Mogey and Smush had always been contemptuous of hobbies. They routinely sent letters using stamps from their neighbor's priceless stamp collection. On occasion they would plant a small-to-medium sized artillery shell on a grassy hillside in Mogey's Grandpa's model train layout. Once they even wasted a coconut cream pie giving a young lad's face its comeuppance after he flew a kite too near their house.
But there was one hobby Mogey and Smush hated above all others: birdwatching. As luck would have it, their postman was the most renowned birdwatcher in all of Gattleburn County. His name was Orn. Orn O'Thologist.
"Good day, chaps," Orn said cheerily as he deposited their mail one morning.
"Move along there, O'Thologist," Smush said bluntly from inside the screen door. "Chop chop."
"Righto," Orn replied. He hopped merrily off their front stoop and began to skip up the lane, but something caused him to pause, mid-skip. "Say, fellows!" Orn hissed in a barely audible whisper. "Come out here a moment!"
So compelling was Orn O'Thologist's voice that Mogey and Smush reluctantly went outside and followed him up the lane.
"See that bird there?" Orn whispered excitedly, pointing to a bright orange creature perched in a tree not ten feet away. "I'm not sure you gents know how special this is. That, my friends, is an Burnt Mukka, the rarest bird in this entire county! Can you see it?"
Mogey raised his shotgun to his shoulder, aimed carefully, and blew the Burnt Mukka away.
"No, I can't say that I can," Mogey replied, brushing a singed Mukka feather off his nose. "Like Smush said: get a move on, O'Thologist."
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