When I took the dogs out, there was a vulture on the power line across the street. A crow landed next to it. Two others sat above like sports fans on bleachers waiting for the game to start.
The vulture seemed young, inexperienced. It looked at the crow, shook its wings, and a feather dropped on the ground. The crow preened, cawed. The fight was off.
The dogs pulled at their leashes. Nothing more to see here. It was getting hot. We moseyed around the block, talked with a few neighbors. When we got back, even the feather was gone.
Monica's Monday Morning Flash 