For the Birds

Not sure what kind of birds these are. Someone suggested female crackles. OK.

Our water heater leaks.

I'm sitting in the sun, next to our motorhome on Padre Island National Seashore, and I see drip, drip, drip. Water from our leaky hot water heater dribbles off the bottom edge of our motorhome, creating a widening dark spot on the pavement. It annoys me. Precious water. Evaporating. Exasperating. Dry campers understand this.

Suddenly, WOOSH. Birds, about 20 of them, descend on my leak. HA! They flutter about, muscling  for the best spot to bathe or drink.  And then they're off. Except for two. I'll call then Dad and Son.

Son hops over to the drip and hops up, like he's on a trampoline, slurping each drip. Drip, hop, slurp. Drip, hop, slurp. Exhausting to watch. Drip, hop, slurp.

Dad pushes Son aside. "Watch me!" He tilts his head back, opens his beak and catches the drip.

Drip, drink, drip, drink. Son, typical Son, ignores Dad. Instead, he siphons water from a small puddle.

Satiated, Dad flutters off.

Son repositions himself under the drip, tilts his head back. Drip, drink. Drip, drink.

I hope Dad's watching.