A Few Good Birds

Another budding bird family moved in to the corner above our front door. We didn’t even have time to take the old nest down and scrape off all of the bird crap. Those birds came in and just built another nest right on top of the last crap-filled one. I’m not one to judge, but just between you and me, that’s pretty ghetto.

And then they promptly started flying at my head every time I walked in or out of my door just like our last bird neighbors. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but I was raised to be more neighborly than that. If you move into a new neighborhood, you wave at your neighbor, smile, say hello, introduce yourself. You don’t dive bomb them and then crap on their doorstep. I try not to crap on anyone’s doorstep, neighbor or not. That’s just common courtesy. Am I right? I mean who is raising these birds?

Naturally I complained to Hubs about the situation. I was just venting, you understand. But of course Hubs was upset about it. He found it unacceptable. Nobody treats his wife like that. He’s very protective. It’s sweet, really. I felt vindicated and forgot about the whole matter.

Then not long after our conversation I came home to find the bird’s nest above our door gone. In its place was a large rock. Only the bird crap remained as evidence of our former neighbors.

While I was pleased to approach my door without a Hitchcockian scene, I was also concerned for the birds’ welfare. I asked Hubs about it, but he gave me the Jack Nicholson “You can’t handle the truth” look and I dropped the subject.

“We live in a world that has birds. And those birds need to be dealt with by men with guns.” (image via jack-nicholson.info)

Did I inadvertently request a Code Red on some harmless, albeit obnoxious feathered friends? That was certainly not my intention. I was just venting. I wasn’t calling for street justice.

I’m a bleeding heart liberal and pacifist. Mostly. I was a vegetarian for six years. Sure I eat beef now, but I’m pretty sure the cows I eat are horribly depressed and longing to be thrown on a grill. I would never eat cows who had plans for the future. Nor would I call for violence against unborn birds who were simply a bi-product of irresponsible parenting. I would rather see those birds go into some sort of youth mentoring program, so that they could become productive members of our society. Or the food chain.

Then again, I don’t know for sure that Hubs harmed those eggs. There’s no concrete evidence to support that conclusion. I haven’t been contacted by PETA or an animal advocate. If there were any wrong doing surely Pamela Anderson would be on it. She handled the whole Kentucky Fried Chicken protest against chickens being inhumanely fried. In Kentucky. Or something. I’m fuzzy on the details but I think she’s looking out for chickens and birds everywhere, so chances are she’d be knocking on our door if those birds were unjustly treated.

Having a buxom blond with a camel toe show up in your establishment isn’t really punishment and in fact might encourage animal cruelty. (image via gossipbay.net)

Besides, Hubs is an animal lover. I’ve seen him affectionately care for dogs, cats and small, feral children. And he is extremely tender with the eggs he uses to make his omelets.

I think I overreacted. I bet those bird eggs are on a farm somewhere. Or in a bird sanctuary. He just didn’t want to tell me because then I would want to go see them and he probably didn’t have enough gas in the car. Gas prices are outrageous right now. And the economy is sluggish. His silence was probably born out of economic reasons. Not moral ones.

The birds are fine, which is a relief…

because I complained about the raccoons too.

“Ruh Roh.” (image via dreamstime.com)


Attack Of The Ninja Sparrow

An obnoxious bird has made a nest over our door. Don’t get me wrong. I love animals. I do. Ask anyone. The last time a bird made a nest over our door the kids and I watched in rapt attention as the nest was built, the eggs laid and the baby birds developed. As soon as the baby birds left the nest I even went out and stupidly took down the nest for closer inspection. I say stupidly because freshly used nests are full of tiny bugs and all I really accomplished with my closer inspection (after several showers and a manic cleaning tirade) was giving my children a phobia of birds’ nests.

There's our nest in all of its filthy, bug infested sweetness.

This bird, however, is paranoid. First of all, it built its nest in such a way as to discourage Peeping Toms so that I can’t be nosy and appreciate the wonder of nature. What good is having a wonder of nature in such close proximity if I can’t use it for family entertainment? And second, the bird insists on dive bombing my head every time I try to enter or exit my home like I’m some kind of predator, which admittedly I am, but if it paid attention it would notice that I prefer carefully packaged large birds for my dining pleasure. This is not the Ozarks. I don’t eat animals from my front yard. Clearly it’s confused about its location and my benevolent nature.

If I looked like this the bird would be justified in its paranoia, but I don't most days. (image via dreamstime)

I can forgive confusion, but open hostility is intolerable. And as I’m often preoccupied and possess a limited short-term memory (my pregnancies claimed that along with my six-pack abs), each avian attack is a complete surprise to me. It feels like I have a Jack in the Box installed above my front door and I don’t like Jack in the Boxes. Surely I wasn’t the only child who felt that Jack was an evil little toy who waited in a box for the sole purpose of traumatizing unsuspecting children?

No? Just me? Okay, moving on.

If you don't think this guy is waiting to jump out and skewer a tiny heart on his wire hand, you're sadly mistaken.(image via dreamstime)

Anyway, on my way to pick up my son from preschool today I was understandably still reeling from the shock of being viciously attacked by a three-inch rabid animal, when my phone, which has chosen for itself (since I haven’t properly learned how to use it) as its text notification sound, a jet plane swoosh, decided to notify me of an incoming text. The text was from my dancer friend who had just discovered her son’s tap dancing genius and was understandably excited, but that’s beside the point. The sound of a jet zooming through my car on the heels of my attack stimulated my Post Imagined Stress Disorder (or PISD), which, though not recognized as a legitimate affliction by any medical organization,plagues me nonetheless. In this heightened state of paranoia I naturally assumed that the bird had covertly gained access to my vehicle, cunningly waited until I was thoroughly engrossed in driving and then attacked. Because birds are known to be covert and cunning masters of tactical genius.

*Hey Stan, guess what? *What? *I'm a ninja! *Cool. I'm a pigeon. *I wear a hood and carry nun-chucks! *I poop on cars. (image via Dreamstime)

Now I’ve watched my husband reenact enough harrowing felony arrests to know that when under attack, one should feint to the side and quickly draw their weapon to return fire. Instinctively that was what I did.  The only problem was that I wasn’t a police officer, not actually under attack and didn’t have a weapon. What I did have was a dirty Mazda Protege whose steering wheel I yanked to the left in an unnecessary evasive maneuver, narrowly missing the back end of a truck whose driver had made the mistake of driving on the same Burbank road as a delusional mother in a hatchback. Luckily I didn’t cause an accident and the driver of the truck didn’t stop and demand an explanation which no doubt would have necessitated a psych evaluation.

Thank you to Hubs for illustrating the proper way to react to a threat. In no way did I look this cool.

You should know that I might be terrible at many things (writing thank you notes, painting furniture, organizing my kitchen cupboards) but I’m an extremely conscientious and capable driver. It’s a point of pride. Normally after making such a bonehead driving maneuver I am so contrite that I practice extreme traffic etiquette and obey every traffic law ever made or imagined for at least a full day. However, today I was so distracted by the absurdity of the situation that I made two other bonehead maneuvers in rapid succession, at which point I nearly pulled over, handed my keys to the nearest person and asked them to pick up my children from school because my children deserved the relative safety a complete stranger could offer them. Luckily my often silent, tiny voice of reason convinced me that the elderly Armenian woman with the walker probably didn’t drive and would break a hip climbing into my car anyway. So instead I continued on my way to the preschool without further incident.

A nice lady gave me her car today so I took it to the track and bet on the ponies. (image via dreamstime)

But now that nesting bird and I are really at odds. It’s overactive sense of self-preservation is colliding with my overactive imagination and wreaking havoc with the safety of the public at large.  Not since a band of delinquent raccoons vandalized our Halloween decorations and made my daughter cry have I been so incensed at an animal. I can’t be responsible for my actions. I have a legitimate made up disorder. Someone should send a representative from PETA to relocate this bird to a safer location. Like my neighbor’s house.

Then again, PETA might take issue with the collection of carefully packaged large birds in my freezer and they’re scarier than a homicidal sparrow. You know what, on second thought I’ll just use my back door for the next few weeks.