From a 1997 blank verse poem I titled “The Blue Jay and the Squirrel,” written for verse writing class, this portion catches the characters mid-battle . . .
They clawed and pecked each other for the prize and danced and fluttered 'round the tiny stick, but soon they wearied of the argument, and in a final fling to snatch the limb, with screams and bristled tail, the squirrel shooed the blue jay, as she crouched and grabbed the twig by paws that popped it straight into her mouth.
. . . features dialogue in which the creatures cannot understand each other, and ends with the triumphant squirrel’s perspective:
“My! My!” the squirrel panted with relief, and raising up the twig, she thought aloud, What nonsense from that old, blue feather-head! Were I to know the words he seemed to squawk, I might have gladly answered him again. As to the coded tongue he speaks, I’m sure I lack the smallest clue; and too, I doubt that any of our other neighbors do.
copyright C. L. Tangenberg