I felt like the Godfather the other day. At least, I felt like a bigwig in the mafia.
Walking across the yard I beckoned one of the “men” over.
“I’ve got a job to be done” I muttered, on the quiet. “How good are you with your gun?”
“Oh very good!” He bellowed. I glanced round quickly, but no one had heard. “What do you want taking care of?” He asked, again several decibels louder than I would have liked.
“I have this friend” I say, secretively, “this big fat sleek crow lives outside my stable and is harassing me. He flies into the box when I’m there… He eats the feed out of the bucket… He pecks open cartons of orange juice… I need him disposed of as soon as.”
“No problem!” Cried my assassin, “I’ll pop over there with the air rifle.”
I’ve never ordered the death of anything before, and it was oddly empowering.
To update: either the crow is very agile and dodges pellets, or my assassin isn’t a very good shot because my lunch got pecked at yesterday whilst I changed my boots!