Flockin' Robins
Yesterday, out the back window was a flock of birds. Seagulls? No. Ducks? No. Geese? No. A flock of robins, all boys. I was not aware that robins traveled in flocks, probably because I always see them alone, and every picture of a robin I've ever seen depicts a solo robin pulling an unlucky worm out of the grass. Our back yard does not have any grass, or an abundance of worms that I’ve seen, so why was this flock of robins gathering there, and more importantly, who were they ganging up on? I don’t know what was going on, but I do know that it was not the first strange bird behavior I have witnessed behind the house.
The creepiest bird behavior I have seen was a crow funeral. I know this description may sound strange to anyone who hasn’t experienced it, but a dead crow in your yard brings on what my brothers and sisters and I referred to as a crow funeral. On at least 3 occasions in my childhood, we were alerted to the presence of a dead crow outside by hundreds (well, it seemed like hundreds) of crows, sitting in the branches of the huge tree in our front yard and cawing their little brains out. If we had to venture outside during the funeral, the cawing would grow louder and we would run to the car or wherever we were headed in hopes that the crows would not gang up on us and attack. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the funeral would end, the crows would fly away, and after work my dad would go out with a shovel and get rid of the dead crow.
After college, I lived in a succession of city apartments, so I did not have a lot of time to observe bird behavior. However, once I was married and spending a lot of time at home with the kids, I discovered that birds are more crazy than their sweet tweeting and graceful forms would suggest. One time a bird built a nest on top of the light over our back deck. When her little birdies hatched, they would hop down and sit right on our windowsill where the kids could get a good look at them. My husband did not find them to be very cute, however, mainly because the mommy bird somehow got the idea that my husband was coming for the babies, and would dive bomb his head every time he came outside to use the grill. I don’t know if she ever made contact, but she did manage to scare him off. He eventually went out (waving a broom over his head in self defense) and rolled the grill around the side of the house so that he could cook in peace until the little birdies were big enough to fly away. Following that incident, my husband made regular rounds of the house, making sure that no nests were being planned or constructed on top of any other light fixtures. Once, while we were away on a vacation, some birds built a nest inside our mailbox. Needless to say, when we arrived home they were forced to relocate prior to laying any eggs.
Another unpleasant birdie episode occurred when some baby blue jays either fell out of a nest or jumped out of a nest and landed on our back patio, right next to the pool that I had filled up for the kids. We had gone inside to have lunch and let the pool warm up in the sun, and when I saw the baby birds out there, I should have closed the blinds. Instead, like an idiot, I said “Hey kids, look at the baby birds” and they rushed to the window just in time to see one of the birds hop into the pool and begin drowning. We watched the little thing flail for a few minutes, and as it grew less frantic, I began to fear that it would die in the pool. So, following my husband’s example (and remembering his warning that blue jays are really mean), I grabbed a broom and went outside and managed to flick the little blue jay back onto the deck and run back inside without the daddy blue jay pecking my eyes out. Unfortunately, the commotion spooked the other baby bird and made him jump into the pool. What could I do? I went out with the broom again, flicked the other baby out of the pool, and ran back inside, only to look out and see them both motionless on the ground. At this point, I closed the blinds and redirected the kids to the TV, where the content wasn’t quite so graphic.
My husband and I have differing views on birds. I don’t really think much about them unless I see one that is unusual, like a cardinal or a turkey buzzard, and then I’ll point it out to the kids. My husband applies a definite pecking order (heehee) to the whole species. Cardinals and eagles he likes, robins and blue jays he tolerates, but mourning doves he despises. Strangely, while my husband is at times unable to focus on what I am saying even when I am standing right next to him, he can zero in on the sound of any mourning dove within a five mile radius. The sound drives him absolutely batty, which is quite amusing for me. For a while, a pair of mourning doves was hanging out in our driveway, just sitting there, watching us and waking my husband every morning with their distinctive cooing. When he ran at them and yelled to try to scare them off, they would calmly flutter about 2 yards away, and then return to wandering around on the ground. Fortunately we moved away from that house, because I think continued proximity to that pair might have made my husband lose his marbles.
We are in absolute agreement on the subject of seagulls. They are aggressive, disgusting, noisy and, as was put so well in Finding Nemo, should be considered rats with wings. Nothing brings out my dormant Irish temper like the sight of some moron feeding seagulls on the beach. While a first time beachgoer may think one seagull is cute, he doesn’t realize that that bird’s got 200 friends sitting up above the boardwalk, and they are all coming to get the one cheese doodle distractedly tossed aside. And then they won’t leave, and then they poop everywhere, and then your day is ruined unless the birds spot and even bigger moron tossing more food somewhere else. A close second to seagulls for most disgusting bird is the pigeon. With apologies to Bert from Sesame Street, I have never seen the charm of the city seagull. One summer when I worked downtown, the pigeons were so bold at lunch time, that I expected one to tug on my leg and ask for food.
The worst part about birds though, is they are no longer just pretty, or tuneful, or even annoying, they are becoming more and more dangerous. Years ago, you only had to fear that a crazy bird would take a peck at you. A dead bird used to be something gross that kids would discover and poke with a stick until their mom caught them and made them get away from it. Now a dead bird could mean the West Nile Virus has arrived in your neighborhood. Soon, a dead bird could mean that bird flu has arrived in your neighborhood. Bird poop used to be funny, especially when I was in grade school and a bird would inevitably hit some unlucky kid at the May Procession. Every one would find out about it, and that poor kid would be the butt of jokes for the rest of the year. When you got hit by a seagull at the beach, it was nasty and a source of entertainment for your fellow beachgoers, but after a quick dip in the ocean, you could forget all about it. In Kentucky we must have really irritated a nearby group of birds, because every few days in the Spring, they would strafe our car with an amount of bird crap that would make people on the street stop and stare. Now, when you are unlucky enough to get hit, you must worry whether or not you or your belongings have been hit with nature’s equivalent of a biological weapon.
It must be hard these days to be a bird, everyone eyeing you up like you are some sort of terrorist, poultry farmers rounding up whole families and exterminating them in a sort of avian ethnic cleansing. Birdies must deal with the guilt, the stress, and the waiting to see if they are the ones that are going to bring down the human race by infecting it with bird flu. On second thought, maybe the robins in the back yard weren’t ganging up on anyone, Maybe they were just providing each other with a little birdy support.
The creepiest bird behavior I have seen was a crow funeral. I know this description may sound strange to anyone who hasn’t experienced it, but a dead crow in your yard brings on what my brothers and sisters and I referred to as a crow funeral. On at least 3 occasions in my childhood, we were alerted to the presence of a dead crow outside by hundreds (well, it seemed like hundreds) of crows, sitting in the branches of the huge tree in our front yard and cawing their little brains out. If we had to venture outside during the funeral, the cawing would grow louder and we would run to the car or wherever we were headed in hopes that the crows would not gang up on us and attack. And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the funeral would end, the crows would fly away, and after work my dad would go out with a shovel and get rid of the dead crow.
After college, I lived in a succession of city apartments, so I did not have a lot of time to observe bird behavior. However, once I was married and spending a lot of time at home with the kids, I discovered that birds are more crazy than their sweet tweeting and graceful forms would suggest. One time a bird built a nest on top of the light over our back deck. When her little birdies hatched, they would hop down and sit right on our windowsill where the kids could get a good look at them. My husband did not find them to be very cute, however, mainly because the mommy bird somehow got the idea that my husband was coming for the babies, and would dive bomb his head every time he came outside to use the grill. I don’t know if she ever made contact, but she did manage to scare him off. He eventually went out (waving a broom over his head in self defense) and rolled the grill around the side of the house so that he could cook in peace until the little birdies were big enough to fly away. Following that incident, my husband made regular rounds of the house, making sure that no nests were being planned or constructed on top of any other light fixtures. Once, while we were away on a vacation, some birds built a nest inside our mailbox. Needless to say, when we arrived home they were forced to relocate prior to laying any eggs.
Another unpleasant birdie episode occurred when some baby blue jays either fell out of a nest or jumped out of a nest and landed on our back patio, right next to the pool that I had filled up for the kids. We had gone inside to have lunch and let the pool warm up in the sun, and when I saw the baby birds out there, I should have closed the blinds. Instead, like an idiot, I said “Hey kids, look at the baby birds” and they rushed to the window just in time to see one of the birds hop into the pool and begin drowning. We watched the little thing flail for a few minutes, and as it grew less frantic, I began to fear that it would die in the pool. So, following my husband’s example (and remembering his warning that blue jays are really mean), I grabbed a broom and went outside and managed to flick the little blue jay back onto the deck and run back inside without the daddy blue jay pecking my eyes out. Unfortunately, the commotion spooked the other baby bird and made him jump into the pool. What could I do? I went out with the broom again, flicked the other baby out of the pool, and ran back inside, only to look out and see them both motionless on the ground. At this point, I closed the blinds and redirected the kids to the TV, where the content wasn’t quite so graphic.
My husband and I have differing views on birds. I don’t really think much about them unless I see one that is unusual, like a cardinal or a turkey buzzard, and then I’ll point it out to the kids. My husband applies a definite pecking order (heehee) to the whole species. Cardinals and eagles he likes, robins and blue jays he tolerates, but mourning doves he despises. Strangely, while my husband is at times unable to focus on what I am saying even when I am standing right next to him, he can zero in on the sound of any mourning dove within a five mile radius. The sound drives him absolutely batty, which is quite amusing for me. For a while, a pair of mourning doves was hanging out in our driveway, just sitting there, watching us and waking my husband every morning with their distinctive cooing. When he ran at them and yelled to try to scare them off, they would calmly flutter about 2 yards away, and then return to wandering around on the ground. Fortunately we moved away from that house, because I think continued proximity to that pair might have made my husband lose his marbles.
We are in absolute agreement on the subject of seagulls. They are aggressive, disgusting, noisy and, as was put so well in Finding Nemo, should be considered rats with wings. Nothing brings out my dormant Irish temper like the sight of some moron feeding seagulls on the beach. While a first time beachgoer may think one seagull is cute, he doesn’t realize that that bird’s got 200 friends sitting up above the boardwalk, and they are all coming to get the one cheese doodle distractedly tossed aside. And then they won’t leave, and then they poop everywhere, and then your day is ruined unless the birds spot and even bigger moron tossing more food somewhere else. A close second to seagulls for most disgusting bird is the pigeon. With apologies to Bert from Sesame Street, I have never seen the charm of the city seagull. One summer when I worked downtown, the pigeons were so bold at lunch time, that I expected one to tug on my leg and ask for food.
The worst part about birds though, is they are no longer just pretty, or tuneful, or even annoying, they are becoming more and more dangerous. Years ago, you only had to fear that a crazy bird would take a peck at you. A dead bird used to be something gross that kids would discover and poke with a stick until their mom caught them and made them get away from it. Now a dead bird could mean the West Nile Virus has arrived in your neighborhood. Soon, a dead bird could mean that bird flu has arrived in your neighborhood. Bird poop used to be funny, especially when I was in grade school and a bird would inevitably hit some unlucky kid at the May Procession. Every one would find out about it, and that poor kid would be the butt of jokes for the rest of the year. When you got hit by a seagull at the beach, it was nasty and a source of entertainment for your fellow beachgoers, but after a quick dip in the ocean, you could forget all about it. In Kentucky we must have really irritated a nearby group of birds, because every few days in the Spring, they would strafe our car with an amount of bird crap that would make people on the street stop and stare. Now, when you are unlucky enough to get hit, you must worry whether or not you or your belongings have been hit with nature’s equivalent of a biological weapon.
It must be hard these days to be a bird, everyone eyeing you up like you are some sort of terrorist, poultry farmers rounding up whole families and exterminating them in a sort of avian ethnic cleansing. Birdies must deal with the guilt, the stress, and the waiting to see if they are the ones that are going to bring down the human race by infecting it with bird flu. On second thought, maybe the robins in the back yard weren’t ganging up on anyone, Maybe they were just providing each other with a little birdy support.
posted by Shannon at 3:56 PM
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