Ten years ago Kathy began to write seriously as she recovered from an attack of multiple sclerosis. She has been published in local publications in Los Angeles, DogFancy, Dialogue, Senior Plus, and various ezines.

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A dark form lurked on a lower branch of our pepper tree. I heard the resident mockingbird squall a warning. She teetered on the edge of her nest and dared the crow to come closer. He hopped up to a higher branch, stared boldly at her nest and lusted after the pale green eggs. I knew he would soon be leaving.

The female spread out her tail feathers, puffed out her chest and squalled for her mate. The crow fluttered back down a few branches and his head pivoted as he heard the mate coming back to the nest on the double. The male mockingbird screamed outraged protests and landed on a twig above the crow.

Then both of the mockingbirds shrieked and scolded the predator. Crow listened to the abuse for a few seconds and then lifted off his branch. As he moved ponderously toward his own mate in the tall pine down the street, the mockingbirds dive bombed his black feathered back. The crow frantically swooped up and down, banked left, swung right, but his attackers never slackened the attack.

The songbirds little bodies cut like two sharp Ninja knives through the afternoon haze. They gracefully criss-crossed their flight paths and attacked from both sides, first one peck from her and then another peck from him on the crow's head and wings. Each jab was accompanied by a low rasping cry, followed by a shocked CAW! from the victim. I watched in fascination at the chutzpah of the little birds, as they successfully routed the much larger enemy.

Crow made it back to his mate in the pine tree and landed close to her. His tormentors pulled up and headed back to their nest, triumphant once more. The defensive duo landed on the lawn near my chair to troll for a few grubs and moths and then returned to the pepper tree, beaks full. The female settled over her clutch of eggs. Her mate kept watch.

The crows now sat disconsolately on a telephone wire. They bent their heads and stroked their beaks on the black insulation in a show of frustration and menace. They ruffled their wings and seemed to discuss the situation in crow speak. Then the female crow lifted off the wire and began her own stealthy approach to the pepper tree.

Time for Plan B, I thought.