Welcome to my running commentary on life.

Welcome to my running commentary on life.

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Alfred Hitchcock Can Bite My Tail Feathers

April 4, 2012

Have you ever felt like you were trapped in a bad episode of The Twilight Zone, or perhaps Alfred Hitchcock’s ghost was playing a practical joke?  Today was such a day for yours truly.

It all started when our ten-year-old princess ran to my room early this morning.  “A female cardinal is knocking on the front door!”  She walked away giggling and continued to get ready for school. 

After she ran to meet the bus, I started getting ready for work.  As I toweled my hair, I heard a strange noise.  I remembered what my daughter said about the cardinal and went to investigate.  Sure enough, a rust-colored cardinal was attempting suicide on the glass of my front door.  It was a strange moment for me.  The animal saw me, but continued to crash into the window.  I shooed it away and finished getting ready for work.

As I drove to town, minding my own business, I saw a hawk.  It was a magnificent creature, patrolling the field to my right.  Or so I thought.  The bird suddenly changed course and headed straight for my vehicle.  It came in close, but then circled away.  It was another strange moment, but just when I thought I was safe, the blasted thing veered right and swooped down over the front of my Saturn POS.  I screamed, swerved, and narrowly missed another suicidal bird intent on crashing my windshield.

Shaken, but still able to laugh it off, I made it to work in once piece.  Dismissing the two incidents, I worked until my first break.  The day was beautiful, so why not go outside?  As I stepped through the door, the warm spring air welcomed me.  Clouds gathered overhead, shutting out the sun as I walked across the parking lot. 

I was halfway to my car when I heard a clatter overhead.  Three squabbling robins fell from the sky.  One landed in my hair while another hit my face.  I dashed for my car, glancing around to see if anyone else saw me making a fool of myself while I did the icky-bird-in-my-hair dance. (Picture Ace Venture swamped by a flock of bats.) Thankfully, I was alone. 

It was another strange moment.

In my car, driving away from the scene of the last bird attack, I wondered if old Alfred was hanging around with a camera crew.  Was he doing candid films of women dodging homicidal birds?

I parked on the side of a street not far from the office while contemplating this last attack.  I started to recognize how Tippi Hedren must have felt when she was running for her life from a flock of maniacal pecker-heads.  Soon it was time to return to the office, so I put my car in gear and pulled away from the curb.  I nearly put myself through the windshield when I hit the brakes.  It was a blackbird this time, slamming itself into a stupor against my closed door window. 

What the hell?

Lunchtime came and went without incident, as did the afternoon break.  I thought I was safe.  Leaving for the day, glad to see the backside of another work day, I stepped into the gloomy afternoon wind and heard the sound of the speaker on the corner of the roof.  It’s an apparatus installed to deter the unflappable Canada geese that had taken over the area in the past two years.  We hadn’t seen a single goose on the grounds since they’d put it in.

As I stepped around the back of my car, I saw four geese.  They were big suckers with foul (no pun intended) tempers and no desire to give ground.  They came at me, heads lowered, wings spread, spoiling for a fight.  They stood between me and my route of escape.

Most who know me know that I have little tolerance and even less patience.  The ornithological world was testing me and I’d had enough.

Throwing my lunch bucket at the birds, I lashed out with my purse (it’s actually more like a piece of luggage—if I’d connected with their pea brains, they would have dropped).  It must have been quite a spectacle:  birds lunging with a screaming, belligerent woman swinging her purse, intent upon bird murder.   The geese finally gave ground.  I chased them to the street and returned to my car the victor. 

Alfred can bite my disgruntled tail feathers.  If he decides to play it this way again tomorrow, I’m going to carry my shotgun with me and put bird on the menu for supper.