Nature Happens, or The Best-tasting Bug in Town

Blue jays are ordinarily pretty noisy birds, but yesterday there was a racket coming from a tree behind my house that was excessive even by their high standards. It was two or more jays squawking loudly, and as I looked over to find out what the deal was I saw one of the birds flop down from one branch to another in a clumsy flutter and with a startled chirrup that I assume translated to "Ow! I mean, I meant to do that." At the same time I became aware of a loud, high-pitched buzzing, like something you might hear from a high-voltage electrical device that was getting ready to explode. The buzz got louder and started moving in my direction, and then there was a loud thunk! on the porch post right next to my shoulder. After a stunned pause, the buzzing continued on away from me, and I just glimpsed an oversized bug droning off into the lower branches of a spruce twelve or fifteen yards away.

The blue jays had the bug's number, though. Two of them flew to the top of the spruce and started squawking again while another flew down to where the bug was. There was some more rough-and-tumble bonking of branches and then the buzz got quieter and stopped.

I don't know if the birds disliked that particular kind of bug or if they just really really wanted to eat it, but the whole thing was like a sloppy mob hit; it was like when a stool pigeon escapes from a basement and runs down the middle of the street shrieking while a bunch of freaked-out gangsters chase after him with whatever blunt objects happened to be nearby, like hammers or a tennis racket.

Maybe I've just been watching a little too much film noir lately.