Author's note: This was an answer to a challenge. Like the game of Clue - come up with a story with a person, a room and an object. This is my attempt. It is also my first and so far only attempt at humor.

And yes, there really was a large stuffed pheasant that sat on top of the bookcase near the dining table. I hope you enjoy.

500 words including title - does not include this note.

Thanks for reading! ~Jan~

A Bird in the Hand

With a contented sigh Johnny plopped into one of the great room's blue chairs. He'd started his day before everyone else, planning to be the first one done, first one in the tub and first one into town. It was Friday night, after all. So far, he'd succeeded, he thought, with a smile. Just needed to wait for the water to heat and he'd be soakin' in that tub before Scott Lancer even made it through the arch.

Pulling off his boots he sat back and surveyed the room. His eyes settled on the bird resting proudly atop the bookcase. It had been there since he arrived and he wondered how long before that. Had it always looked out over the room? Curiosity got the better of him. He walked across the room planning on getting a better look. Funny, it had never attracted his attention before. Placing a foot on the second shelf he boosted himself up and grabbed the bird by its leg. To his dismay the foot snapped right off causing the bird to topple off the shelf and into his waiting arms. The accumulated dust filled the air triggering Johnny to sneeze repeatedly. Feathers floated to the floor with each achoo until the poor bird was nearly bald, only its tail and head feathers remained.

Johnny stared at the pathetic looking thing in horror. What was he to do now? His mind raced, he needed a plan. Carefully, he balanced the one legged bird back on the top shelf hoping no one would actually look at the damn thing and began cramming the feathers into his pockets. Satisfied the evidence had been neatly hidden away he turned to leave.

Murdoch's voice entered the room before he did, "Teresa tells me you were sneezing, Son. Maybe it would be a good idea if you stayed home tonight." They were now standing toe to toe and Murdoch reached up to pluck a wayward feather from the young man's hair.

Feeling the heat of a blush travel across his cheeks Johnny lowered his head. "No," he drawled "I'm fine, just kicked up a little dust is all. For emphasis he began patting his backside sending another cloud of dust into the air. Both men sneezed. The gesture also caused a few feathers to drift down between father and son.

Murdoch grabbed at them as they floated by struggling to keep a grin from erupting across his face. "You got something to tell me, John?"

"No sir, think I'll be takin' my bath now," he spoke backing out of the room. As he closed the door the bird wobbled and slipped from its perch hitting the floor with a thud. Murdoch bent to pick it up, laughing. He often found pleasure in watching his young son but this time was particularly enjoyable. With another laugh he propped it back on the shelf figuring there was still a bit more fun left in this old bird.