Fowl play
When I opened one of the hatches late the other evening, a couple of bolshy swans glid over to investigate. The river was empty except for me and them, and a few drakes splashing around by the boat next door.
"Urnh. Hng-hrnh," Swan A taunted, and tried to peck my fingers.
"Hrngh hngh!" goaded Swan B.
I eyeballed them, saying nothing.
"E-henh-henh-henh," sniggered Swan A, clearly the ringleader.
"Henh-henh," offered Swan B, sycophantically.
"Hnnh. E-hngh. Henh-henh-henh," remarked A, with audible contempt.
"E-Henh. Hrngh," grunted B, derisively.
"You are the Beavis and Butthead of the swan world," I told them.
They looked at each other, wishing they could roll their eyes, then swanned off sullenly, before I said anything else embarrassing.
"Urnh. Hng-hrnh," Swan A taunted, and tried to peck my fingers.
"Hrngh hngh!" goaded Swan B.
I eyeballed them, saying nothing.
"E-henh-henh-henh," sniggered Swan A, clearly the ringleader.
"Henh-henh," offered Swan B, sycophantically.
"Hnnh. E-hngh. Henh-henh-henh," remarked A, with audible contempt.
"E-Henh. Hrngh," grunted B, derisively.
"You are the Beavis and Butthead of the swan world," I told them.
They looked at each other, wishing they could roll their eyes, then swanned off sullenly, before I said anything else embarrassing.