Based on true events
Finding food is a monotonous business. Yet it is pleasant, and in the end, wonderfully satisfying, but we must spend most of our short lives in this almost never-ending search. I, being a House Wren, have not a large body to sustain, yet the other day, in the bright, cheerful summer sun, I was toiling greatly for that very reason. Having a taste for insects might not sound too appetizing to you yet it is something which causes my bill to water whenever I see an invertebrate. It was a perfect day for a hunting such beings, a day of glowing grasses, smiling sunflowers, warmth all about, and insects a-plenty. I was doing my scouting in a lush garden, beneath wide lettuce leaves, and experiencing one of the most pleasant moments of my life. There were crawlers and creepers everywhere! I picked at beetles, their young, and worms, caterpillars and lacewings. There was no need to search far for I was surrounded wholly by a most appetizing meal. Yet I sensed that it was not the safest area for partaking of my feast, not at all! Why, only the day before had I spotted a orange puss venture through the rows of plants, and I did not wish to be caught if it so passed once more. Therefore, I exercised my wings after each catch, launching myself from the soily debris and onto the fence with my catch in my beak. Then, restricting my stay upon such a revealing perch, I dropped to the opposite side where, in the protective shield of bush and bramble, I partook of my meal in peace. Perhaps it was slightly laborious to perform such a routine for every insect, but I am quite sure it was well rewarded, for the puff-tailed puss never did find, or even behold my comings and goings in the garden. If he had, would I be recounting this tale? Surely not!
A smartly, slightly striped, little songbird, the House Wren can be distinguished from other wrens by it's absence of obvious markings. It is a dull grey-brown with pale bars upon its wings and breast, and an indistinct white eyebrow. It likes foraging in tangled briars and bush near the ground, and is quite noiseless when feeding. But when the fit comes upon it, this feathered fellow sings its heart to the skies, or chatters angrily at an intruder. It is the essence of a true and simple joy to hear this small bird laughing the time away with its cheerful song.