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Gus, my cairn terrier, barks if I pish when we are out together.  I guess 
she considers it HER job to find anything that might be in the bushes!
Years ago, I think 1968 or 69, I was birding in Central Mexico with three 
ladies from Webster Groves. We stopped the car along a dirt road with a big 
weedy field and a remnant of a fence.  We were all standing on one side of 
the car scanning the field when I decided to see what pishing would produce 
south of the border.  The second sibilant syllable was hardly across my 
teeth when a flock of a hundred or more white-collared seedeaters flashed up 
and onto the fence, knocking us all back a step or two.  The results of 
pishing can certainly be unexpected!
DRH
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Donald R. Hays
Union, Missouri 

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