Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Bird is the Word
"Those damned squirrels are in the feeder again!" Followed by some expletives, he called for the dog to chase them off the yard. He flung the door open and all I could hear were the screaming squirrels, the dog barking madly, and my husband yelling "GIT! GIT!" (not "shoo," or "get out of here," but "GIT" in that crazy hushed whisper.)...
THAT was what he was distracted by. His beloved BIRD FEEDERS.
And so I bring you, "Bird is the Word."
I have probably shared some of the wacky wildlife stories that have unfolded during my life...some during my travels, but most right here at Crazy Road.
Frogs, mice, huge water bugs trapped in casserole dishes, moose, turkeys, owls...you get the picture, are a part of the fabric of my life!
But it is the birds, the birds I tell you, that are playing a major role in my ever growing craziness.
It started a couple of years ago, my husband seemed fascinated by the birds that came to the feeder and the old bird house that were hanging in the front window.
They were here when we moved in, and likely had been hanging there since the house was build over fifty years ago.
Now honestly, I could not care less about birds, but I know that the kids were mildly amused by the first robins in the spring, and the cute little chick-a-dees that would sit and peck away at the flying seeds that hit the window. I really only got a bit of a kick when one would fly directly into the picture window, dive-bomb style, and feathers flew everywhere...I know that seems sinister, but its funny to me.
The squirrels were an issue even then, as there were big trees/shrubs that framed the window, making it easy for the rodents to jump on and off.
As the years went by, my husband hung more and more feeders around the yard. I didn't think much of it, until THIS year...
I noticed that both of the feeders in the front were new. Not just new, but they look like luxury condos for birds with brass and wood trim...filled to the brim with seeds.
There is one in the back window. There is another on the corner of the pool-house. There is another on the other corner in the back of the house, and yet another hanging on the pole on the corner of the pool fence. All.Brand.New.
Are you counting?
It seems like every time I leave him home, I return to find ANOTHER bird feeder!
Wasn't one or two enough? Does anyone remember this debacle?
I came home one day last summer and looked out the window. I looked again. And went out and looked AGAIN. Yes. There was a bird that had SOMEHOW got inside the feeder, which, amazingly, was closed. How in the world?...
So, with great trepidation, I climbed up and took the feeder down. Now I am NOT stupid, but I could not for the life of me figure out how to get the top off. I didn't want to call my husband for fear of getting the "are you kidding me with this?" But the top was closed, and I did not see how it opened. Chris took care of filling the feeders, I really wanted nothing to do with them. And, for as much as I took evil pleasure in watching birds fly at full speed into my windows, I of course did NOT want to witness one suffocating in the very food that I provide! I had to get that thing out of there!
I carefully examined the top, the bottom, the sides. Where was the opening?! I was sweating. Talking to the birdie. "It's okay..." I comforted. I had flashbacks from the Perry incident. Do birds talk to each other? Had the bird word spread that I was a hater? Crap.
"I'll get you out." But time was ticking. How long had he been in there? I moved it to a chair in the shade. Meanwhile, poor Casey was freaking out.
So here we are in the present day, and my hubby's obsession is now, I'm afraid, a little out of control.
Just this past weekend we went on an "adventure" shopping day to Marden's, Wal-Mart, you know, to get "stuff."
In Wal-Mart, I went one way, he went another. He was supposed to get paper towels, Swiffer pads, and milk.
When we met up, I noticed in the cart a bag of seeds, and a big box that looked like it had another bird feeder in it.
"Babe. Not another feeder!"
"It's not a feeder. It's a hanging birdbath!"
"A WHAT? Where are you planning on putting THIS contraption?"
I mean really. A HANGING BIRD BATH? Aren't they creatures of nature? Don't they bathe in puddles or other naturally occurring bodies of water?
I did not want to argue about it in the store, and we were having such a fun day...
So when we arrived home, he bolted from the truck with his new treasure in hand.
I was left to bring in and put away the groceries, get the kids settled, and whatever...while HE went out back to hang the feeder, I mean bath, in the middle of the other two feeders hanging from the pool house.
THEN I lost him again.
I thought he was cleaning the pool, or fixing the de-constructed wall that needs fixing, or starting to burn the pile of brush in the middle of the yard...
I was starting to make dinner, when he came in looking like the, well, the cat who ate the canary.
He had the jar of "bag balm" and his hands were covered in the waxy, slimy stuff.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm greasing the pole so the squirrels can't get up it. The WD-40 didn't work."
"So you used bag-balm?"
"Uh. Huh." Then he proceeded to keep watch out the back window, waiting to see if the big, fat squirrels would try to get up the pole.
hee.hee. They did.
I mean come on now.
So I decided to have the talk. Intervention style.
"I really think your bird lovin' is a bit out of control."
And this is what he said:
"Kristen. I love them. I come down in the morning and sit with my coffee and watch them. I listen to them. I love to listen to them sing...I don't drink. I don't smoke. You said that when we moved here you had control of the inside and I had control of the outside. You don't let me hang my stuff or put my Buddah fountains out. I like birds. They relax me."
I guess that I will deal with it.
I'll respond to the "Kristen! Come here and see!" To see the "tuxedo" birds, the yellow birds, the blue birds, the hanging chipmunks and the squirrels climbing up the pool fence to get to the seeds.
I won't say a word when he cusses at the rodents who defy the odds and make it up the thrice-greased fence pole.
I will likely end up rescuing his beloved feathered friends from something in a wild kind of daring feat.
I'll watch the birds bathe in the hanging bath - in the spot where I planned to hang geraniums.
I'll support his hobby. He doesn't drink. Or smoke. Or go out with the guys much. Or leave for long weekends of fishing or golfing. He has a stressful job~and a crazy wife.
He likes to stay home with us. His nutty family. And his little tweeters.
So, doggone it, that is the BIRD story.
Hope you liked it.
Thanks For Reading.