Author and Columnist Shelly Reuben

After Special Agent Clayton Yonder laid out the findings of the Avian Slaughter Task Force for me and our bird and bug buddies, we sat in stunned silence, each of his words reenforcing the sad truth that Terror Birds now occupied popular public places filled to the brim with feathered and furred critters, not excluding equally vulnerable infants, toddlers, and pre-school children.

Those five places included a lagoon, an elementary school, an outdoor theater, a beach, and a zoo. I stared down at all – circled in red on Clay’s blueprint – numb, mum, and motionless, not knowing how to process his dismal news, let alone how to formulate a plan of action.

Archie the Giant Chickadee, however, suffered from no such mental paralysis. As soon as Clay stopped talking, he took one last look at the blueprint upon which he had been standing, seemed to shrug (although it’s hard to tell on beachball-sized chickadee), and flew back to his perch on the fireplace mantle.

He stood stock-still for no more than two seconds, solemnly eyeing his friends. Then, directing his attention exclusively to Clay, he said, “You have here in your ranks, Special Agent Yonder, five members of an avian brotherhood. Three are male. Two are female. All are large, and when we choose to do so, we can be seen from long distances. This will be important in combating Terror Birds. It is also important, that we will not have to prove our abilities to our fighting companions, because we are already recognized as their leaders.”

A rapid series of twitters suddenly emanated from Rochester, Stella, Nigel, and Gwendolyn, followed by what seemed to be a well-choreographed bobbing of heads.

Archie the Giant Chickadee lowered his eyes to meet those of his bird buddies. He said, solemnly and respectfully, “Thank you.”

Then, he continued, “I suggest that in combating our enemy, we each be assigned to a different occupied territory. Rochester. You take the Southland Elementary School, since cardinals dominate the woodland, and they are great friends of yours. Stella. You often attend folk concerts at the Rock Haven Theater, so I’ll put you there. Nigel. With your affinity toward seagulls, you get the Glencoe Beach. And Gwendolyn, as the biggest animal lover among us, you get The Kings County Zoo. I’ll take the Pickerel Lagoon, because…”

Clay interrupted, “Cautious, Archie. That is by far the most dangerous place of all.”

“I know. But I can handle it. I’ll also be in charge of dispatching your orders to the others in our ranks. I can’t guarantee this now, but in within a day or two, I’ll...” Archie paused for a series of shallow coughs. Who knew that chickadees, like other public speakers, had to clear their throats?

“Guarantee what?” Clay urged.

“That our Bird Army…”

“Bird Airforce,” I interrupted with a smile.

“I stand corrected,” Archie acknowledged with an abrupt, but not unfriendly, nod. “I can guarantee that our Bird Airforce will be joined by many other bird species as well.”

Then Archie, apparently finished with at least the first half of his pronouncements, stared across the room right up into Clayton Yonder’s eyes and said, “Now, Boss. Tell me what you want us to do.”

By this time, I felt the way I often do when, after having furiously written an entire chapter, jam-packed with characters, plot twists, and intense dialogue, I suddenly realize that I’m incapable of adding a single syllable.

I was done. Drained. Knackered. Enfeebled. Fatigued. Spent.

I think you get the point.

So, I suggested – to unanimous agreement – that we take a break.

Our birds and bug went through the opening in the garage to the back porch to get some fresh air and exercise. I … greedy little thing that I am … asked Special Investigator Boyfriend if he felt like walking two blocks to my favorite coffee shop for maybe a blueberry muffin and some much-needed caffeine.

The walk to and from the café was heaven.

Instead of an autumn chill, we were greeted by gentle Indian Summer breezes and scents. Everything smelled orange and gold and maple leaf red. I shuffled my feet as we headed back to my house, reluctant to face the planning we needed to do to confront what was once a single Terror Bird, but had now multiplied to at least five.

Still feeling too claustrophobic for my living room or kitchen, we reassembled an hour later – as we had done the previous Monday for our picnic – in my backyard. Also, as before, Clay had his .4-0-caliber Glock within easy reach, in case he had to deal with unwelcomed visitors in the sky.

Archie perched on the table directly opposite Clay, bounded on either side by Rochester and Stella, the pretty goldfinches; Nigel and Gwyndolyn, the elegant tufted titmouses; Florence, the itty, bitty swan; and the only normal-sized member of the group, Daffney, the adorable green-eyed chickadee with the backward knees. Byron, our perpetual-motion dragonfly, circled overhead.

Clay positioned a legal pad and a ballpoint pen in front of himself on the picnic table, and I opened my laptop computer. Before we started, I could see that not only our Giant Chickadee, but the rest of the birds at the table were edgy as well. Nervous. Teeming with suppressed energy. Archie started to hop back and forth from foot-to-foot. Then the others did so as well. It was like watching a poorly choreographed chorus line, with each bird-of-a-feather dancing to a different drummer. Not excluding Daffney, who, with her backward knees, turned what merely lacked synchronization into utter chaos.

But after Clay asked his first question, they all settled down.

“How many birds,” he queried, “are there?”

“Are there where?” Archie responded. “In the city? In the state? In the country?”

Clay shrugged. “Any of those places. All of them.”

Archie shook his head … or his whole body. Same difference … and replied, “I don’t know.”

Meanwhile, I was tapping away on my computer. After a minute or two of comparative silence (birds still twittering and a funny buzzing sound coming from Byron), I read aloud, “New research estimates that there are about 430 billion birds on earth.”

“Billion?” Archie repeated, sounding partially dubious, and partially awed. “That’s a lot.”

“It is indeed,” Clay agreed. Special Investigator Boyfriend directed his next question to me. “How many birds are there is our state?”

I returned to my computer. I looked here. I looked there. I turned to my left. I met Clay’s eyes, and I shrugged. “It doesn’t say. But we have at least 429 bird species.”

“Humm.” Clay said. He wrote “430 billion” on the first line of his legal pad, and “429 species” on the second line. Then he turned to Archie, and asked, “For your Avian Airforce,” he took out half-a-second to wink at me, “How many birds … troops … aviators … do you think we can enlist?”

Before Archie answered, he engaged in a few seconds of twitter with his cohorts. Then he returned his attention to Clay, and said, “We think at least 100 thousand.”

Clay’s head jerked back in surprised, which immediately – wordsmith that I am – made me realize where the expression “taken aback” comes from. He repeated. His voice subdued, “100 thousand?”

“Yes, Boss,” Archie said.

“Here. Locally?” Clay continued, cautiously optimistic that he hadn’t mistaken Archie’s meaning.

He had not. Well, actually, he had. But in a good way. Because the next thing Archie said was, “No. I don’t mean 100 thousand birds for our entire military operation. I mean that we can count on at least 100 thousand for each of the five locations at which we’ll have to confront and eliminate a Terror Bird.”

Clay shook his head in disbelief. “So, you’re saying we potentially have an army … excuse me. An Airforce of 500 thousand … half-a-million …birds?

Archie smiled broadly – and yes. Absolutely, positively, chickadees CAN smile – and responded. “Yes. But that’s a lowball estimate. Probably much more than that.”

Copyright © Shelly Reuben, 2026. Shelly Reuben’s books have been nominated for Edgar, Prometheus, and Falcon awards. For more about her writing, visit www.shellyreuben.com