Let’s talk about birds (Day 277, Year 4)

This morning, my husband had the pleasure of witnessing a family in our yard making bird noises, sounds like “clooock a choo, sing song, here birdie birdie,” emanating from their mouths. In response, a pigeon of some sort swooped out of the invasive, yet beautiful mimosa tree in our yard and into the arms of its human family. Apparently, the family was overjoyed and there were happy tears. 

I missed the entire thing because I was washing my hair. But, I am trying not to be bitter. After all, it is Mike’s BIRTHDAY (yay!) so if anyone deserves to witness an unhinged, strange bird-related event, it’s the birthday boy. 

In case you are wondering, these sorts of things happen frequently at our home. We live on a corner, across from a park, and within one of the strangest small towns in America*. Mike’s office is in our detached garage and if he works with the large door open, he witnesses all sorts of wildlife and town activity. Birds play heavily into his professional life—once, a flock of turkeys jumped our fence with the intent of entering Mike’s office. I have no idea why, but they were very, very determined. 

He told them “no,” in a way you tell a toddler “no.” The turkeys were very haughty about it and didn’t leave the yard for hours. 

Then once, there was a turkey vulture on the roof of the garage for hours, eating a dead squirrel. He dropped bits of flesh and fur off the roof. Mike was away for that spectacle and Molly (you read about her yesterday) had to come and remove the fallen bits.  The last time Mike was away (he LOVES when I reference him being away!) there was a pair of great horned owls hooting for hours and claiming their territory, which is also squirrel territory.

I hope the owls win. 

Mike, when home, also gets to enjoy the dramas that unfold at the park. I certain he’s borne witness to several relationship ending fights while he updated his colleagues on the progress of a multi-million dollar warehouse. (He’s a fabulous multi-tasker!).  In the background of every afternoon call and park domestic dispute, is a chorus of approximately 1,000 European starlings, who live in our bamboo. They are very loud and once in while fly in the garage to poop and leave immediately to get back to singing. 

There are also the apartment people, which for a while included “Dawkins Mom,” a strange lady who would walk her dog and shout at her dog, reprimanding him on his poor “potty skills,” while also disclosing personal financial data and bank transactions to anyone who would listen. 

I am not sure what happened to her or Dawkins, but I am not entirely sure they were not eaten by birds. I’ll keep you posted. 



*This is an official designation made by a group of women who I went to GBar with last week. The martinis are what makes it super official. 


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