When Nature Strikes Back
At around a quarter-to-eight this morning, the Bluebird of Happiness tried to kill my husband.
I witnessed the entire assault. I'd love to say it was unprovoked, but Dr. March has a nasty habit of not watching where he's going when he's in a hurry.
Apparently, the mating pair of bluebirds who've chosen to nest in the bushes to the left of our front stoop had decided that THIS was morning their two babies would learn to fly. Both chicks were perched on the top step of the stoop when Dr. March pushed open the screen door above their little heads.
That's when Papa Blue attacked.
Now, bluebirds aren't particularly common around these parts. Blue JAYS we've got - big-ass mofos with the manners of your average inbred bully - and crows and robins and cardinals by the dozens. But not so much with the bluebirds.
I remember my grandmother setting up bluebird houses all around her property in hopes of attracting even one mating pair a season. (Apparently the species has special housing needs. Who knew?) But we've managed to attract a pair with no effort at all. What we didn't expect was the violence with which they protect their territory and their young.
This little dude dive-bombed with all the evil intent of a kamikaze fighter pilot, coming within three inches of my husband's head. No fool he, Dr. March retreated into the house. Papa Blue promptly perched on a nearby tree branch and proceeded to cuss us out at a high volume. For the next ten minutes we were held prisoner in our home. Each time Dr. March attempted to escape, Papa Blue repeated his aerial maneuver, coming a little closer every time.
I suggested using the back door. My husband said he refused to be cowed by a "fucking bird." Yet cowed he most certainly was.
Finally, his point made, the Bluebird of Happiness buggered off and Dr. March was able to leave for work.
There's a moral here somewhere, but I'll be damned if I can find it. Suggestions?
I witnessed the entire assault. I'd love to say it was unprovoked, but Dr. March has a nasty habit of not watching where he's going when he's in a hurry.
Apparently, the mating pair of bluebirds who've chosen to nest in the bushes to the left of our front stoop had decided that THIS was morning their two babies would learn to fly. Both chicks were perched on the top step of the stoop when Dr. March pushed open the screen door above their little heads.
That's when Papa Blue attacked.
Now, bluebirds aren't particularly common around these parts. Blue JAYS we've got - big-ass mofos with the manners of your average inbred bully - and crows and robins and cardinals by the dozens. But not so much with the bluebirds.
I remember my grandmother setting up bluebird houses all around her property in hopes of attracting even one mating pair a season. (Apparently the species has special housing needs. Who knew?) But we've managed to attract a pair with no effort at all. What we didn't expect was the violence with which they protect their territory and their young.
This little dude dive-bombed with all the evil intent of a kamikaze fighter pilot, coming within three inches of my husband's head. No fool he, Dr. March retreated into the house. Papa Blue promptly perched on a nearby tree branch and proceeded to cuss us out at a high volume. For the next ten minutes we were held prisoner in our home. Each time Dr. March attempted to escape, Papa Blue repeated his aerial maneuver, coming a little closer every time.
I suggested using the back door. My husband said he refused to be cowed by a "fucking bird." Yet cowed he most certainly was.
Finally, his point made, the Bluebird of Happiness buggered off and Dr. March was able to leave for work.
There's a moral here somewhere, but I'll be damned if I can find it. Suggestions?