for the crowd

The Bird (Or, Alfred Hitchcock Was Right)
May 24, 2008, 3:08 pm
Filed under: Anecdotes | Tags: , , ,

When I was a wee child, Alfred Hitchcock convinced me never to buy canaries, or a pair of lovebirds I had always wanted. Now that I am older, I can see now that there’s only so much Alfie could do to keep me safe.

Every summer there’d be some idiotic bird rapping at my bedroom window – you know, like in Edgar Allan Poe, only not as cool and definitely more annoying (nowadays, I’m pretty sure a writer getting interrupted by a bothersome raven would probably throw a book at it, whether or not it could talk). A few times over the years I’d wake up to hear a hammering sound, preventing me from sleeping in. A woodpecker would be known, every now and then, to attack the chimney. Usually, though, they lose patience, and they’re off, never to bother me again.

But there is this robin, and it won’t go away. It’s gone after the front door. It goes at the side of the house. I’d be aware, while sleeping, of this strange scraping, tapping sound, and now I just ignore it, because I know it’s the robin again. Sometime last week, though, my mother informed me that she’d seen that the bird was now going after my car.

I don’t know how often the bird is there, but I’m sure now that there is some vendetta going on. Perhaps it knows how much of its feathery cousins, the chicken and pheasant, I have consumed in my lifetime. Maybe I’m just the one unfortunate enough to be singled out. Maybe the bird just thinks the car is an environmental disaster and needs to be destroyed. All I know is that my side windows (first on the driver’s side, and now on the passenger seat) are marred by tiny little scratches, placed there by a tiny little beak. My windshield is slowly getting beaten up as well. And not only does the bird leave its mark in that way, either. Oh, no. I’ve also got splotches of bird crap on my side windows, door, and the hood as well. Whenever I wash it off, the splotches are mysteriously replaced.

The side mirrors also appear to act as a handy perch for the feathery little devil. I can imagine it sitting there, enjoying the sunlight, not even bothering to move as it takes a crap all over my car and all over the ground, resulting in a steady build up. Every now and then, when it’s feeling feisty, it decides to fling itself at its own, flimsy reflection in my car windows. Awesome.

Yesterday, as I was heading for my car, I saw the bird flutter away before I got there, abandoning its post. It’s only a matter of time – yes, only a matter of time! – before the robin becomes braver. Before it decides to lurk about my car, waiting for me to head for it, keys in hand, unsuspecting. It will be sure that I am not wearing protective sunglasses to shield my eyes from its beak, or a jacket to keep my arms safe. If all else fails, it will go for my throat. I like to think of myself as a wondrous person capable of loving even the smarmiest and vicious of animals, but. Something needs to be done.

Maybe I should right past wrongs, and become a vegetarian. Or maybe I should lay a scarecrow dummy on the hood of my car, tricking the robin into thinking someone had fallen asleep there, or had fallen from the sky and is now keeping watch. Or maybe I should just get a cat.


2 Comments so far
Leave a comment

I realy dont think the canaries or lovebirds were the real cuase of the bird attacks realy they were out for revenge on humans for driving many of their kind into extinction

Comment by Mad Bluebird

Oh, I didn’t mean to say that it was the lovebirds’ or canaries’ faults. I’m just saying that as a child, those were birds I wanted, but then after watching that film I didn’t want them anymore, because I was afraid they would peck out my eyes and do all manner of horrific, bird-like things…

Comment by forthecrowd

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