Bad bird behavior. — For the Birds
It is the end of June and summer is just now coming to Portland. Its late arrival seems cruel and unfair to a girl like me whose wardrobe consists of 60% skirts and dresses and strappy sandals. But what's more is that it seems the late coming of summer is causing the birds to, all at once, go insane. There's a tree outback that I believe to be the Council of the Crows Headquarters. They gather in droves and spend long hours squawking and cawing over what no doubt are probably very important crow issues, like maybe they're all sick of the color black. With my kitchen window open the room fills with their arguments and I stand there and wonder why can't we all just get along, and Commodore sits in the sill and wonders just how many crows can he eat before he might explode.
But the most distressing bird disputes come in the early morning hours of 6:00AM, just outside our bedroom window, in a nest of bushes that are probably six feet away. I believe them to be scrub jays, because besides the crows they are the only other type of bird I see regularly, but sometimes as I lay there in the wee hours and listen to what sounds like a scrub jay auditioning for the part of a duck, I wonder just how Donald came to live next door to me in Portland, Oregon. This new ordeal isn't without its humor, and on most mornings Adam or I will stir, half awake, and make a crack about what method of torture is being inflicted upon the bird in order for it to produce such a sound. And so as a result I've been having quick dreams in the early mornings of bloody bird deaths and Disney characters gone awry. I just might be tempted to buy one of those plastic guns with the flimsy orange rubber darts if this keeps up for very much longer. Or water balloons. Or a flame thrower. Mmmmm ... rocket launcher.
The Husband wrote:
Ironically, like the crows, Heather's wardrobe is also nearly 100% black, so it's good that there isn't *too* much sun here. Unlike the crows, she doesn't caw about it, though. I squawk about the cat hair on my black clothes, but I wait until a reasonable hour to do it.
And I wonder how many of those birds I could eat before I explode...
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