gesture of his hands, “you’ll see one of our longtime residents.”
Cameras clicked and fingers pointed as they beheld the blue-feathered bird. She was perched upon a branch, a hollowed cup in her hand.
“And what’s so special about her, then?” a man asked.
Ernie looked at him: balding, dismissive look on the face, arms crossed.
There’s always one, he thought. Some smug moron in a flower-pattern shirt trying to show off.
“Well, sir,” he replied. “This is the most magnificent bird in the world. She’s been with us fifty years. She can tap out her name in Morse code and do basic arithmetic.” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They say that in the great fire, she guided more than fifty people to safety.”
The man didn’t say anything more after that. The number of camera flashes quadrupled. Everyone wanted a picture of the magnificent creature.
That night over drinks, Ernie told his boss what he’d said and the older man burst into laughter.
“You never do anything halfway, do you?”
Ernie just grinned.
Word Count: 192
This is for Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner Week #25. Thanks to rogershipp for running the challenge! Photo from pixabay.com.