Battles with and between critters can be wild and furious, and usually with solid logic behind them. Make that critter logic, which is sometimes the same and sometimes different than human logic.

Typically, I prefer critter logic.

Some critters are tougher than others, and it isn’t a matter of size. One childhood memory that illustrates the point is indelibly etched into my brain.

A cat raced frantically across a large open field, dodging left and right like a jack rabbit and screeching in pain, as a pair of mockingbirds flew a precise figure eight over the cat’s head.

At every dip in the pattern each bird pecked savagely at the cat’s head. Both birds were just a fraction of the weight and power of the cat, yet their light weight and maneuverability, combined with their fierce nature gave them the advantage. This was precision flying at its finest.

The image tells an important tale. The cat was threatening the nest of those birds, and they did what instincts taught them for the survival of their family.

They fought valiantly against a much more powerful predator and drove away the attacker.They chased the intruder all the way back home, showing no mercy along the way.

I can imagine their satisfied feeling upon returning home to the nest, safe and sound.

The cat, on the other hand, suffered a sore head for at least a week. I’ll bet it was a good long while before the cat tried to advance on an occupied nest of mockingbirds.

I had a very personal and savage battle with a mockingbird when I was a young lad of about nine years old. This is a moment I learned a lot from.

Selma, the little old lady who lived next door, had a huge and highly productive apricot tree. She harvested those apricots carefully, canned them, and additionally made tasty jams. She sold much of her stock throughout the year, and the extra income was important to her.

Sadly for her, birds ruined a great percentage of her apricots as they grew on the tree each year, until she hired me and my BB gun to keep her tree free of birds. Yup, I was a hired gun at nine years old.

She paid me in apricots. I ate far fewer than the birds, so she felt she was getting a good deal.

One day in a flurry of activity I knocked a feeding mockingbird out of her tree with a well-paced shot. In a flash I had its angry mate flying at my face.

I stood there on the fence, reminiscent of the classic Alamo scene, swinging the butt of my gun at the attacking enemy.

I learned much that day and developed a newfound and lifelong respect for critters, especially small and fast critters who are 10 times tougher than they look.