Bird brains
I don't know. Are the world's avians getting stupider for some reason? The week before last I had to rescue an idiot hummingbird that was trying to dash out its tiny little head on the glass of the casement window at work. It had somehow gotten itself trapped between the glass and the screen. Not an easy thing to do. I had to carefully move the screen just enough to get my hands in and not enough to allow the stupid liitle thug access to the classroom, and then maneuver it out the side of the window without crushing its tender little wings.
Was it grateful? I don't know. I haven't seen it since.
Now last night -- worse. This drab brown feathered thing -- adolescent? towhee? I don't know the medium-to-small perching and hopping birds one from another. I should, shouldn't I? Anyway, this bird hung out in my kitchen for hours, breaking crap everywhere it went. I don't know why. It perched lightly on some dried poppy stems, but it knocked over my glass window shelf, destroying it to little bits while somehow sparing the crockery which no longer has a place. And scattering tempered glass chunks all over the kitchen. Also broke a borrowed bowl which was sitting next to the cat's dish on the other side of the kitchenb.
Cat. That cat just sat there hunched up and kvetching while the bird flew panicky from one weird corner of the kitchen to another. He didn't even thinking of catching and eating it. He's not that old! He just wanted me to do something about it. I couldn't for a long time. I did all the smart things. I turned off all the lights except the ones that lead to the outside. I walked around the kitchen being menacing and leaving escape routes to the outside. I carried a pillowcase so I could throw it over the idiot bird if it ever rested in my reach. But it wouldn't go towards the outside, and it never rested in my reach, though it dove under the stove several times. Seriously, under the stove?
The dog is another story. She thought the bird was really exciting and offensive, and figured that the cat had not noticed this, nor I, nor, even, the bird, so she thought it was iuncumbent on her to explain in really enthusiastic terms to me, the cat, and the bird that the house was being violated by a Thing of the Outside, a Feathered Thing Without Domestic Rights, something that might poop on a food dish! Something that somebody ought to do something about! And it's probably your fault, kvetching cat!
After several hours of this it finally flew into the laundry room -- or as Ted used to call it, the "service porch" (I can't really make sense of that term). I closed the door between it and the kitchen, leaving the hysterical dog and kvetching cat on the other side, and opened all the windows that would open and the door to the outside. No dice. The bird decided to perch out of reach and peep aggrievedly at long intervalks the rest of the night. It was still there in the morning. But after the sun was up and the windows were light, the bird decided to heave itself pathetically against the one window that would not open. Repeatedly, losing feathers here and there and getting visibly weaker. But every time I approached it would fling itself under the pile of stuff next to the window. It finally got so weak I was able to just move the stuff around and throw my pillowcase over it and carry it outside to the ceanothus tree (which is pretty confused itself, and is in a state of half-full bloom for some inscrutable reason). I tried to place it on a branch but it plummeted.
I didn't go look. I can only care so much about bird brains. I saved it fromthe evil that is my house, I'm not about to defend it against raccoons.
on another front, it wasn't supposed to, but it rained a tiny bit today, between 2:30 and 4:00 sometime while I was being amused by three year olds, who thought it was the height of humor and excitement to throw playdough birthday parties for everyone in sight and call us all by other people's names.
writing front: I'm still making notes. Some things have come together.
Also I have spent the last two days trying to figure out why I couldn't get online. The phone cord for the DSL line is acting up, apparently, but in comprehensible and fixable ways.
Was it grateful? I don't know. I haven't seen it since.
Now last night -- worse. This drab brown feathered thing -- adolescent? towhee? I don't know the medium-to-small perching and hopping birds one from another. I should, shouldn't I? Anyway, this bird hung out in my kitchen for hours, breaking crap everywhere it went. I don't know why. It perched lightly on some dried poppy stems, but it knocked over my glass window shelf, destroying it to little bits while somehow sparing the crockery which no longer has a place. And scattering tempered glass chunks all over the kitchen. Also broke a borrowed bowl which was sitting next to the cat's dish on the other side of the kitchenb.
Cat. That cat just sat there hunched up and kvetching while the bird flew panicky from one weird corner of the kitchen to another. He didn't even thinking of catching and eating it. He's not that old! He just wanted me to do something about it. I couldn't for a long time. I did all the smart things. I turned off all the lights except the ones that lead to the outside. I walked around the kitchen being menacing and leaving escape routes to the outside. I carried a pillowcase so I could throw it over the idiot bird if it ever rested in my reach. But it wouldn't go towards the outside, and it never rested in my reach, though it dove under the stove several times. Seriously, under the stove?
The dog is another story. She thought the bird was really exciting and offensive, and figured that the cat had not noticed this, nor I, nor, even, the bird, so she thought it was iuncumbent on her to explain in really enthusiastic terms to me, the cat, and the bird that the house was being violated by a Thing of the Outside, a Feathered Thing Without Domestic Rights, something that might poop on a food dish! Something that somebody ought to do something about! And it's probably your fault, kvetching cat!
After several hours of this it finally flew into the laundry room -- or as Ted used to call it, the "service porch" (I can't really make sense of that term). I closed the door between it and the kitchen, leaving the hysterical dog and kvetching cat on the other side, and opened all the windows that would open and the door to the outside. No dice. The bird decided to perch out of reach and peep aggrievedly at long intervalks the rest of the night. It was still there in the morning. But after the sun was up and the windows were light, the bird decided to heave itself pathetically against the one window that would not open. Repeatedly, losing feathers here and there and getting visibly weaker. But every time I approached it would fling itself under the pile of stuff next to the window. It finally got so weak I was able to just move the stuff around and throw my pillowcase over it and carry it outside to the ceanothus tree (which is pretty confused itself, and is in a state of half-full bloom for some inscrutable reason). I tried to place it on a branch but it plummeted.
I didn't go look. I can only care so much about bird brains. I saved it fromthe evil that is my house, I'm not about to defend it against raccoons.
on another front, it wasn't supposed to, but it rained a tiny bit today, between 2:30 and 4:00 sometime while I was being amused by three year olds, who thought it was the height of humor and excitement to throw playdough birthday parties for everyone in sight and call us all by other people's names.
writing front: I'm still making notes. Some things have come together.
Also I have spent the last two days trying to figure out why I couldn't get online. The phone cord for the DSL line is acting up, apparently, but in comprehensible and fixable ways.