Tell me animals don’t have a sixth sense. And I’ll tell you you’re wrong.
The other day I noticed a little sparrow sitting in a shrub right outside my window. The weather was horrific, well not really. It was rainy and cold but for him, it was horrific. He had his back turned to me and was fluffed up the way birds do to keep the cold at bay.
I had stopped working for a moment to get my wits about me and to look outside so that I’d get some distance into my vision rather than just stare at a computer inches from me. This little bird was a joy to look at because he was less than three feet from me. Since the shrub had minimal foliage, I could really look at his colors and markings.
After my staring at him for a few minutes, I became aware of his feeling something. His feathers smoothed down and he sat up straighter. Then he started looking slowly from one side to the other. And then, he looked at the street; then again from side to side more quickly as if the urgency to find whatever was watching him was the most important survival strategy he could muster.
He had started to panic. I didn’t mean for that to happen but now I was into watching him. All of a sudden he calmed down. As if he were in a scene from the Exorcist he began to turn his head slowly to the left side and then completely back so that he could see me. He had found his safety nemesis.
Once looking at me he decided that I wasn’t a real threat but just to let me know how it felt, he turned completely around on the branch and gave me a little of what I’d given him. He stared and not just for a moment. It was minutes as if he were saying, “And how does this feel?”
I smiled and went back to work, my little mental research over with and happy to have a small bird watching me. Did he have a sixth sense? You might call it the survival instinct. I know better. He’s pure psychic.