“That’s a raven.”
The crow-like bird hops along a wall built high on top of a mountain, craning its head toward us, the curved, black beak opening and closing hopefully.
“No way. Ravens are huge. That bird is small,” I say, clearly demonstrating my expertise in all things avian.
My Beloved laughs. “They’re little! Like that one.”
“Don’t you know about the ones at the Tower of London? Huge. At least three feet tall. But not as big as that eagle I saw when I was running on the beach in Washington. That one was at certainly four feet tall.”
“Four feet! No way. They don’t come that big. That would be a gigantic bird.”
“It was gigantic. I was afraid it was going to eat me. It’s one of the scariest things that’s ever happened to me.”
“Four feet.” He laughs again. “Was it standing on its tippy-talons or something?”
“I swear it was at least four feet tall.”. I pull out my phone, determined to prove my point immediately.
His baritone giggle ripples out of his chest, filling the cavern of the car. “Tippy-talons,” he says. “That’s a good one. Tippy-talons!”