Not a drop of champagne ...

Why do we not risk? Even if the crane flies over our very head, we will not even stretch a hand (well, except perhaps by instinctively moving a finger). Because there is a bird feeder in the hands, the leg holds the cage door, lips whisper “chick-chick-chick, my titmouses”, and we just watch the white wedge floating across the sky ...



We are busy. We will never throw the feeder under our feet, leave the door open, do not scream, scaring our tits - we are serious, responsible people! No one will ever see us jumping in a vain effort to seize luck by the tail ...
')
Three days ago, habrachelovek appeared. The first hours he convulsively twitched, gaining a voice. And then pulled up like a rocket. Almost everyone clapped encouragingly on the shoulder, shook his hand, raised his thumb up ... Holding the feeder with my armpit, leg door, constantly looking around and twitching "chick-chick-chick, my titmouses" ...

Cranes do not fly at low level. They can hover on their funny stilts for a long time, but sooner or later they take off. And only a brief moment of flying so low that there is a chance to grab. Chance for those who were not there when the crane was walking.

But a few desperate jumped on board.
- Hello!
- Hello. Pedals are able to twist? Your left to the edge.
- What?
- What! What do you think the wings themselves are flapping? Need to twist.
- Uh ...
- What?
- Yes, I have it ... Tits not fed ... Not a ride? Not far from here!
- Yes, not on the way to me, I'm sorry.
- Ah ... Well, come on, bye.
- Until…

The captain of the crane again moved his cap on his eyes, twisted the steering wheel, and habitually fell on the pedals, gaining speed and height. The wind with the smell of champagne pleasantly tickled the tips of the wings ...

PS
A radio signal was received from a refueling worker flying at an altitude of 3000 meters. Your own? Alien?

Pps
8c08870c01d8d5cecc0cf8a926ba5e99