The western Kingfisher is a very dapper fellow. He wears a stylish hand-tooled brown leather belt, a tasteful slate grey vest with matching cutaway jacket and a heavily starched, high-collared, white dress shirt.
Slightly on the stocky side, his compact physique makes him all the more handsome, his muscular build attractively visible through his custom-fitted suit. His grooming is impeccable. He uses just the right amount of beeswax in his jet black hair, which he wears en brosse, to make it stand straight up from his head in fashionable short, sharp spikes. All that’s missing from this sartorial perfection is a red bowtie, which I assume he forgoes for greater ease when fishing.
Though splendidly dressed, he never lets his exceptional wardrobe get in the way of putting in a full day’s work. Tirelessly he swoops and races back and forth along the river, scouting for a promising fishing hole, all the while sounding a rapid machine gun-like rat-a-tat-tat call. Being the gentleman that he is, the raucous sound is more of a warning than a threat, “Heads up! I’m coming in for a landing!” Finally alighting on a well-chosen lookout branch high above the water, he peers down, patiently waiting for any unsuspecting fish or insects below.
Suddenly, he drops like a bullet. Diving straight down, he deftly glides into the water with barely a splash, disappearing below the surface. Reemerging with a shiny silver minnow wriggling in the grasp of his spear-like beak, he flies back up to his perch, eager to relish his prize. Though breathing hard and dripping wet from head to toe, he retains a dignified air…..still not a single hair out of place.