Mistaken intentions

Ian's mind ran back through his recent, somewhat murky past. A lot of the murk was definitely due to the cloudy spirit currently slopping over the rim of his glass.

His knuckles turned white in stark contrast to the chipped and blackened fingernails as he gripped the tumbler tightly.

Could it really be the same bird? A hazy memory surfaced from a couple of months back. All he could remember was a flurry of feathers as he made his final approach from the rear, her head definitely down.

Research into ostrich egg clutch size was easily misunderstood, he reflected ruefully.