Tuesday, September 22nd, 2009
Remember I said the chickadees would be with us all winter if I didn’t forget to feed them? True, but they also need to develop some sort of survival sense. Just because they get free food doesn’t mean they somehow magically ascended to the top of the food chain.
Case in point. I was minding my own biz-ness in the shower yesterday when a Commotion Ensued in the laundry room. I can hear through the wall scuffling and shouting. Since it’s not normal for Commotions to Ensue while I’m in the shower, I hustled my clean self out to kitchen to see what was up.
I first notice Rob shouting and cussing and generally in a state of enraged agitation. I second notice the feathers. Lots and lots of feathers. Stan is trying to crawl under the DVD holder, LJ is right behind Stan, Tara is behind LJ, and Morgan is pretending to be in on the action. Nike hasn’t gotten out of bed yet. Rob is trying to clear the room of mammals, and said mammals, being more nimble and determined, aren’t going. Rob throws his hands in the air, and informs me that he’s going to take a shower. Why do men, when confronted with uncontrolled chaos, retreat to the bathroom?
It isn’t hard to piece together this story. Stan caught a bird. Stan brought the bird in. The bird is under the DVD rack. Stan wants his birdie back. LJ and Tara want in on the action. Morgan is clueless and Nike doesn’t care. I pick up Stan and LJ and throw them outside. Tara and Morgan get the boot behind them. Note that I manage this without saying a word, no shouting or expletives. I get some plastic baggies to cover my hands and move the DVD rack. The Chickadee is in shock, but has no external injuries. I debate for a few minutes whether to wring its neck or let him try to recover. Since he’s breathing normally and has range of motion in his legs and wings, I opt for recovery. The bird goes in a shoebox in the spare room and the murderous hoard gets let back in. Feathers get sucked up in vacuum. By the time Rob is done showering, peace and calm reign.
Alas, no happy ending yesterday. Mr. Chickadee expired within a few minutes of residence in the shoebox. (Programming note – shoebox from the White House Black Market shoes chewed up by Mogey two days ago). Shoulda known – bad luck shoebox. I debated adding the bird to my skull collection but decided I didn’t have the same relationship with him that I had with the Skull of the Unknown Mammal, and instead gave him a formal burial at the bottom of the garden.
Bye bye birdie – be a lesson to your friends.
September 22nd, 2009 at 7:56 am
Gotta love Nike!!
September 22nd, 2009 at 8:40 am
All that loud yelling and cussing is man language for saying “I’m trying to get Your Attention so you will come out and take care of this ugly task.” If you get tired of that message you can put in ear plugs, turn up the music or shower volume, and go about your own business. 8>)
September 22nd, 2009 at 8:46 am
ROFL Momm!
September 22nd, 2009 at 10:07 am
Awww..poor birdie. I’ve rescued so many from the mouths of our little tigers…and I always am sad when they don’t make it.
September 22nd, 2009 at 10:41 am
That’s sad about the bird. I do sometimes call our bird feeders “hawk feeders” as we are providing a nice gathering point for prey for them.
September 22nd, 2009 at 2:46 pm
Alas, my dear Chickadee, you’ve fallen into Darwin’s Natural Selection trap. Throwing domestic predators into the mix makes life more strange and difficult, because it’s hard to rely on your instincts when these did not exist in your ancestor’s world a thousand years ago. Nevertheless, you were probably a first-year bird, and approximately 2/3 of your clutch was destined to become food for someone. You were probably destined to become hawk food–they too have a high mortality rate and have to eat alot to survive the coming cold months. We will always remember you, though, for your bright and cheerful energy and your antics around the bird feeder.