Hummingbird Dive Bomber

My pet hummingbird, Buzz, busily zipped about my apartment. When he came too close I'd duck and cover, thinking that a plane was landing on my building, but then I'd realize it was just Buzz, and I'd get up and shrug my shoulders with a half-smile, sitcom-style.

Buzz was a model of productivity, demonstrating what it was to live life to its fullest, and to always be on the move. This was inspiring at first, but eventually it faded to merely charming, then profoundly annoying.

Buzz would perch on a branch of the ficus in my living room--on those few occasions when he took a break from flying all the goddamn time.

A few months after he moved in, Buzz started feeling sluggish. Our relationship briefly improved when I vowed to stand by him no matter what illness was the cause. We eventually parted ways when he discovered that the cause was not a disease, but rather the quaaludes I'd been sneaking into his feeder.

After he left, I replaced him with a turtle.