If you give it a moment’s thought, you might agree that love and war are not mutually exclusive. Consider, for example, some of the greatest love stories either written or filmed.

I’ll start with everybody’s favorite … Casablanca: Elsa and Rick. Obnoxious, homicidal Nazis. Elsa’s resistance-leader husband. And that poignant “We’ll always have Paris” parting scene at the end.

Sigh.

A few more:

Mrs. Miniver: Love between a husband and wife, and the budding passion of their son and his sweetheart during the fatal London Blitz.

The Scarlet Pimpernel: Amid the havoc of the French Revolution, a heroic Englishman sneaks in and out of Paris to save nobles from the guillotine, among whom is the wife he adores but distrusts.

We the Living: A beautiful and brilliant young woman, torn between the love of an honorable communist and a dissolute royalist, struggles to survive the Russian Revolution.

Okay. Enough of such fictional amours. What concerns us now is reality and the present. But before I divulge the names of our starry-eyed lovers, let me ask (I can’t help it. I’m nosy): Can you guess who are going to be the heroes of this budding romance?

I’ll give you a clue. It started seconds after Archie the Giant Chickadee met Daffney the chickadee with the backward knees. First, she beguiled us completely when she asked, “Do you want to see me pretend to fall down?” And seconds later, after she gushed to Archie, “You’re big, strong, and as beautiful as a race horse,” he was a goner. Smitten. Captivated. Enamored. Besotted. Head over heels in love.

And why not?

Although both were black capped chickadees, there were charming differences. She, of course, was a normal-sized representative of the species, with uncharacteristic green eyes, appaloosa-like spots, and reverse bending knees. And we all know that Archie was as big as a beachball.

Regardless, when standing (or nuzzling) side-by-side, their personas were unimaginably adorable. Let me describe a typical interlude that I observed during one of those not-too-rare (at least at first) moments in my home when Park Service Special Investigator Clayton Boyfriend wasn’t lecturing us about apex predators and invasive species.

I was in the kitchen, cutting up vegetables for my dinner and fruits and nuts for my bird and bug buffet when I heard one of those dee-dee-dee sounds that chickadees make … high-pitched and (when they aren’t terrified) … really, really sweet. So, I put down my knife and very, very quietly, I poked my head around the corner to see what was going on in the dining room.

That was when I observed Daffney, like a miniature Olympian gymnast, doing backflips – one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten – along the eight-foot length of the dining room table. Archie the Giant Chickadee, was standing at the far end of the table, and when she did her last flip, instead of landing on her cute little splayed feet, she slammed into his fluffy belly as if it was a feathery trampoline.

By then, I had come to know chickadees well enough to distinguish a bird chirp from a bird laugh, and they were both laughing. Archie, so hard that his feet few out from under him, and he landed flat on his back. Laughing, laughing, laughing, with Daffney still on his chest, bouncing up and down with each chuckle.

Another day, I chanced on Daffney in the living room, standing on the coffee table, belting out a tune. That particular time, Rochester and Stella, the chickadees, Nigel and Gwendolyn, the tufted titmouses, Florence the itty, bitty swan, and Byron the dragon fly – avid audience members for her vocalizations – were perched on (or flying above) the armchairs surrounding her makeshift stage.

Her song went on for at least five minutes. I don’t remember all of the lyrics, but here are the first three verse, which Archie recalled for me:

Oh, I’m a happy chickadee

With everything one needs:

That’s warmth, a home, and safety, and

A lot of sunflower seeds.

On top of that, I’ve many friends

My days are filled with joy.

And of my friends, the best of all

Is Archibald, my boy.

‘Cause boy needs girl and girl needs boy

It makes for fine romance.

And since romance excites my heart,

I simply have to dance!

Upon finishing her song, Daffney bowed to the winged applause of her audience, with her speckled body inclining forward, her tail feathers jutting upward, and her backward knees bending in the most impossible way!

Then … then … then … Daffney began one of her impossibly merry dances, which included skips, hops, high-kicks, leaps, prances, and pirouettes. She ended by dropping down on her backward knees with her wings spread wide like an old vaudeville singer, and belting out a dee-dee-dee to beat the band.

Such fun. And such a darling couple.

It wasn’t long after I realized Archie and Daffney were a twosome that I also noticed something strange about Byron the dragonfly. He seemed to be spending less time flying figure eights around the living room and more time hovering around me.

When I was working on my computer, he was balanced on the shade of my desk lamp. When I was preparing dinner, he stared at me quietly from the edge of a bowl of apples on the kitchen counter. When I was housecleaning, he perched on my shoulder as I pushed the vacuum back and forth.

I wondered aloud to Clay, “I don’t know what’s wrong with Byron. He used to be a perpetual motion machine, and would only stop flying to watch Daffney dance, listen to you talk about predators, or eat bugs. Even when eating, he was always flitting around mid-air. Do you think that he’s sick?”

Clay threw an arm around my neck, bent me over in some sort of a wrestling hold, kissed the top of my head, and then released me.

“You’re supposed to be a romantic,” he said. Laughing. “But you’re really such a dope.”

I patted down my hair, rearranged my blouse, and said, “Me? Dope? Why? What did I miss?”

Clay shook his head in wonderment at my naïveté. Then he flopped into his favorite armchair, pulled me down onto his lap, and said, “Your oversized dragonfly isn’t sick. Well … not in the conventional sense. Like me, he’s just in love.”

I twisted around on his knees, glared, astonished, into his eyes, and demanded, “In love? With whom?”

My boyfriend laughed again and replied, “With you. Obviously. Isn’t everybody?”

Copyright © Shelly Reuben, 2026. Shelly Reuben’s books have been nominated for Edgar, Prometheus, and Falcon awards. For more about her writing, visit www.shellyreuben.com