He drove a bit too fast (on the way to the tractor supply and garden store).

Just like he would THINK too fast.

Just like he would MOVE too fast.

And just like, right now, he was SPEAKING too fast. In hyper, motioning tones.

"Well, I'm looking for flowers, cause I love flowers, and I really like the red ones! I love red flowers, cause they're RED! Do you like red flowers? Do you like FLOWERS? Do you like spring flowers or summer flowers? I like ALL flowers, but I like summer flowers. I like roses. Do you like roses?"

He was a hummingbird.

And the squirrel on the other side of the register ... just smiled and nodded. "Smile and nod," she told herself in her head. Just smile and nod. He'll go away. They always do. But he was the ONLY customer in the store (at the moment, anyway ... out of the corner of her eyes, she saw someone else enter ... but they didn't approach the registers). She couldn't get away on the excuse of being "busy" ... she had to make eye contact and pretend she cared about the shiny, gem-hued bird and his flower fetish. Flowers. Really! Why obsess over flowers?

Trees were MUCH better, the squirrel mused. Plant a forest, moron! Not a garden!

"Forget-me-nots. I've never seen forget-me-nots. Forget-me-nots are the state flowers of Alaska. State flower. You know what our state flower is? Peony. The peony. Yes, I know, it's an odd flower to have as your state flower. I read this article in the paper about how some furs want to change it. To, like, the fire-pink or something. Or something. I don't remember."

Heartbeat, heartbeat, beat, beat, beat!

"Are forget-me-nots perennials? Yes? Like daffodils? Do flowers have to have bulbs to be perennials? I guess I should know! I love flowers, but sometimes, it's hard to keep all the information in my head! It all flies out. Sometimes, I think too much. Sometimes, I like to sit and watch the flowers as I think. Do you have wild-flowers? Do you like wild-flowers?"

"Uh," the squirrel said, trying to respond.

But not getting in a word. For the hummingbird ... " ... ‘likes to talk.' I know that's what you're thinking. And, okay, maybe I DO like to talk, but it's just cause I have a lot to say, and have a lot of energy to say it with, and I like flowers, and I'm here to get flowers, and I need some new flowers to plant. Can you recommend any flowers? Any GOOD, unique flowers? Moon flowers! Do you have MOON flowers?" The hummingbird leaned forward, across the desk, beak-smiling (in that bird-like way). "Mm?"

"Uh ... um, I ... back there!" the squirrel replied, after stammering a bit. And she pointed to the back of the store. "Back there." Her bushy tail flickered a bit behind her, like a brown, furry flag.

The hummingbird's eyes widened. "Back there where? Where back there? Are there seeds back there? Do you have packets of seeds? You know, like the little paper packets of flower seeds, with the directions and everything on the backs of the packets, and ... "

"Yeah, yeah," the squirrel insisted, interrupting, nodding. "Sure." Though, truth be told, she didn't know. And, honestly ... she just wanted this hummingbird ... out. Of. Here. Oh, he was SO annoying! They ALL were. They were like flitting live-wires. They were like whirlwinds. Talking to one almost made your OWN pulse increase! How many times a minute was that thing's heart beating? Hundreds? Some insane number ... some insane thing. Some freak of nature. That's what hummingbirds were.

Heartbeat, heartbeat, beat, beat, beat!

"Thank you for your help! You've been very helpful. I hope I find some seeds back there. If I find some seeds, I'll bring them up here, and I'll pay for them up here, and hopefully I can find lots of seeds. I'm trying to make a new flower garden. Oh, I ALREADY have a flower garden, of course. I live in the country. I have lots of flowers. But I'm planting ANOTHER flower garden, cause I love flowers, and ... " He started walking away from the register.

The squirrel aimed her muzzle and nose at the ceiling, closed her eyes, and gave a sigh of relief. Good grief! Her head was spinning now. That thing had actually given her a headache! Mm ... well, at least she'd managed to fob him off into whoever was working in the gardening section. However, her tail twitched in agitation as she realized that the hummingbird would be back. When it was time for him to check-out and pay.

Hummingbirds. So DAMN hyper.

But, for now, the hummingbird skimmed the aisles.

Heartbeat, heartbeat, beat, beat, beat!

Flitter-flitter-hum! Wings at an intermittent thrum! And stopping! And flaring!

Hum, hum ... stillness. Hum.

Heartbeat, heartbeat, beat, beat, beat!

And he passed by the aisles, moving at a slow (but brisk) walk. As slow as he could MANAGE.

Lawn equipment: mowers, blades, weed killers, hoses, lawn decorations.

Cattle stuff: hay feeders, grain bins, horse saddles.

Other things, other things ...

... things, things, things ...

... and pots, potted plants, soil for potted plants, and ...

... flowers!

Flowers, flowers, flowers, the hummingbird thought. Mm ... flowers! He brightly buzzed and scooted around, his shimmery, shiny feathers glinting like rubies and emeralds. A very handsome, very breathtaking sight to see ...

... until he opened his beak. And then every-fur's opinion changed.

Needle-like, black beak ... clack-clack-clack. Point, point, point!

Heartbeat, heartbeat, beat, beat, beat!

"Can I help you?" asked a voice.

The hummingbird looked up.

The chipmunk blinked ... seeing that her customer was a hummingbird. Oh, no. No, no, no. You gave it an open invitation to talk!

"Hello!" The hummingbird beamed, in it's fast, high-pitched voice. "Hello, I'm Bernard. Who are you?!" He squinted and eyed the chipmunk's name-tag. "Soldotna! That's a pretty name! My name's Bernard. You say it ‘burr-nerd,' not ‘burr-nard' ... most furs don't know that. I pronounce it a different way, and ... "

"Uh ... uh," Dotna stammered, eyes darting. Shake him, shake him! "There are some lovely flowers over there. Perhaps you'd like to ... "

" ... look at flowers! I love flowers," Bernard rambled, brightly, quickly. Wings fluttering until they blurred. And then stopping. He walked on his taloned feet ... wings fluttering. Reaching to touch a flower stem, gently. "Flowers! What kind of flowers are these? Do you have morning glories? Lilies? Marigolds? I don't really like marigolds, but I thought I'd ask anyway, cause every garden NEEDS marigolds, really, but I'd like something more colorful. Red flowers! I love red flowers. But I already have roses. Can you suggest anything I could ... "

Dotna sighed, swallowing, piping in, "I, uh ... "

" ... plant in open yards? Like, near a pasture? I have plenty of flowers around the house, in little flower beds, but these aren't for flower beds, cause I'm making a flower garden. But I'm gonna hang some on poles and wires, so I need some hanging flowers, too. I actually already have a flower garden! But I'm making another flower garden, and ooh, ooh! Bee balm! I don't have any bee balm! Bee balm, coral bells, phlox ... "

"Yeah, yeah," Dotna insisted, pointing with a paw. Faking sincerity. "We have all of that. We have ... "

" ... clematis! Begonias. Zinnias. These will do! I already have some of these, of course, cause I have a flower garden already, but I'm making another flower garden, and I want some of the same flowers, but I want some different flowers, too, so I want some salvia, canary creepers, cardinal climbers. Those are more vines, though, right? Those are vines. I want FLOWERS. Like, flowers with stems, not, like, vines. But clematises are vine flowers, but that's okay. I like clematises. Every-fur likes clematises. Ooh, parrot's beak. Fuchsia! Do you ... " The hummingbird turned to ask the chipmunk a question ...

... but she was gone. Had sidled away to another part of the store.

" ... have any geraniums," the hummingbird finished, voice going uncomfortably quiet. His wings flittered. He blinked. Looked around, and ... looked back to all the flowers in the pots. And all the flowers already grown (ready to be transferred into the earth). All the packets of flower seeds. He looked at them, and looked back to where the chipmunk had been. And, looking (once more) back to the flowers, he hung his head sadly. Wings flittered.

Heartbeat, heartbeat, beat, beat, beat!

Bernard shuffled, eyes darted, beak pointing about. As he looked at all the flowers.

Flowers listened to you. Flowers never tried to leave you. Flowers didn't care that you were hyper or wired. They didn't care that ... they ...

Flowers were his best friends.

His eyes watered as he weakly picked up some flower packets. His throat hurt, and he swallowed. Clearing it. And he blinked. And picked up a little basket of violets. Wings flitting. Flitting.

Heartbeat, heartbeat, beat, beat, beat!

And sugary teardrops dripping to the violet flower petals. Spilling to the soil in the plastic pot.

Bernard sniffled, and closed his eyes. Breathe, breathe, breathe.

Busy yourself with something else. Something else.

So it doesn't hurt.

He shuffled a bit, preparing to leave the flower aisle and go back to the cash register (assuming the squirrel who'd been there when he'd arrived ... hadn't darted away to hide from him). And he dropped one of his flower packets. Chitter-squeaking (as hummingbirds do), he precariously bent down to pick it up ...

... only to see a cinnamon-colored paw, fur swirled with browns and greys ... pick it up for him.

And Bernard blinked, blinked, blinked. And stood up straight.

As did she. As did the mouse. Who smiled politely and held out his flower packet (the moon flowers). "Planting a garden?" she asked. The way she was dressed, she was just another customer. Just like him. Shopping here on a summer's day. Late-June. Around lunchtime. Maybe she was gonna go home, like him, and make a little lunch ... and then plant and tend to flowers. Maybe she lived in the countryside, too.

The hummingbird was immediately taken with her. Not knowing why, really. Just ... he kind of was. And that was (kind of) enough for him to know. Enough to make him bashful.

Bernard opened his bill to reply, but ... shut it. Knowing that, as soon as ONE word got out, it would be followed a by a hundred. So, he clamped his bill shut, flittering with unbelievable energy (which was actually starting to wane ... hummingbirds needed to constantly drink of nectar and sugar water; he had a bottle of sugar water in the car ... and would have to down it all ... upon getting out of the store). But, to the mouse's question, he simply nodded. Nodded.

"Oh. Well ... I like gardening."

He nodded again.

She giggle-squeaked. "You know ... I've never actually MET a hummingbird. It's ... kind of a thrill," she whispered, looking away, "for me." And she looked back to him. Her dishy, pink ears swiveling softly. Her nose and whiskers sniff-twitching incessantly. Oh, she had energy, too. Her tail was like a live-wire!

Maybe mouses and hummingbirds weren't all that different?

Maybe if he opened his beak to say hello ...

... she wouldn't get scared. Wouldn't be turned off. Wouldn't scurry away from him.

Maybe he could make a real friend. A friend without stems or petals. A real furry friend.

"Can I ... can I touch your feathers?" she asked.

Bernard blinked.

"Oh, no, no ... I mean ... not like THAT, but ... they're like ... " The mouse trailed. Swallowed. Smiling to herself, and looking to the tiles of the floor. The neon lights above them brightly illuminating them both. And she blinked and looked back up. "No, but they're like jewels. So bright and lustrous, and ... not like the feathers on other birds. I just wondered how they felt," she whispered, trailing. "Uh ... I'm sorry." An airy, little giggle. "Um ... I'm Arabella." She extended a paw.
And he, after a moment, extended a free wing (his other winged arm holding the flower pot and the seed packets).

"What's your name?" she said, gently clasping his feathery hand.

"My name's Bernard. ‘Burr-nerd,' not ‘burr-nard.' That's my name, and I'm here to get flowers, cause I'm planting a flower garden, even though I already have a flower garden, but I want another one, cause I really love flowers, and summer's my favorite season. I love summer, cause I need it to be warm. In the winter, it's really hard, and a lot of hummingbirds, they live in the South during winter and in the North during summer, but I don't have enough money to have two houses, so I have to stay in Indiana all year, but that's okay, cause I really like it here. I was born here, and I like flowers, and I'm here to get flowers, and I think you're pretty."

That last part just slipped out. As fast as he'd been talking, as fast as he'd been thinking ... there had been no way to keep it in.

Arabella blinked, and ... her ears turned a rosier pink. And her tail, she held it in her paws. And she shuffled a bit, smiling shyly. "Um ... well, uh ... " She looked around, and then back to him. "Thanks. I mean, thank you," she said, taking a breath. "You're not so bad yourself," she said, with a bright smile. "I mean, you're like a jewel. Just ... all the colors, and ... all the energy you have. I mean, just from ... " She trailed.

"Are you here to get flowers, too," the hummingbird started, quite shy (and it was evident in the uncertainty of his chittering, flowing words). "Cause, if you're here to get flowers, too, I can help you pick out the best flowers, cause I really like flowers, and I kind of know a lot about flowers, and I'm here to get flowers, too, and ... "

Arabella giggle-squeaked, leaning against a shelf. Blue eyes bright. "You're ... " A giggle-squeak, interrupting his words.

The hummingbird head tilted and blinked.

" ... you're so hyper! It's ... so cute. I ... mm ... " She beamed (almost goofily) at him. A very sunny presence.

And Bernard's feverish mind imagined the flowers all turning toward her ... to soak up her light. If she were walking in a garden, all the flowers would turn to face her.

"I, uh ... hope I'm not making you uncomfortable," she apologized.

"No, no, you're not. I just don't know how come you don't find me annoying. I don't understand, cause most furs get intimidated or annoyed when I talk really fast and stuff like this, but I can't help it, cause I'm so hyped up, and it's hard for me to make friends, cause other furs can't think and live at the same pace I do. I move so fast, and ... "

"Hey, hey," she whispered, putting her paws on his shoulders. And then bashfully, quickly removing them. She cleared her throat. "I think hummingbirds are AWESOME," she emphasized. "And, hey, I'm a mouse, so ... I know a bit about the scurry-scurry."

He blinked.

"Having all that energy. Anxious or otherwise. Just ... energy. I'm a mouse, so I know," she admitted, "how it feels. I mean, not to your DEGREE, but ... no, I don't think you're annoying or ... anything," she whispered. Taking a breath.

Bernard flittered a bit.

Heartbeat, heartbeat, beat, beat, beat!

"Mm ... mm, um," Arabella went quietly. Her naked, pink tail snaking, and her whiskers twitching. She looked to him. To his black eyes. And his gem-like feathers, which glimmered. Oh, glimmered! And she SWORE she could actually HEAR his heartbeat with her sensitive, dishy ears. "I know we just met, and I'm being a TOTAL fur by suggesting this ... " She trailed. Swallowed. "But maybe we could plant flowers together? Sometime? Like ... help each other with our gardens. Get to know each other ... "

"Plant flowers? Together?"

A giggle-squeak. "That's NOT a double-entendre, Bernard. It's ... though I ... wouldn't necessarily mind," she said, voice going very, very quiet, "if you read it as such."

Their eyes met.

"But, uh ... "

"Yes. Yes, I would like to plant flowers together, and maybe we could plant them together at ... "

A giggle-squeak, cutting him off with, "That's fine. Your place first?"

A nod.

"Well, I'll give you my, uh, number. My phone number. And my e-mail, or ... just contact me later. Okay?" She wrote down her information, getting a piece of paper and a pen from her purse.

Bernard just nodded again. And she slipped the piece of paper into his pocket. Lingering, saying, "I've got to, uh, pick out some flowers of my own. You better go pay for yours. I'm ... sure you're needing sugar water, right?"

A weak nod. He did. He really did. He'd burned up SO much energy already ... simply coming in here. And meeting her!

The mouse nodded gently, and ... watched him back away.

And Bernard, flittering, no longer felt so sad or unwanted as he made his way to the check-out lane. As he thought of flowers and mouses ... oh, my!

Heartbeat, heartbeat, beat, beat, beat!