Not a drop of champagne ...

    Why are we not at risk? Even if the crane flies over our very head, we won’t even extend a hand (well, except by instinctively moving a finger). Because in the hands of a bird feeder, a foot holds the door of the cage, lips whisper "chick-chick-chick, my titmouse", and we just watch the white wedge floating across the sky ...

    We are busy. We will never throw the feeder under our feet, do not leave the door open, do not scream, scaring off our tits - we are serious, responsible people! No one will ever see us jumping in a futile effort to grab luck by the tail ...

    Three days ago, a haberman appeared. For the first hours he twitched frantically, gaining a voice. And then he rushed up like a rocket. Almost everyone encouragingly clapped his shoulder, shook his hand, raised his thumb up ... Holding an armpit in the feeder, kicking the door, constantly looking around and whispering "chick-chick-chick, my tits" ...

    Cranes do not fly on a shaver. They can stumble on their funny stilts for a long time, but sooner or later take off. And only a brief moment fly so low that there is a chance to seize. A chance for those who were not around when the crane walked.

    But a few desperate jumped aboard.
    - Hi!
    - Hi. Can you twist pedals? Your left on the edge.
    - What?
    - What! What do you think the wings themselves wave? It is necessary to twist.
    - Uh ...
    - What?
    - Yes, I have it ... Tits are not fed ... Can't you ride? Not far here!
    - Yes, not on my way, sorry.
    - Ah ... Come on, bye.

    The crane captain again shifted his cap over his eyes, turned the helm, and, as usual, put his pedals on, gaining speed and height. The wind with the smell of champagne pleasantly tickled the tips of the wings ...

    A radio signal was received from a refueling aircraft flying at an altitude of 3000 meters. Own? Alien?


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