It wasn’t really a whistle.   Whistles are supposed to cut through the air - not hang in the ether and then drop to the ground.  I wasn’t even sure if they heard me.  I can only project my asthmatic breath so far without revealing myself crouched in the hedges.  No use, they remain seated unaware they are being observed. 

            Hey, wait…movement as if they sense some one or some thing is near.  Oh look, the self-appointed brave one makes an attempt to investigate.  She is coming my way.  Do I reveal myself now and ruin the fun or should I remain hidden risking detection?  (If found the social implications could be severe.)  I opt to stay where I am and let the consequences be damned.

            She hovers near but doesn’t see me.  I fight to control my labored breathing.  If she wasn’t trying so hard to prove her brava she would have found me out.  Satisfied that nothing is there (there in the bushes on the dark side of the house) she leaves to join the other.

            I whistle again, but this time it’s a whistle challenged by my urge to laugh now that I know they both can indeed hear me.  Like gazelles detecting a lion on an African savannah, their necks strain to attention and their heads turn as one.  The brave one hesitates but this time it is the other who determines the plan of action.  She runs and screams – or she screams and then runs (it’s hard to determine because I’m delighted with the chain of events).

            The brave one follows and is the fastest of the two for she wins the race to the backdoor.  Unfortunately, for her at least, it isn’t her house and she doesn’t know the door opens from the left to the right, not visa versa.  Instead, she is tossed to the side while the other escapes inside.  She gasps and realizes she is facing the door hinges and she jumps when the door slams shut.  Anticipation weighs heavy in the air.

            I’m not far behind. 

© 2004 Westerfield