Tuesday, July 5, 2011

A Bird in the House

... Is not worth two in the bush.  The post title says it all.

I don't like birds.  Especially when they are in my house.

I was outside this afternoon, sunbathing, reading and throwing a ball for the puppies.  I went inside to get a bottle of water when I noticed a bird was flapping and flying like crazy throughout the kitchen and dining room.  I had left the sliding glass door and screen door wide open, not even thinking that a bird would fly in.

Holy schnitzel.

I immediately started screaming, flapping my arms and ran back outside.  Waterless.

Luckily, my phone was outside on the patio table.  Ryan was still at work, so the chances of him answering were slim - but I wanted to try him first.  I knew he couldn't help me, but I thought he might have some advice on how I deal with the raging bird.

No answer.
Panic sets in.

OK, call Mom.

Mom answers and I practically blurt/yell out in jibberish "There is a bird in the house.  I don't know where it is or what to do!  Help me!  Help me!"
I hear nothing but laughter.  Thanks, Mom.

Mom was asking me all sorts of silly questions like "Where is the bird?" "Are all your bedroom doors closed?" "Where are Brock and Sonny?" "Where are you?" "Is it a big bird?"

I don't have time for these outrageous questions, woman!  Just help me! I am obviously distraught right now at the thought of a bird flying through our house and perching (not to mention pooping) itself on whatever it lands on.  Gross, gross, gross.

She tries to tell me to get a broom and just guide the bird outside.  Yeah, right.  I am surely not going inside that house, let alone staying in there long enough to grab a broom and look for the flying monster.  Maybe I was being a little hysterical, but I had a very interesting encounter with some chickens at a zoo as a young child, and I think in some subconscious way, I have not forgotten it.

While I am talking to Mom on the phone and standing in the backyard, Brock nudges my leg with his nose. I think I jumped a good foot in the air and gave out a good shriek.  On the phone, Mom is saying, "What?!  What?!"  I am panting now and somehow get out, "Brock touched my leg."

Mom agrees to come save me.

I was supposed to pick up Ryan from work.  This presented a problem as I was sure as hell not going back inside to put some clothes on (since I was sun bathing at the beginning of this chaos) and grab my purse.

I called my Daddio.

Dad answers and I practically blurt/yell out in jibberish the previous explanation that I gave to Mom. "There is a bird in the house.  I don't know where it is or what to do!  Help me!  Help me!"

More laughter and "Well, what the heck do you want me to do?"
He asks more silly questions like Mom did, and agrees to pick up Ry-guy.  I decide I need to call Ryan and make sure he knows to look for Dad's car and not me/mine.  

He answers.  Phew.

I replay the story for him in more yelling-crazy-jibberish.  By this time the bird is still in the house and I have commenced bouncing/jumping up and down.

His response. "If that bird poops on our stuff, I am going to be really mad."

Uh, honey?  At me?  Or at the bird?

Ryan is asking the same silly questions as Mom and Dad, telling me to "grow a pair" and is trying to get me to go in through the house to open the front door.

Hell to the no, darling.  I don't even know where this crazy bird is hiding!!  He or she totally has the element of surprise!

He certainly doesn't find this situation as funny as Mom and Dad.  I tell him I am going to do what he asked, and run inside to open the front door.  I add that I am going to call him back because I don't want him to hear me screaming and yelling while running through the house.

His response: "No, don't hang up.  I want to hear this."

By this time I look over into our garden window in the kitchen and see some movement/wing flappage.  I walk over into the yard and I see a teeny, tiny little bird that is trying desperately to fly through the glass.  The little mister or missus is completely terrified.  Perhaps, more so than me.


 I decide to wait for Mom in the front yard.  That way she will understand the gravity of this situation.  The bird may be in the window now, but he or she can fly.  Who knows where they might go. 

Mom arrives and is laughing when she pulls up into the driveway.  We get out the broom and a kitchen towel.  She climbs up onto the counter, catches the little bird and releases him/her outside.

During this time, I am standing (and semi-squatting) in the hallway with my hands covering my ears like a complete idiot. 

Hopefully that just gave you a nice mental picture.

You're welcome.

I don't like birds.

Thanks Mom and Dad for coming to the rescue today.

Take Luck,

1 comment:

  1. Your bird story = my cockroach story.

    I'm so glad your mom was laughing the entire time. Adorable.


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