I was running behind on my chores and at the top of the list was filling the bird feeders. As I stepped outside of the garage with my bucket of seed and some suet cakes, I heard the raucous chatter of the birds waiting to be fed. The sound was almost deafening, a cacophony of tweets and chirps that seemed to be coming from all directions. I quickened my pace, knowing that I was already late with their breakfast.
As I approached the first feeder, I noticed that the birds were not just waiting patiently, but were actually swarming around me, flapping their wings and squawking loudly. I felt a sense of unease, as if they were scolding me for my tardiness. I quickly filled the feeder, trying to appease the angry birds, but they continued to chirp and tweet, their voices growing louder and more insistent.
I moved on to the next feeder, but the birds followed me, their eyes fixed on me with an unblinking gaze. I began to feel like I was being harassed, and I couldn't help but wonder if I had somehow offended them. I filled the feeder as quickly as I could, but the birds just wouldn't let up. They were like a flock of feathered creditors, demanding payment in the form of seed and suet.
As I worked my way through the feeders, the birds continued to scold me, their voices growing hoarse from all the chirping and tweeting. I began to feel like I was in some sort of avian-themed horror movie, with the birds playing the role of menacing villains. I quickened my pace, trying to get the job done as quickly as possible, but the birds just wouldn't give me a break.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I finished filling the last feeder. The birds, seemingly satisfied that I had done my job, began to disperse, flying off to enjoy their breakfast. I watched them go, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. I had survived the ordeal, but I knew that I would never forget the time the birds turned on me in my own backyard.