Roadrunner

For years, Wile E. Coyote had had only one goal: to catch the Road Runner.
At first, I tried to trick him by leaving food in the middle of the road.
He would carefully place small piles of food on a rock, behind a sign, or right in the path. The traps were so obvious they were almost ridiculous.

The traps were so obvious they were almost ridiculous.
The Road Runner was approaching. He looked at the food. He looked at the Coyote hiding behind a rock.
He looked at the food again.

—Meep-Meep.

And he continued on his way. Wile E. did not give up.

During the following years, he tried everything: net traps, tunnels, springs, enormous boxes, disguises, and all sorts of ACME inventions. He also relentlessly pursued him through the mountains, across deserts, and down ravines, while the Road Runner escaped with his usual ease.
For Wile E., that was just a hunter's routine. But the Road Runner saw something entirely different.
According to its own instincts as a flightless bird, that had all the hallmarks of a strange courtship ritual.
The food left in his wake. The Coyote's insistence on following him. The displays of speed. The elaborate constructions that seemed built solely to get his attention. Even the endless chases.

Everything fit together.

—Meep... Meep.

For the first time, the Road Runner began to look at the Coyote differently. Maybe he didn't want to catch him to eat him. Maybe he was trying to impress him. Meanwhile, Wile E. remained completely oblivious to the misunderstanding.

One night, after another failed attempt, he returned exhausted to his cave and fell asleep. He didn't know that, for several days, the Road Runner had begun visiting his home at night. It would enter silently, gather twigs, leaves, and small feathers it found nearby, and begin building a small nest.