Brick house: Not what the Commodores had in mind, but in a pinch it'll do

I was in Hardin, Mo., Saturday morning to play music at Welcome Home, a fall festival. During breaks, I walked around to stretch out and get some photos for the newspaper. Brick textures and colors have always fascinated photographers and artists, but the birds who live in these holes liked the shelter, not the aesthetics. Not to mix my animal metaphors, but the birds played a cat and mouse game with me before I could finally get a few shots. They'd flit, fly away or duck inside, and on the first go-around I came up empty. "Vern, if we hop inside, that idiot with the camera won't get a photo," Marla Jean, his significant other, said. However, When the gig was over, the jig was up. I'd parked on a grassy lot next to the wall, so I sat in the car and waited for one of the winged fellers to return. This one did and wondered what the hay-ell I was staring at. My little feathered treybooshka, fear not. I shoot with digital bullets.