One of my regular pleasures is going to the feed store. Before you ask, yes, every Texas burg large enough to be called a town has a feed store--along with a Main Street and the Dairy Queen.
I'm a little slow about my feed store errands. It's hard to hurry past the open-topped glass cases just inside the entrance, where ferrets and bunnies hang out until families take them home.
Yesterday four ferrets nuzzled my hand before commencing a race up my arm, provoking a vision of a squeaky squabble on top of my head. I thought for a moment they were going to make it, but I managed to extricate my arm ferret-less from the box.
Beyond the bunnies are small birds. My current favorites are a pair of exotic green, red and blue parakeets who seem to think Beethovan's Ninth Symphony is good dinner music. I know this because I whistle a bit of the Ninth to them every time we go in.
Beethoven's Ninth is the music that runs in the background of my mind, rolling into my consciousness when I'm not paying attention to anything else. It's been there since January 2003, when I had a stressful time and needed calming. The Ninth entered my sleep one night and I woke feeling so refreshed that the music made itself to home.
So of course that's what I whistle to the birds. One of them does a little bob-dancing at first but they generally end up at the feed tray, crunching to the tune.
And I finish my errands with a smile on my face.
I thought you might like a smile too, so here's 50 seconds from one of my parrot concerts.
Copyright 2009-2011 Kathleen Scott, for Hill Country Mysteries. Unauthorized reproduction is prohibited.