I’m a loser, a loser of things, that is.
        That summer day, I blamed it on the weather, my friend Freddy from across the street, but most of all, I blamed it on the birds.
        It was a lazy late-June afternoon. The sweet grassy smell of freshly-mown lawns drifted through the air.  Bright sunlight spread across the sidewalk like butter on warm toast.
        “Hey Johnny,” Freddy yelled.  “Grab your fishing pole, the flounder are running!”
        “Can’t,” I shouted back.  “This morning, my mom gave me a list of chores longer than the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.”
        “Well, then just come over and check out my new fishing lures.”  
  
I dumped my over-stuffed book bag and house keys on the front steps, but as I turned to go, the jagged shadow of a bird’s wing covered me.  Without warning, a big black crow swooped down and snatched up my keys.  “Caaaw,” it cried, spiraling upward to the top of a towering pine. 
        I had lost my spare key last week.  I was locked out.
        “Cool!” said Freddy when I told him what happened.  “Now you can go fishing.  Go get your pole.”
        As I rummaged through the shovels and rakes in our shed, I remembered that my pole was in the house.  However, just within reach was my brother’s brand new rod and reel.
        Don’t do it, a voice in my head warned.  But I was hooked!  I grabbed the gear and ran.  
  
We hurried down to the salt-water creek.  The brown cedar water slapped gently against the sun-bleached dock.
        I had just baited my hook when Freddy called out, “Hey, look at this funny looking fish!”
        I put down my pole.  Suddenly, I was startled by the loud shriek of an enormous Herring Gull.  It grabbed my bait.  I stood there, helpless.  The pole and line looked like a threaded needle dangling in the air.
        Freddy was still examining his fish as the gull and my brother’s pole disappeared behind an island of cedar trees.  

We walked home in silence.  As we neared my front yard, Freddy asked, “Hey, didn’t you win a spelling contest today?”
        That cheered me up.  “Yeah, I did!”  I reached into my book bag and pulled out the wrinkled blue ribbon.
        “Wow!  What word did you win with?” Freddy asked.
        “Ornithology, the study of birds,” I said with a laugh.
        “Good work!” Freddy said.  “Got to go.”  He started for home.  
  
I stood alone, admiring my ribbon.  
Too long.  A gust of wind lifted it from my hands.  It came to rest at the base of a gnarly old apple tree.
        I ran for it, but before I could reach it, a plump robin red breast quickly claimed it as her prize. Chirping with victory, she flew behind a clump of little green apples.
        I gave up on the day and slipped quietly through the back door.  My mom was home now, my punishment near.  
  
Later that summer, when I regained my freedom, I found my blue ribbon—way up high in the branch of that old apple tree, woven through a now-empty robin’s nest.  I carefully removed it and placed it on a shelf in my room.  It reminds me that I had no one but myself to blame, not even the birds, for all the things I had lost that day, or any other.
  
                         About The Author
  
        Lisa Begin-Kruysman has a BA in Psychology from the University of Connecticut and worked as a recruiter at Home Box Office until 1990.  Since leaving the corporate world, she keeps busy as a full-time artist and finds inspiration for her stories at numerous art fairs and in the classroom as an elementary school substitute teacher.
        About this story, she says, “It has always been one of my favorites.  I wrote it after I saw a seagull make off with someone’s fishing pole.”  Other short stories have garnered honorable mentions from competitions sponsored by Writer’s  Digest, ByLine and Calliope.  She recently completed a young adult novel and has begun the process of seeking publication.
 
 
                         Copyright © Lisa Begin-Kruysman