The crow settled on the crossbeam and pecked amiably at the burlap sack. “So why’re you out here, anyway?”
The scarecrow shrugged, or tried to. “It’s an easy gig. Plenty of sunshine.”
“No, I mean, what is your job?”
“I scare you birds away.”
The crow cocked its head. “How?”
“Well, you’re supposed to assume I’m a real person.”
“We don’t even run away from the actual farmers!” the crow guffawed. “Why don’t they just stop leaving food?”
“You’re asking the guy with a sack for a head who’s nailed to a stick. I don’t even pretend to understand anymore.”
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